Many men still need helping hands.

Byline: Bob Welch The Register-Guard

CORRECTION (ran 10/18/2006): Bob Welch's column on Page C1 Sunday erred in its quoting of Henry David Thoreau, who said, "The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation."

Poet Robert Bly's upcoming visit to Eugene might have some wondering: Whatever happened to the men's movement?

It was Bly who, in the early '90s, encouraged men to get in touch with themselves by gathering with other men for weekend retreats, beating on drums and facing their feelings.

His book, "Iron John," spent more than 60 weeks on the New York Times best-seller list. Newsweek, on a 1991 cover, featured the men's movement: "Drums, Sweat and Tears."

Submovements sprang up. In 1995, Louis Farrakhan organized the Million Man March to inspire African-American men to rebuild their lives and neighborhoods. Promise Keepers started filling football stadiums with Christian men who were encouraged to live lives of integrity for the glory of God.

Now, the drums and stadiums have largely grown silent. But for all the humor spun from the men-as-drum-beating-warriors theme, the movement brought to light a need we should take seriously. "Most men," wrote Thoreau, "live lives of quiet desperation."

What the '90s did was give men, for the first time, permission to deal with that. To talk about their lives with other men, one-on-one, as friends, and in groups.

If, as a movement, it spawned more shock and awe than long-term commitment, at least pockets of men are still seeking deeper meaning in their lives.

"The most important legacy of the men's movement is reflected in the lives of the men who are participating in thousands of men's groups meeting each week or month," says Todd Peterson, a Springfield man who has launched dozens of nonsectarian groups.

Peterson, 61, points out that just because the movement didn't energize a giant political theme or attract Hollywood names doesn't mean it hasn't been significant. "People ask: What happened to the men's movement? It's alive and well. It's just a quiet movement."

Though no longer magazine-cover material, Bly still participates in men's conferences. The Mankind Project still offers "new warrior" training. The National Fatherhood Initiative's e-mail list has grown from 2,500 to more than 12,000 in the past five years. And Promise Keepers still holds events, though scaled back from the '90s, around the country.

But perhaps the most important spinoff of the '90s is men feeling freer to examine their lives. In sharing with other men about loss. Anger. Father-son fallouts.

"The pathway to a man's heart is through grief and anger," says Peterson, whose business helps people create "ethical and spiritual wills." And the father-son relationship, he says, is often the cause of that grief and anger.

He wonders, for example, if the United States would be at war in Iraq if President Bush had heeded the advice of his father not to do so.

But, says Peterson, "he's quietly rebelling against his father and so aligned himself with the old warriors."

Likewise, he wonders if Bill Clinton would have tainted his presidency with the Monica Lewinsky affair had he had a father in his life - Clinton's died before he was born - to teach him integrity. "If he'd learned accountability and responsibility, there's no way the zipper comes down," he says.

It is, of course, simplistic to think other factors weren't involved. But whether the man in question is president of the United States or the guy next door, Thoreau's "quiet desperation" persists.

Men are good at masking their insecurities; what you see isn't always what you get.

So drums or no drums, we should encourage anything that helps men deal with the one thing few have the courage to face:

Themselves.

EUGENE READINGS

Poet Robert Bly reads from his works at 7:30 p.m. Tuesday at The Shedd, $15. At 3 p.m. Wednesday, he discusses and signs his works at Tsunami Books, free.