He's not dead yet, but word has it that the late-in-life bestselling author Frank McCourt is deathly ill. Ironically I just TiVo'd Angela's Ashes the other day and have been watching it in stages. Reminds me terribly of my own ancestors...my paternal grandparents lost three children in a single week in New York of a mysterious illness in the 1920's. Then my Grandfather died a couple of years later, leaving my Grandmom to raise my Father and the other surviving children.
McCourts books hit a cord with me and many, many others. He was a teacher for most of his life, and you have to wonder if he had those stories in him all those years when he was struggling with a teacher's salary, and only started letting them out at 59? Or did he need to be a certain age to understand them enough to tell them? Bless him.
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