Frank McCourt died at the age of his street address, 78. I hope I live until at least mine.
Frank McCourt is dead.
This leaves me with two regrets and a gratitude.
Funny how death and blogs are a perfect petri dish to make his passing all about me.
1. Regret #1. He lived around the corner from me on 78th Street, staring distance from the Museum of Natural History. I would see him often standing outside his building. I now wish as a semi-professional blogger I asked for his photo with me. It would have been dead good blogging material. But I also felt a connection to him. But I have this "off limits" policy when it comes to celebrities. But I am a blogger and owe "the get" to my readers. And what writer hates being noticed? Except for JD Salinger, perhaps it is okay? But in this case too late. It would have been nice to have me next to Frank on 78th St. to include in my published book down the road.
2. Regret #2 Frank and his brother, Malachy, toured long before either was famous in a two-man play called "A Couple of Blaguards." They were performing for a long while in San Francisco and I knew this was the perfect vehicle to take my dad to. We would both have loved it and it would have been a way to bond. I didn't ever do it. Not sure why, but I think it was "easier" not to.
3. Gratitude #1
Frank didn't "become" a writer until in his 60's. I suffer from a "too late" infection that attacks the brain and the hand. But this man taught school all his life and then sat down to write and he did it in his 60's. He is an inspiration to me. He is Irish, American and Irish/American and his book spoke so deeply to me. I have yet to read the others though my partner-in-Mick, Maureen, did give me "'Tis." Thanks Frank for living your life and writing. I shall try and do the same.
Never too late.