One Sunday afternoon, I was on Metro North with my niece. I was reading the New York Times--- an excerpt of Teacher Man. I was laughing like a hyena the whole time. When I first read Angela's Ashes, I was in D.C., alone, having dinner, also laughing--- snorting is more like it. People looked at me funny, but I just couldn't stop. I could never re-read the latter, way too painful. He used to live on Atlantic Avenue, over Montero's Bar and Grill, one block from my home. Once I saw him on Henry Street, and I thought, Oh my God, there goes Frank McCourt! He is one of my favorite writers. Rest in peace, teacher man.
From IVF Warrior to Author: How Infertility Turned Me Into an Advocate for
Millions
-
Before infertility, I never imagined I’d become an advocate, build a global
community, or write a book about something so personal. I thought my path
to pa...
2 weeks ago
Posts
I know Pepe and company will be mourning him at Montero.
ReplyDeleteI used to live next door and they love to talk about Frank McCourt living upstairs.
So sad.
I know, it is sad. I so love his books.
ReplyDelete