Frank McCourt, 1930-2009
"There’s no use saying anything in the schoolyard because there’s always someone with an answer and there’s nothing you can do but punch them in the nose and if you were to punch everyone who has an answer you’d be punching morning noon and night."
"After a full belly all is poetry."
I can never seem to get anything really done in a summer day. One, maybe two things--a visit, a few chapters of a book, some phone calls--but summer is torpid and winter is still, they lack the industrious preparatory spirit of spring and fall.
I floated through the day today, not really doing much of anything, and now Frank McCourt is dead and it seems like an important day. Though I was never his student I feel like I've lost a teacher, or a kind neighbor. I got to hear him read a couple of months ago, and he was clearly ill and tired, but still wry and dry and funny as hell, and I'm so glad I went.