I've always had a little crush on Frank McCourt, author of Angela's Ashes. I read yesterday that he's in a New York hospice and not expected to live. This is distressing news, as he's one of my favorite writers (Larry McMurtry is another, and I've got a crush on him too). A few years ago, I had a chance to hear Frank McCourt speak in Sacramento (he was 76 at the time). Afterward, I waited in a long line to have my book signed, and when my turn came, I said, "Thank you for coming to Sacramento to speak to us, Mr. McCourt."
Pen in hand, he paused, glanced up, and grinned. "What choice did I have?"
Even now I laugh, thinking of it.
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