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Frank McCourts telephone answering machine message always promised that he would return all calls with alacrity.
Of course, the man who wasnt home could have said as soon as possible.
But why waste such a beautiful word?
Credit: Lisa Schwarzbaum, left, with McCourt and his wife, Ellen
And he told stories the way others brush their teeth regularly.
And in that house,Angelas Asheswas born.
I am blessed among godmothers.
Or recited a poem.
Or told a joke.
(Frank played his Irish pennywhistle.)
Oh, do it, do it, yes, yes, I said, yes.
And so Frank began to write, in a sunny back room, on summer afternoons scented with honeysuckle.
The next afternoon hed be writing again.
And then one day Frank said to me, Well, Ive begun something.
Youre a writer, would you take a look?
He handed me a small stack of typed pages, maybe 40 in all.
It was the beginnings ofAngelas Ashes.
It was all there!
Franks voice was sure and true and ….
Yes yes yes, more more more, keep going!
That was the extent of my editorial input.
You know the rest.
More Frank McCourt:
Frank McCourt, author of Angelas Ashes, dies at 78
