I heard Frank was doing a signing at a local bookstore about 10 minutes before it began. The store was run along the lines of a Prussian military academy and we were all issued with little laminated cards with a number on it. The run was limited to 400. I had 399(I am NOT a number!). We were limited to two books each and there were plenty of cries of "Schnell!" and "Raus!" flying from the staff to keep us shuffling forward.
This was way back in the Long Ago (Sept. of 1999) and I was much fitter and....er..blokier than today so I wasn't too pushed about the wait. This wasn't the case with the rather elderly lady in front of me. Now I wasn't too sure if she was trying to escape the wait (Frank wasn't really playing by the rules and was taking his time with people,having little chats and posing for pictures) or flee from me but it was evident she wasn't going to get her book signed.
"Tell you what. Give us your book and I'll get it signed. I'll give you my office address. If you want it just come by some day and pay me for the book. If you don't then I'll get an extra signed copy. How bad?"
It turned out she (Her late husband was a senator and author and she had two sons in senate fights last November) lived about 5 mins from the office and was delighted at the possibility of escape. A bit of a win-win. Or so I thought.
I hadn't reckoned on the Book Nazis.
The lily-livered and faint hearted began to fall out of the queue and after no more than a hour I found myself in range of the desk. This was when the eagle-eyed staff member lamped my three copies of 'Tis
"I'm sorry (she was about as sorry as I was Jean-Luc Picard) but Mr.McCourt will only be signing two of those."
"Right. I know this is going to sound a bit mad but there was a honest to God little old lady in front of me and.."
This was when something very strange happened to her voice.
'Ah sure. Now where would we be without the little old ladies at all, at all'.
What.The.FUCK??? was she mimicing me?
I snapped away from her. raised my hand and shouted over at Frank.
"Oi. Frankie!! Any chance you'd sign another one for an aul' skin from Limerick?"
I was beckoned over to desk and ushered into the Presence.
"You from Limerick?"
"I am. Sorry about the books like but yer wan was giving me grief ."
"Wherabouts in Limerick kid?"
"Er...Moyross."
"Fair dues.Don't mind those fucking eejits. So what do you do here?"
"I'm with the Irish Peace Corps"
"Da wha'?"
"Irish Peace Corps. We're helping drag West Virginia into the 20th Century"
"Fuck off *Laughing* You'd want to hurry up for yeerselves."
This was how Frank McCourt and I defied the Book Nazis. The little old lady got her copy. I got mine (in 2005 he hooked me up with copies for all the kids) and he got a laugh.
Rest easy Frank. You lit a candle and I love you for it.
xx
Monday, July 20, 2009
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
10 comments:
I was so sad when I heard of his passing, and not just because I'm all PMS-y and weepy. For some reason I had always thought of him as younger than his actual age, so reading "78" in the obits really hit me. I mean, I knew better, but still. God knows he lived a fuller life than many, and has earned his rest.
That is so cool that you actually got to meet him, and not only that, but got books signed. Consider me envious.
The only author I've ever had a chance to meet and get books autographed by was Ray Bradbury.
The Spouse Sparrow just called out to me, "Have ye sussed out why the Irish smell like tinkle, then?"
Me: "Uh, no?"
SS: "Cause they're always takin' the piss."
Oh yeah, am I looking forward to all of us becoming Irish, heheheh.
What a smashing post hon!
I know it's typecast as such, but the other night Hubs & I were watching The Commitments again. When Jimmy Rabbit is at the lift in a block of flats & there's a lad with a horse........."you'll not be taking him in the lift will yer?" Jimmy asks & the reply was wicked - "fer sure, the stairs'll kill his legs!" Classic comedy, but so very true to life!
a great tribute, sugar. xoxox
lovely story!
Great story! my favourite book of his remains Teacher Man, the account of his life has a high school teacher in the New York city high school system.
I make the weekly drive between Dublin and Limerick,and I usually have a book on cd in the car with me, to shorten the journey each week. Not so long ago, that book was Teacher Man, and the miles whizzed by, as I listened to McCourt’s wonderful melodic Limerick lilt mixed with a New Yorker’s inflection bring to life those students and classrooms of New York. Those classrooms were tough places and Frank often lost heart in his teaching ability in those early days. So, I am thrilled to read that his former pupils have been contributing to a New York Times blog dedicated exclusively to remembering the 78-year-old author. http://diaryofacountrywife.wordpress.com/2009/07/20/death-of-frank-mccourt/
Brilliant story, thank you.
A true man amongst men, who really didnae give a fuck about rules.
He'll be missed.
Second that. Great guy, Frank, and fuck the begrudgers.
Lovely memory.
Too often, the good ones pass too early.
That's the nicest story - joyous and not at all sad. It's a shame he didn't make 80 but he certainly was fulfilled as a writer. I hope he had a peaceful end and continues up above in peace.
1930 was a good year - himself, Peter Hall and the rose: New Dawn.
Post a Comment