RIP Frank McCourt (1930-2009)

Yours truly would be remiss if an entire week was allowed to go by without mentioning the passing of one of my favorite contemporary authors: Frank McCourt

Ye socks are probably, at least peripherally, aware of his 1997 Pulitzer Prize winner: Angela's Ashes.

If not, check it out of your local library. Or, if ye must, rent the movie adaptation.

McCourt's masterpiece recounts his own Irish American childhood, which began in Brooklyn, New York. At the height of the Great Depression, with no work to be had, his parents decide to move back to Ireland. But, there they sank in to even deeper poverty.

The resilience of the McCourts is inspiring, Frank most particularly.

He picked up the family narrative in two more books: 'Tis (1999) and Teacher Man (2005). Then, a couple of Christmas seasons ago, he released a children's book: Angela and the Baby Jesus. Unfortunately, none of them achieved the broad popularity of his first work.

Perhaps, McCourt's works play on my Irish heart strings. But, I'd like to think his insights into human frailties, strengths, and faith transcend mere ethnic pride . . .

Defeatism in New York

Continuing the advent to the first Independence Day, it was on this date back in 1776 that New York's provincial assembly disbanded.

Unlike their counterparts in Virginia the preceding day, they failed to declare New York a state instead of a colony.

Furthermore, they instructed their delegates at the Continental Congress to oppose American independence.

To be fair, they were staring down the barrel of a gun. Actually, there were a bunch of guns . . . big ones . . . on the British fleet that Admiral Howe had sailed into New York's harbor before the convention hastily drew to a close. So, I suppose they may be forgiven.

It's always darkest before the dawn. That was as true in 1776 as it is today.