When I read Angela’s Ashes more than a decade ago, what struck me was the poverty that Frank McCourt and his family endured in Ireland before moving to the United States. I’m not talking about United States poverty, where not having cable TV in public housing qualifies. I’m talking about the kind of poverty that requires kids to follow a coal wagon around town picking up what falls off so that they can have heat in their homes. This was the great gift of Angela’s Ashes, showing us how truly blessed we are.
Frank McCourt died yesterday after a long illness. The retired school teacher turned Pulitzer Prize-winning author had what few people get: a second act in life. He made the most of it. RIP.
