Frank McCourt, author of the Pulitzer Prize-winning memoir, Angela’s Ashes, passed away Sunday at age 78. A lot of people are going to write about Mr. McCourt upon the event of his death, so who am I, really, to enlighten anyone further? (I’m only 1/4 Irish anyway, but it’s the good 1/4.) His memoir of growing up in the slums of Limerick managed to put my own family’s experiences in perspective a bit. I still know next to nothing of the lives my family left behind when they left Northern Ireland, so getting a first hand account of that life from someone as eloquent and witty as Mr. McCourt was particularly enlightening for me. I remember telling my mom and my Irish grandmother how funny I thought McCourt’s book was & was greeted with mild shock, as his childhood was “awful, not funny”. But damn it, he was funny! Really funny. And that’s what allowed him to live through that life and come out the other side as the man he was. Humor makes the world turn, don’t you know? I’m glad to have at least been on the same planet at the same time as he was.