With the announcement of Malachy McCourt’s death earlier this week, the city of New York finds itself in distress following the demise of a cherished and effervescent figure in Irish-American culture. McCourt, admired as a writer, actor, bartender and as an enthusiastic devotee of life, had reached 92 years of age.
Best known for his well-received autobiography, A Monk Swimming, McCourt’s narrative contribution served as a vibrant counterpart to Angela’s Ashes, the acclaimed memoir by Frank, his elder brother. Angela’s Ashes took the publishing world by storm in 1996, earning that year’s Pulitzer prize.
Though McCourt was born in Brooklyn in 1931, he would soon find himself returning to Ireland as a toddler due to his parents’ decision to abandon New York during the economic downturn. Spending his early life in Limerick, McCourt later relocated to England for employment, eventually making a return to New York when he was 20. His journey was funded by Frank, who had found work as a state schoolteacher.
Over seven decades, McCourt solidified his reputation as both an integral figure and an observant recorder of New York’s literary and free-thinking circles. Undeniably, he was a man constantly wrestling with the conflicting emotions tied to being an immigrant’s child.
In a 1998 interview with the New York Times, McCourt, still stirred by the memory of his humble beginnings, shared, “I had a lethal anger for Limerick, the embarrassment of my association with the slums. It seemed to belittle you to the point where you could only fall further. We were expected to be of low standing our whole lives. But who is to blame? The governments and churches that no longer exist? It serves no purpose. Allowing these thoughts to dwell in your mind at no cost will drive you mad. Bitterness is akin to consuming poison and expecting the other’s demise.”
In his youthful days, McCourt, with his flaming hair and beard, was part of the unruly Irish group of the 1960s and 1970s. He balanced his work in the pub industry with acting roles on stage and film, notably in Reversal of Fortune and Bonfire of the Vanities. His performance as Henry VIII in a TV advert was well-received, and he occasionally took on hosting duties in television and radio.
McCourt renounced alcohol and tobacco in the middle of the 1980s, yet his lively spirit remained intact. An engaging storyteller, he campaigned for the governorship of New York in 2006, endorsing a progressive platform that condemned the Iraq War and advocated for environmental conservation.
McCourt’s passing was not surprising given his need for sustained hospice care, though his resilience was such that he was discharged from their care in 2022. Nonetheless, his demise signifies the conclusion of a unique chapter in the history of the Irish in New York and wraps up an extraordinary life full of adventures.
Ted Smyth, a former Irish diplomat, penned a touching tribute on Monday, acknowledging that McCourt put a frown on ‘died’ euphemisms. The words “A titan has passed” convey his sentiments.
McCourt has been in two marriages, first with Linda Wachsman and then Diana Galin. He shared his Upper West Side residence with Galin for 59 years. His surviving family includes his wife, daughter Siobhán, sons Malachy, Conor and Cormac, and stepdaughter Nina Galin.
The Irish ambassador to the USA, Geraldine Byrne Nason, spoke fondly of McCourt as “an eloquent narrator of Irish tales”. Dan Barry, a columnist and author for the New York Times and McCourt’s friend, remembered him as “a dedicated fighter for justice and equality”.
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