Sean Kelly is the first writer I got to know and love. Together we witnessed Alexis Nihon's burning ashes, survived Hurricane Bob, questioned Martin Luther and Brian Mulroney, and wondered over Henry Kissinger's soul. I mention none of this in today's Globe & Mail.
Sean died last month.
The greatest Canadian humorist of his generation, he would've enjoyed the typo.
In his book "How to be Irish" he wrote that the committee that gave English spellings to Irish words was not only drunk, they were mean drunk. I have treasured this thought for years.
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