While November 24th is the proper date, I will always mark the day before Thanksgiving as ‘Brown’s Day’, the day that Larry Brown died. The evening is best spent where I spent the very first one, last year at Fenian’s, an establishment that I always visit to do my writer-related drinking. However, being in Baton Rouge and heading out of town for Brookhaven, I will have to make do with a snort of bourbon at my parent’s once I get there.
Gerald, my paternal grandfather, almost shares this bookend with Larry Brown. He died this evening after many months of declining health. He had a good, long life, much of it spent as a missionairy in India, where my father was born. I did not get to see them much after they moved to Orlando, but will always regard our visits to Fort Valley, Georgia, to the large old antebellum house of my great-grandmother Jenny, with much fondness. Godspeed, Grandpa, you will be missed.
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