Jimmy Breslin, chronicler of tough guys, working men and women, and anyone who would not dream of seeing their name in print, has passed away at the age of 88.
Washington Post
“Jimmy Breslin, long the gruff and rumpled king of streetwise New York newspaper columnists, a Pulitzer Prize winner whose muscular, unadorned prose pummeled the venal, deflated the pompous and gave voice to ordinary city-dwellers for decades, died March 19 at his home in Manhattan. He was 88.
The cause was complications from pneumonia, stepdaughter Emily Eldridge said.
For an “unlettered bum,” as Mr. Breslin called himself, he left an estimable legacy of published work, including 16 books, seven of them novels, plus two anthologies of his columns.”
Jimmy always said he approached journalism in the manner of a sports writer, and the best story would not be found in the winner’s locker room but in the loser’s.
In the wake of the JFK assassination Jimmy sought out not the Politicians who survived Kennedy, not the family or friends who already had so much to bear, but the man who dug his grave.
“Clifton Pollard was pretty sure he was going to be working on Sunday, so when he woke up at 9 a.m., in his three-room apartment on Corcoran Street, he put on khaki overalls before going into the kitchen for breakfast. His wife, Hettie, made bacon and eggs for him. Pollard was in the middle of eating them when he received the phone call he had been expecting. It was from Mazo Kawalchik, who is the foreman of the gravediggers at Arlington National Cemetery, which is where Pollard works for a living. "Polly, could you please be here by eleven o'clock this morning?" Kawalchik asked. "I guess you know what it's for." Pollard did.”
Breslin always got the stories that others might miss, seeking out the regular people while others marveled at luminaries.
“He talked about a woman Army reservist in the Bronx with four children sent to Iraq. "Even in the worst of World War II, we had a 3A [draft] classification. You couldn't send a father with four kids to the war. Now it's all right. They said, `She only delivers mail, she just has to drive on the highways.' I said you must not read the papers. That's a fine place to be killed."
And he had the low down on Trump sooner than most.
“He ripped a culture that has gone mad with celebrity worship and ripped Big Corporate Media for being complicit in it while ignoring real issues, a real war and real people.
He brought up the name Donald Trump, and his raspy voice pierced like a scalpel: "In the old days, he'd have to pay a big pile to get in the papers as much as he does. Guys would say, `Where's mine?' Now, he returns a call and the reporter faints. If he calls, hang up on him. That's if you're dumb enough to have a phone on your desk."
Send us a scoop from beyond, Jimmy, and make sure to ask St. Peter where they stash the good cigars.