Milwaukee lost one of its most valuable citizens at about 3 in the morning on Nov. 5. James Liddy's breath-breath of a poet, teacher, Irishman, memoirist, man about town (especially on foot and via the No. 15 bus), historian, gossip, subject of gossip and good Catholic boy-stopped short. A couple of weeks earlier, wearing his shamrock-green "O'bama" T-shirt, he said about dying, "Really, I don't worry about it. I'm very orthodox, you know. I expect an afterlife that will be much better than this one."
He didn't live as if this life was second best. His soul was fueled by the most intense history and language of two great cultures: Ireland's and America's.
He was born in Ireland, educated in its pubs and universities, and then in the '50s came to Jack Kerouac's America. After some happy wandering he found his place on Earth, and my God it was Milwaukee. He knew our streets, the lore of our parishes and saloons, the stories of barbers, bartenders, priests and writers better than we did. He left us a wonderful body of writing-endlessly musical, sassy and in love with this life and this city. Ah, James, my beamish boy, if only you were still here to enjoy it with us…
