Barry Crimmins

Reading Laura Jacobs' homage to Julia Child, I couldn't help but feel a tad of shame for my long ago participation in a predawn incident with my old pal, Lenny Clarke.

Here is how I told the story in my book Never Shake Hands With A War Criminal (available from 4¢ on Amazon's electronic sweatshop -- unsigned additions slightly more expensive)

One evening Lenny and I had been practicing our drinking until the microscopic hours of the morning. We summoned our good friend and personal Green Cab driver Edward "Trigger" Burke to take us in search of breakfast. Lenny said that he knew just the place, and a few minutes later we pulled up on a side street just outside of Harvard Square. He ordered me out of the cab, and I followed him up the walk of one of the posh homes. There wasn't a light on in the place. "Where the hell are we?" I asked.
Lenny said, "We're at someone's home who would just loooove cooking us some breakfast." And with that he began pounding on the door and yelling, "Get up! We want some eggs!" Sure enough, lights came on and after a commotion, two snarling dogs, German shepherds I think, came tearing toward the door.

With that, Lenny turned tail and sprinted back to the cab. I matched him stride for stride and dove in just as Ed stood on the pedal so hard that both our doors closed from the resulting massive rout of inertia. Lenny was howling with laughter. He finally composed himself enough to say, "Jesus Christ, you'd think fucking Julia Child would enjoy doing a little cooking."