After serving two years in the Korean War, a young man named Frank took advantage of the GI bill and went to college. One of his first assignments at NYU was to write about a single thing from his youth. 

Frank, who had survived a miserable childhood in Limerick, Ireland, chose to write about the pitiful bed he and his four brothers had to share. The mattress had a deep sag in the middle. As soon as the boys crawled in, they rolled to the center and then fought their way to a sleeping spot. They also wet the bed, so the mattress reeked of urine and had long ago lost its spring. And then there were the fleas. 

The professor was so moved by the composition, he not only gave it an A+, he asked Frank to read it to the class. The young writer refused. “No, no,” he said. “I’d be too ashamed. They’d be too disgusted.” 

He did, however, say the professor could read it aloud if he promised not to name its author. Afterward, Frank noticed his classmates, especially the pretty girls, began to look at him differently. But none appeared disgusted. 

After graduation, Frank went on to become a teacher. But he never forgot that bed essay and the effect it had on others. Throughout his teaching career, he made notes about his horrible days in Ireland, although he wasn’t sure what, if anything, he’d ever do with the information. 

Retirement brought the answer. 

When Angela’s Ashes hit print in 1996, it climbed to the New York Times bestseller list and stayed there for 117 weeks. It also began to accumulate awards, including the Pulitzer Prize. 

At the age of 67, Frank McCourt conquered his childhood shame.