Evan Hunter, aka Ed McBain, dies at 78

Con algo de retraso, reparo en la noticia. Otro grande que se nos va. En éste caso, una excelente persona con la cual tuve la dicha de compartir un momento fundamental de su vida.
Paso a explicar.
Hace muchos años, Al y yo estábamos recorriendo USA en automóvil.
Llegamos a un pueblito en Wisconsin llamado Oshkosh. Era de noche y hacía frío. Entramos entonces a un bar a reponer energías.
El bar semivacío, en penumbras, dos o tres tipos en la barra y una mujer borracha danzando al son de la rockola.
Yo fui a la barra. Al se fué con la mujer.
Era tan fea que volvió a los cinco minutos.
"Le recomendé se dedicara a fabricar ropa para niños, porque así va a destuir su vida", me dijo Al
Yo mientras había estado conversando con un vendedor de langostas llamado Salvatore Gambino. Nos bebimos tres botellas de Jim Beam. El estaba muy disconforme con su trabajo.
Le recomendé que se dedicara a la literatura y le sugerí un seudónimo "Evan Hunter".
Al otro día nos fuimos .
Nunca más volvimos a saber ni de la borracha ni del devenido escritor. (más allá de sus publicaciones)

Evan Hunter, aka Ed McBain, dies at 78


With something of delay, repairs in the news. Another great one that goes away to us.
In this one case, an excellent person with who I had the happiness to share a little while fundamental of its life.
Step to explain.
Many years ago, Al and I were crossing the USA in automobile. We arrived at a pueblito in called Wisconsin Oshkosh. It was at night and it was cold.
We entered then a bar to replace energies. The half-empty bar, in penumbrae, two or three types in the bar and a drunk woman dancing to are of the rockola.
I went to the bar. Al fué with the woman.
She was so ugly that he returned to the five minutes. "I recommended dedicated herself to make clothes for children, because this way she is going to destroy her life", he said me Al.
I while there was been talking with a salesman of lobsters called Salvatore Gambino. We drank three bottles of Jim Beam. He was very disconforme with its work. I recommended to him that it was dedicated to Literature and I suggested a pseudonym to him "Evan Hunter".
To the other day we left. More we never returned to know neither of the drunkard nor of the happened writer (beyond its publications)