There’s a heartfelt compliment I always meant to give Molly, but never got around to it: Lady, you’re even more piss than vinegar.
I’ve read Molly’s work almost my whole adult life, but I met her only a few times. They were in the late 1970s, when we walked our dogs together in Lincoln Park in Albany (N.Y.). I was working for the local paper; Mol was working for The New York Times. My dog was named Augie. Her dog was named Shit. I knew immediately this was a woman to be loved and feared.
Gene Weingartern writes for The Washington Post.