I first glimpsed him in the lobby before the ceremony in February 2008, just a face in the crowd gathered before the show in the three-story lobby of the Kodak Theatre, where Champagne flutes were being clinked by the beautiful and powerful in anticipation of Hollywood’s biggest night. At first, I wasn’t sure it was really him. A woman’s voice on the sound system announced that there were 45 minutes before the start of the telecast. Soon after that, I lost sight of him.
McCarthy first appeared to be sitting by himself, but as I drew closer I saw he had a companion: his young son,. They had been seated about four rows from the front. One crew worker walked by and shook McCarthy’s hand, and the author seemed genuinely pleased to chat. Part of me thought I should leave him be.in its interview 15 years before this night, described him as a “gregarious recluse” who “has lots of friends who know that he likes to be left alone.
I approached and said that I was a reporter, but not one who wanted to interview him. He smiled, stood up, and shook my hand. “What’s your name?” he asked, and I told him. “Bresnahan?” he asked. “Is that Irish?”Momentarily unable to remember the order of the letters in my own name, I looked at my credential. He said, “Isn’t it interesting how it could sound so much like the Irish name“Is this your son?” I asked, leaning over to wave at the little boy.