To those who live in Pittsburgh (or are from Pittsburgh), you know what the death of Myron Cope means. To my non-Pittsburgh friends, the only way to get a flavor of what Myron Cope is about is to hear that crazy voice. It's insane.
It reminds me of a string of wet sponges; it reminds me of tattered washing on the line; it reminds me of stale bean soup, of college yells, of dogs barking idiotically through endless nights. It is so bad that a sort of grandeur creeps into it. It drags itself out of the dark abysm…of pish, and crawls insanely up to the topmost pinnacle of posh. It is rumble and bumble. It is flap and doodle. It is balder and dash.
-H.L. Mencken
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