Longtime Booksmith book buyer Brian McCormick memorialized in memorable obituary

Local Obituaries

Read McCormick’s family-submitted obituary in full, via Legacy.com, below.

In an era where statues became controversial (for which he had a view), few others less need 1,000 pounds of bronze to be remembered. To have met him is to have remembered him.

Brian Francis McCormick passed away on October 22, 2024, with his wife Diane Gregory McCormick, where she’d been for the last 15 years, by his side.

A reception will be held Saturday, November 2, 2024, 2:00pm – 6:00pm at Royal India (575 S Willow St., Unit F5, Manchester, NH 03103), the site of Brian and Diane’s first date. It ended in a hospital visit. Please do ask her the story if you come.

Brian leaves behind four younger siblings, three sons, two daughters-in-law, a stepdaughter, a dozen nieces and nephews, four grandchildren, and 100 friends to fight over who made him laugh the hardest. He leaves behind an untold number of strangers who became whatever you call a stranger who makes your day. A thousand charmed grocery clerks. Every tattooed passerby told they’re a walking art piece. And even the nice young woman at that Starbucks that one time he had to apologize to. In his defense, he actually meant it as a compliment.

Brian leaves behind his colleagues at Booksmith, the New England bookstore chain he served as buyer for for over 20 years, that loved him and became his lifelong friends. That saw his tireless work ethic. That saw him find great passion in his trade, in his two decades of “remainder” crates, galleys, and publishing reps.

Brian leaves behind the patrons of The Paper Store, a New England multi-purpose retailer with a book section, who were greeted for almost 15 years by the golden retriever asking if they’d “read anything good lately?” Where his two great loves, books and human connection, combined to give them what so many across the U.S. Northeast over 76 years were left with. A memory.

And anyone he met with a backstory, which turned out to be everyone. To have met Brian is to have been canonized. To be added to his catalog of keenly observed vignettes for endless retelling. To have met Brian is to have been noticed, to have been lifted.

Brian is survived by four of his siblings and one, Sean, the one who made him laugh the hardest, who passed away in 2011. Elizabeth, who loved nothing more than to gross out her older, annoying brother. Michael, his first best friend. Annie, secretly his favorite (don’t tell Liz). And Clare, the baby.

Brian is survived by his sons. David, who was adopted by Brian at the age of 3. Whose sense of humor proved to be more McCormick than any of them and whose intellect shows that Nurture is indeed stronger. By Conor, who so resembles Brian in his love of exploration, interiority, and rejection of dogma. And by Kevin, who also just can’t stop telling men they’re handsome.

And by his wife, Diane. Who loved him the most of all.

Deeply curious, forever energetic, complicated, loving, and handsome. To have met him is to have remembered him.

In memoriam, here is a list of things he loved, in chronological order:

Yonkers, NY. The grace of Patricia Sullivan McCormick. Pee Wee Reese. The cartoons of Bernie McCormick. Saint Anthony. Riding bicycles in Thom McAns. The Capuchin friary. Latin. Leaving the Capuchin friary. Women! Van Morrison. His lifelong Capuchin friends Ed, Craig, Mark, Tom. The Band. Friends that died in Vietnam. Crossing his legs. Gun Hill Road in the Bronx. Becoming political. Running up stairs two at a time. Driving a checkered cab. The apple orchard in Contoocook, NH, Paul and Jud. Red beards and long hair. Diane Basnett, the mother to his three children. 35 Maple Drive. Being bound to Donny, Wayne, Doug, Bobby, Ron, and Keith by love and the written word. Camcorders. People with full lips. Learning to cook. His children’s sports. Lucinda Williams. “Balls” in a Brooklyn accent. Crosswords. Ken Burns’ Civil War. The Little League snack shack. Mt. Lafayette and Little Haystack. “Good name for a band.” Staying political. Spice. Carmen’s franco fighting father. Amara and Lila. Linda’s music studio. Breakfasts with Tim. Peace.

Please, no need for flowers. Go to an independent bookseller and purchase a physical book and read it and loan it to a friend and moan about how many books you’ve lent out over the years. You’d bestow him no higher honor.

This local obituary is published via Legacy.com. Want a loved one’s obituary featured on Boston.com? Submit your obituary here, or email it to [email protected].

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