Harry Anderson has died. I first met him through our mutual friend Turk Pipkin, and we became friendly during my coverage of post-Katrina New Orleans, where he owned a bar, Oswald's, and tried to help the city recover. variety.com/2018/tv/news/h…
Oswald's was where I'd hang out after knocking off from my day's reporting. Harry had made his club a hangout for magicians. He performed there, astonishing tricks and feats of mental agility. After hours, he was good company. I did not always walk steadily back to my hotel.
In the early days after the storm, he turned the bar into a gathering place for people desperate to rebuild the city. nytimes.com/2006/02/18/art…
But the pace of recovery, the daily struggle, ground Harry and Elizabeth, his wife, down. Depression crept in on them. They decided to leave. nytimes.com/2006/08/30/art…
In the years since then, we'd check in every once in a while, but not often enough. His email was "harrythehat"—the name of the charming grifter he'd played on Cheers. 
Just looked through some of the old emails. After the first story ran, he wrote, "The story was great fun. Since it ran, no one has asked to borrow money, though I've had two offers for my mom and my mouth was washed out by a nun! (I think it was a nun. It is Mardi Gras...)"
Anyway, Harry left New Orleans, and now he's left us all. I'll miss him. My condolences to Elizabeth.
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