Michael Ledwidge, James Patterson’s right hand author
Now 39 and living outside Hartford in Connecticut, Ledwidge used to play there with his brother back in the eighties. But since those days he’s come as far from his origins as it’s possible to get.
Nowadays Ledwidge works alongside the most successful author in the world, thriller writer James Patterson, a one-man publishing industry who has roped in untold millions courtesy of his legions of fans.
As the co-author of a series of some of Patterson’s most profitable books to date, Ledwidge has risen from an admired but, it’s fair to say, mostly unread author, to co-writing some of the most widely read books in the world. He’s made real money doing it too, enough to change his life completely.
But before we get to how he made his fortune, there’s his background in the Bronx and his days at Gaelic Park.
“We were in the Rangers team from the age of 10 till about 16. The scene up there was great fun at the time. Sometimes they’d have dances and we’d go.
“My mom and dad would bring us there for the annual dance at the park, too. I was always pretty well behaved. I was a good boy -- write that down!”
Before his life was transformed by good fortune equal to a once in a lifetime lottery win, Ledwidge had a very typical Irish American upbringing, which included a mandatory summer spent in Ireland.
“I traveled there when I was 14 and I stayed in Leitrim for most of summer. I thought it was going to be a vacation, but I ended up working on my relative’s cattle farm. There was a lot of waking up at 5 a.m.
“That summer I drove around the place with these two older guys named Seamus and Michael who were cattle inspectors. We spent the summer driving around the whole county playing the ‘Fields of Athenry’ over and over on a tape deck everywhere we went.”
Ledwidge then moved on to Cavan to stay with his cousins who were also farmers but who lived closer to the town.
“All the kids wanted to meet the Yank. They didn’t seem too impressed. But there was a whole gang of them and we hung around. It was a lot of fun,” he recalls.
“One of the things I really liked was that people would come by and ring the doorbell of my Aunt Josephine’s house. It would be nine o’clock at night and someone would pop in and say, ‘How is everybody, let’s play cards.’ And they’d play till 11 at night. If someone rang your doorbell in the Bronx you wouldn’t be invited to stay, that’s for sure.”