I read recently that they are reintroducing Tasmanian devils into mainland Australia, a carnivorous marsupial so renowned that it even became a character in Looney Tunes cartoons. This would please the late Errol Flynn, from Tasmania, who liked to consider himself a bit of a Tasmanian devil. He lived a wild life and fulfilled one of his own quoted dictums: “I intend to live the first half of my life. I don’t care about the rest.” He died at fifty. A genuine adventurer and roustabout even before he became a movie star, his ghost-written autobiography “My Wicked, Wicked Ways” is a rollicking read. Of his film career, Flynn said: “I felt like an impostor, taking all that money for reciting ten or twelve lines of nonsense a day.” He spent it, too. “Any man,” said Flynn, “who dies with more than $10,000 to his name is a failure.” In obeisance to that odd precept, Flynn led a life so ribald and free-wheeling that he more than earned the immortality inherent in the complimentary depiction “in like Flynn.”
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