by Jake Lorenzo
Jul 2010 Issue of Wine Business Monthly
I first met Jim McCullough in 1984. He was imposing, well over six feet tall, with a deep sonorous voice that rumbled out of his Irish physique with a somber vibration that belied his wonderful sense of humor. Raised in Philadelphia, his family lived across the street from the Catholic Church where his mother cared for the priests. His sister became a nun, and Jim even studied in seminary. Alas, his love of ladies and the good life seduced him away from heavenly pursuits. Influenced by his upbri...
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