When I visited Harry Crews in Gainesville in 2008, he pointed at the tile floor on one side of his front door. "That's where my last dog died, a few years ago."
Then he pointed to the other side of the door. "And that's where I tried to die myself right afterward." He blinked a couple of times. "Blood is terrible to clean up. I had to hire a crew to do it."
Mr. Crews, novelist, journalist and teacher, chronicler of ruin and redemption in the hard side of the South, died in Gainesville on Wednesday. He was 76.
His ex-wife, Sally Ellis Crews, told the Associated Press on Thursday that the cause was complications of neuropathy, a nerve disorder. "He had been very ill. In a way it was kind of a blessing. He was in a lot of pain."
In addition to Ellis Crews, he is survived by a son, Byron. Another son, Patrick, died in childhood.
Born in Bacon County, Ga., to a sharecropper family, Mr. Crews survived polio at age 5 and a fall into a vat of boiling water at a hog butchering at age 6 — both of which he described in A Childhood: The Biography of a Place (1978), one of the finest, and most harrowing, American memoirs in the later half of the 20th century.
Mr. Crews served as a Marine during the Korean War and was the light-heavyweight boxing champion of its 1st Division. In 1956 he enrolled at the University of Florida to study writing; he had been writing stories for as long as he could remember, he often said in interviews.
He joined the UF creative writing faculty in 1968, the same year he published his first novel, The Gospel Singer. Set in Enigma, Ga., it recounts the fate of a faith healer and the maimed, blind and sick who seek his help — just the first of 16 novels he would publish about characters crippled in body and soul, whom he treated with savage honesty and tender regard.
He taught writing at UF for 30 years, intimidating and inspiring several generations of students with his performances in and out of the classroom. He was a legendary wild man whose drink- and drug-fueled escapades were often marked by violence.
"People do like to exaggerate about me," Mr. Crews said in 2008. "But I don't care. Hell, I was drunk every day for 30 years. I drank with both hands. But I wrote every day."
In addition to novels, he published his memoir, many short stories and novellas, and hundreds of magazine articles, ranging from a piece for Playboy on the Alaska oil pipeline to one for Fame magazine about accompanying Madonna to a Mike Tyson fight.
When I visited him, he was still rising at 2 a.m. every day to work on the second volume of his memoirs.
"I won't finish it," he said.
A literary descendant of William Faulkner, Flannery O'Connor and Erskine Caldwell, Mr. Crews was the most influential practitioner of the literary genre known variously as grit lit, Southern Gothic and rough South, a style that echoes in the work of writers as various as Hunter S. Thompson and Cormac McCarthy.
Mr. Crews' fiction, teeming with rattlesnakes and pitbulls, violence and spiritual quests, profane humor and strange sex, put off many readers and critics but also earned a passionate following in the 1970s and '80s.
Now, many of his books are out of print, although, his ex-wife said, he was negotiating e-book editions.
No services are planned, according to the family.
For decades, Mr. Crews had sported a highly visible tattoo on his right arm, a skull over the last lines from E.E. Cummings' poem Buffalo Bill's defunct:
Times files and wires were used in this report. Colette Bancroft can be reached at [email protected] or (727) 893-8435.