Last week, television’s most popular, crabby old man
passed away. It was a great loss for me. Andy Rooney was my
favorite commentator and I liked to think of him as my mentor.
When
he first began writing his “essays,” he used
his full name on book jackets and various TV listings — Andrew
A. Rooney. As his popularity increased and we all grew to
admire and love him, he became just plain Andy, an icon and
the most
popular curmudgeon on TV.
Andy
joined 60 Minutes in 1978 and was often the driving force
of the Sunday evening show. His admirers were so adamantly
dedicated to his segment (which was very brief), when it
was
suspended for a controversial statement he made, the show’s
ratings plunged. He was supposed to be off for three months
but after a few weeks of poor ratings, CBS reversed its
decision and reinstated him. No matter what he said after
that, his
segment was never taken off the air.
Andy
was able to understand how – and why — the
average person would be amused, irritated or entertained by
an odd subject or object. His brief essays always hit the mark: “Why
is there so much cotton and so little content in so many
bottles?”
His questions would start a discussion around many coffee shops
and kitchen tables. I know I always wondered about that one.
Andy would often draw out thoughts, and in many cases, ideas
from our minds.
Anyone
who watched Andy’s segment would note how he made
comments they would have made themselves. It was as though
he were reading minds; he was that in tune with everyone. One
thing I always admired about him was he resisted giving in
to the world of electronics. He often repeated how he loved
his old Underwood and said it was all he needed to do his work.
Andy could find no great accomplishment in the electronics,
saying, “How could they put so much in such
small devices which makes them hard to read, hear
or use.”
After being forced to put a computer on his desk he still lamented
the loss of his old typewriter.
During
Andy’s last interview on 60 Minutes,
we learned he had a tender side to his seemingly
crabby
nature. He
told Morley Safer he was so saddened by the loss
of his wife Margie
he could hardly speak of her, saying that she
took a great deal of his spirit with her.
It
was amazing to me the extent of TV coverage Andy’s
passing elicited as all the major networks
paid tribute to him.
They acknowledged to their viewers how great his popularity
was.
As
I see it, we can all agree with what his daughter said during
an interview with Gail
Shister: “People got my dad. They
knew who he was. He wasn’t some crank who went on “60
Minutes” once a week, he was ‘everyman.’”
Many
of my readers know of my respect and admiration for Andy’s
work; some even refer to my “Andy Rooney flavor” when
corresponding with me. I hope to continue
writing with an Andy flavor but at no
time will I ever
get even
close to
his astute
ability to read human nature.
I
sure will miss Andy, perhaps so much I’ll stop watching “60
minutes.” I have four of his
books in my library, though, and look
forward
to reading
through them
whenever I need
a curmudgeon fix.