The Death of Andy Rooney

The death of Andy Rooney saddened me greatly.

For many years, all activity at our house ceased for a few minutes while Andy was on at the end of the Sixty Minutes programs. I enjoyed Sixty Minutes a great deal, and still do, but the part I liked best was his part.

Not a week would pass when I wouldn't vocalize a little chuckle when he uttered his final pithy statements.

Once in a while Sixty Minutes would not end with A Few Minutes with Andy Rooney. I'd send a message to the show telling them how I felt.

Andy said he wouldn't respond if people wrote him. I believed him but did write a few times anyhow. He didn't respond. That was OK. I hadn't expected him to.

Through the years, I felt a strong kinship with him. Why? Not because I compared myself to him. There was no comparison. It was because we were both veterans of World War II, that we both liked to write, that we were about the same age.

He said he didn't like the idea of death. I can understand why. I feel the same way. There is so much in life to learn, to do, to enjoy, and to write about. There aren't enough hours in one lifetime to participate in all of these activities.

He is reputed to have been a curmudgeon. That was part of his charm. I don't think the appellation is true. But curmudgeon or not, it doesn't matter. I think he was a lovable person.