Byron-Bergen High School Drama Club - Bergen, NY
South Sioux City High School Speech Team - South Sioux CIty, NE
Friend of the Author - Stamford, CT
Sublette School Dist 9 - Big Piney, WY
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Farewell to my neighbor, Andy Rooney
When my wife and I moved into our home in Rowayton 30 years ago, we were already fans of 60 Minutes, and Andy Rooney. Anyone who moves into this section of Norwalk quickly finds out that Andy Rooney lives here - although you weren't very likely to run into him. Soon after we came to town, Andy's segment on 60 Minutes began alternating with "Point Counterpoint" and eventually replaced it. I became a big fan of his commentaries. Maybe it was because he was a hometown celeb - but honestly, I don't think that had anything to do with it. Andy just said things that I wished I had.
Over the years I had a few chance sightings of Andy on the commuter train, scuttling quickly off in his trademark orthopedic style shoes. I also had some more personal interactions. In little snippets I learned more about Andy, the man, who lived with his wife in the big house on one of the busiest corners in town I discovered Andy loved kids, when I brought my son to his door on Halloween. He invited him and his friends in, gave them treats, and really seemed interested in their costumes.
When Keep America Beautiful was one of the clients at the ad agency where I worked, I decided they needed Andy to do a radio campaign about why on earth people wouldn't recycle. I sent Andy a proposal, which he graciously declined, because "In spite of being asked by many good organizations, like your own, I have consistently declined to do public service announcements. While they are not commercials, anyone doing them loses some of his editorial independence." I wrote the spots anyway, channeling Andy's attitude, instead of using his voice.
A big fan of his book, My War, my wife and I went to a talk he was giving to benefit the town elementary school. After the talk, I approached him and did the unthinkable. I asked him to autograph a slip of paper which I intended to later stick in my copy of the book. Andy has often called people who do this "idiots." He patently refused to sign scraps of paper, because he believed they would end up stuffed in pants pockets and washing machines. But after declining my request, he said, "Put the book in my mailbox and I'll sign it."
The next day, I showed up at his house. Andy's mailbox is not convenient. It's not a roadside box, it's on his porch, which is an uphill trek from the street. Parking at his house is not an easy task either. As I mentioned, he lived on one of the town's busiest intersections. I parked my car illegally, then climbed the hill to the house I had so proudly pointed out to many of my friends and relatives over the years. I stuck the book in the mailbox, then high tailed it back to my car, fearing the wrath of Rooney.
Over the next few days, I agonized over going back to collect the book. How many days should I give him? If he signed it right away, would he be annoyed that I hadn't come to pick it up? Finally, I decided four days was long enough, and once again I illegally parked my car, and headed up to the casa Rooney. Once on his porch, I gingerly opened the mailbox. Surely this was a federal crime. The box was empty. Oh, well. I had given it my best. Just as I was about to run back to my car, the front door opened. "May I help you?" I turned to find Andy's wife. I explained my predicament, and apologized for the intrusion. She demanded that I come inside, while she cleared this up. I sat nervously in the kitchen, as she looked around for the book, which she assured me Andy had signed. Finally, she did something amazing. She picked up the phone and called Andy at CBS. There was a brief discussion about the circumstances, then she hung up, headed into another room and returned triumphantly with the book. She muttered something about hating when Andy left her with these unfinished tasks, then sent my on my way. In my car, I opened the treasure. Scrawled on one of the opening pages was "To Frank Izzo. Andy Rooney 2001" That was it. I felt his pain in doing it. Every letter seemed to scream "idiot." But I was a happy idiot.
My last personal encounter with Mr. Rooney, not much long after the book signing, revealed another aspect of his personality. One day I was walking our bulldog Bartleby through the tiny downtown village of Rowayton. As I walked, I noticed a vehicle moving very slowly alongside me, the way people do when they're about to ask you for directions. Finally the car pulled up a few yards in front of me, halfway blocking the road. The driver's door swung open, and a small figure emerged. It was Andy. He didn't even look at me. He just began declaring merrily "I brake for bulldogs! I brake for bulldogs!" Then he asked what my bulldog's name was, and proceeded to give him a proper rubdown for a solid minute. He informed me that he had a bulldog that he loved, then turned around, hobbled back into his car and drove off, allowing the traffic flow in the village to return to normal.
I will miss Andy's segments on "60 Minutes." I will miss not having him as a neighbor. But I will resist the urge to overly eulogize him or be overly sentimental about his passing. I agree with what was said on CBS Sunday Morning today - that Andy would probably have an opinion about eulogies - something like - what good is all that praise, when the person is not around to hear it?
Over the years I had a few chance sightings of Andy on the commuter train, scuttling quickly off in his trademark orthopedic style shoes. I also had some more personal interactions. In little snippets I learned more about Andy, the man, who lived with his wife in the big house on one of the busiest corners in town I discovered Andy loved kids, when I brought my son to his door on Halloween. He invited him and his friends in, gave them treats, and really seemed interested in their costumes.
When Keep America Beautiful was one of the clients at the ad agency where I worked, I decided they needed Andy to do a radio campaign about why on earth people wouldn't recycle. I sent Andy a proposal, which he graciously declined, because "In spite of being asked by many good organizations, like your own, I have consistently declined to do public service announcements. While they are not commercials, anyone doing them loses some of his editorial independence." I wrote the spots anyway, channeling Andy's attitude, instead of using his voice.
A big fan of his book, My War, my wife and I went to a talk he was giving to benefit the town elementary school. After the talk, I approached him and did the unthinkable. I asked him to autograph a slip of paper which I intended to later stick in my copy of the book. Andy has often called people who do this "idiots." He patently refused to sign scraps of paper, because he believed they would end up stuffed in pants pockets and washing machines. But after declining my request, he said, "Put the book in my mailbox and I'll sign it."
The next day, I showed up at his house. Andy's mailbox is not convenient. It's not a roadside box, it's on his porch, which is an uphill trek from the street. Parking at his house is not an easy task either. As I mentioned, he lived on one of the town's busiest intersections. I parked my car illegally, then climbed the hill to the house I had so proudly pointed out to many of my friends and relatives over the years. I stuck the book in the mailbox, then high tailed it back to my car, fearing the wrath of Rooney.
Over the next few days, I agonized over going back to collect the book. How many days should I give him? If he signed it right away, would he be annoyed that I hadn't come to pick it up? Finally, I decided four days was long enough, and once again I illegally parked my car, and headed up to the casa Rooney. Once on his porch, I gingerly opened the mailbox. Surely this was a federal crime. The box was empty. Oh, well. I had given it my best. Just as I was about to run back to my car, the front door opened. "May I help you?" I turned to find Andy's wife. I explained my predicament, and apologized for the intrusion. She demanded that I come inside, while she cleared this up. I sat nervously in the kitchen, as she looked around for the book, which she assured me Andy had signed. Finally, she did something amazing. She picked up the phone and called Andy at CBS. There was a brief discussion about the circumstances, then she hung up, headed into another room and returned triumphantly with the book. She muttered something about hating when Andy left her with these unfinished tasks, then sent my on my way. In my car, I opened the treasure. Scrawled on one of the opening pages was "To Frank Izzo. Andy Rooney 2001" That was it. I felt his pain in doing it. Every letter seemed to scream "idiot." But I was a happy idiot.
My last personal encounter with Mr. Rooney, not much long after the book signing, revealed another aspect of his personality. One day I was walking our bulldog Bartleby through the tiny downtown village of Rowayton. As I walked, I noticed a vehicle moving very slowly alongside me, the way people do when they're about to ask you for directions. Finally the car pulled up a few yards in front of me, halfway blocking the road. The driver's door swung open, and a small figure emerged. It was Andy. He didn't even look at me. He just began declaring merrily "I brake for bulldogs! I brake for bulldogs!" Then he asked what my bulldog's name was, and proceeded to give him a proper rubdown for a solid minute. He informed me that he had a bulldog that he loved, then turned around, hobbled back into his car and drove off, allowing the traffic flow in the village to return to normal.
I will miss Andy's segments on "60 Minutes." I will miss not having him as a neighbor. But I will resist the urge to overly eulogize him or be overly sentimental about his passing. I agree with what was said on CBS Sunday Morning today - that Andy would probably have an opinion about eulogies - something like - what good is all that praise, when the person is not around to hear it?
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Prairie Home Companion "Beaver Manure" excerpt
Saw the show live last week from St. Paul while visiting Jesse
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Mt. Olympus Coffee Shop.
My 10 minute play about a Greek Diner run by actual Greek gods, published and produced
http://www.hitplays.com/default.aspx?pg=sd&st=MT.+OLYMPUS+COFFEE+SHOP&p=3364
http://www.hitplays.com/default.aspx?pg=sd&st=MT.+OLYMPUS+COFFEE+SHOP&p=3364
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Monday, May 30, 2011
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Sunday, January 2, 2011
New Year
Well, it seems after 10 days straight with bronchitis, at least the lungs on my squeezebox are operating relatively well. Let's all hope for a happy, healthy new year.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)