my few minutes with Andy Rooney:
I WAS LOOKING OUT OF MY BEDROOM WINDOW ONTO WEST 44TH STREET...
AT THE INFANTRY OF OF A MOVIE LOCATION - TECHNICIANS, GRIPS, AND Actors and drivers were everywhere; trailers jammed the side of the street; a horse pretending to be a member of The New York City's Mounted Police Unit whinnied in an improvised corral. I could see Jerry Orbach, who would soon be playing Detective Lennie Brisco signing an autograph for a young a man with a big grin on his face before his scene began. Next to Orbach was another actor named Benjamin Bratt, who would become Detective Rey Curtis. They were shooting a scene for a television show called Law and Order. Orbach looked pleased. Bratt appeared to be bored. All of this was taking place while several students from The Actor's Studio on West 44th stood behind a rather large rope with the actress Shelly Winters at their side. They were all eating apples and talking and laughing with a beautiful actress by the name of Angie Harmon, who played A.D.A Abbie Carmichael on the show.
A sight like this was not unusual in the City of New York.
In looking back in memory of those past days, these remembrances are but a reminder of what was once lived in the present tense; of seeing the rich and famous while strolling down 6th Avenue or sipping morning coffee at a deli on West 43rd Street and browsing through books at Barnes and Noble up on East 86th Street. Glimpses of the famous come naturally in the City of New York. I once spotted the two actors Richard Harris and Peter O'Toole playing billiards at The Failete Irish Whiskey Bar on 2nd Avenue and 30th surrounded with gnarled wood furniture and high-beamed ceilings and having what looked to be a wonderful time, laughing as they discussed Richard's latest role as English Bob in Clint Eastwood's film, The Unforgiven; had a delightful but brief conversation with the beautiful Australian model and actress Elle Macpherson as she was waiting on one sunny afternoon hailing a cab in front of The Calvin Klein Headquarters on West 39th Street; stood in line at Ray's Pizza on 9th Avenue and 22nd Street between Richard Gere and Tuesday Weld, as Bianca Jagger was heading out the door with a slice of peperoni in her hand; and shared a taxi in complete shock and utter silence on East 72nd Street during a major snowstorm when Catherine Zeta Jones and Micheal Douglas had hailed a cab with me because there were very few cabs available at midnight in the blizzard blanketing the city...
...And then there was the former war correspondent from Albany, New York, who once wrote for Stars and Stripes from London during World War Two, and was now employed by CBS News as a weekly commentator on 60 Minutes, always sitting behind a walnut table which he made himself, as he commented about everyday issues like annoying relatives, faulty Christmas presents, sports mascots and bottled water brands, along with the recent headlines and the people he admired or wasn't all that fond of, on the program entitled A Few Minutes with Andy Rooney...
...He was eating what the menu called called the '2 Steak Breakfast with Anger' and reading The New York Daily News at the Hudson Eatery on West 57th Street early on a Monday morning when I happened to walk in. There was no other seat available, so I sat down next to him. Without looking up, he said, I don't want you staring at me. Makes me feel uncomfortable and itchy. Too many gawkies in this damned town for my taste and all they want are god damned autographs signed and most of them don't know exactly who I am! With that, he took a sip of coffee, then added, All I am is a writer who accidentally appeared on television. That's about it and it's no big deal. So I'd appreciate it if you don't talk to me while I'm eating my breakfast, if that's OK with you...He then went back to reading the newspaper.
His full name, the one he was born with, was Aitken "Andy" Rooney. He was originally from Albany, New York. Born in 1919, he had flown with the Eighth Air Force during bombing raids over Germany in World War Two. Later, he was one of the first journalists to visit concentration camps near the end of the war and was the first journalist to write about them. He joined CBS in 1949 as a writer for Arthur Godfrey's Talent Scouts, went to The Gary Moore Show, and wrote his first essay for 60 Minutes in 1964. On the day I met him on that cold winter morning of 1990, he had just turned 70 and had recently returned to 60 Minutes after a 3 month suspension by CBS New President David Burke for having said that there were too many homosexual unions, too much food, and too many cigarettes in America which would lead to premature death. Viewership immediately dropped by 20 percent, and management th0ught it was in the best interest of the network to bring Andy back.
He looked at me as he laid the folded newspaper on the counter top and said, Who are you? I told him my name. What do you do for a living? I informed him I was a writer, that I'd had 2 stage plays produced in London and New York, 1 book published, written numerous articles for various magazines, and that I was currently employed at a 2 year college called Interboro Institute where I taught writing. He asked: Why haven't I heard of you? I quickly replied Because I've apparently not been as irritable and crotchey as you are. By the look on his face it was obvious to me that my retort was not nearly as astute and witty as I thought it had been, and it took awhile before he asked: That's the college on West 57th, right? he finally asked. I said, Yes. The one for ghetto kids on Pell Grants? Again, I said, Yes. Why? he asked. Why what? I replied. Why do you teach down-and-out kids? And I answered: Because they need someone to teach them, and I'm all they've got. He smiled and said, That's a very good way to shape your experience as a writer.
He then turned to a discussion of his own family: His wife "Margie" and four children, Ellen, Emily, Martha, and Brian. There has never been a writer who didn't hope that in some small way he was doing good with the words he put down on paper, and I've always had in my mind that I was always doing some little bit of good, and when my family says I have, it means more to me than any Emmy I've won or any other award. If you're teaching these kids to take pride in what they write, then you've done right-by-them and their families, as well.
He suddenly stood-up, pulled his wallet out of his pant pocket, picked up my ticket on what I owed for breakfast, then said: Let me pay for your breakfast. OK? I looked up at him: Why? He smiled and answered: Writing is an honorable profession. Teaching is equally so. You're doing both. Keep it up. He smiled. It's time for me to go and put on the persona of the cantankerous old old grouch. It's what I get paid the big-bucks to do. He paused and gave me a smile before he added: Give yourself a shot at practicing a scowl and sneer and growl in the mirror. Maybe you can take my place when I retire...
...He then paid the bill, walked out the restaurant door, and disappeared from view as he made his way down West 57th and headed in the direction of CBS on West 52nd...
...And I know of no other city where something like that could have happened other than in the City of New York...
A sight like this was not unusual in the City of New York.
In looking back in memory of those past days, these remembrances are but a reminder of what was once lived in the present tense; of seeing the rich and famous while strolling down 6th Avenue or sipping morning coffee at a deli on West 43rd Street and browsing through books at Barnes and Noble up on East 86th Street. Glimpses of the famous come naturally in the City of New York. I once spotted the two actors Richard Harris and Peter O'Toole playing billiards at The Failete Irish Whiskey Bar on 2nd Avenue and 30th surrounded with gnarled wood furniture and high-beamed ceilings and having what looked to be a wonderful time, laughing as they discussed Richard's latest role as English Bob in Clint Eastwood's film, The Unforgiven; had a delightful but brief conversation with the beautiful Australian model and actress Elle Macpherson as she was waiting on one sunny afternoon hailing a cab in front of The Calvin Klein Headquarters on West 39th Street; stood in line at Ray's Pizza on 9th Avenue and 22nd Street between Richard Gere and Tuesday Weld, as Bianca Jagger was heading out the door with a slice of peperoni in her hand; and shared a taxi in complete shock and utter silence on East 72nd Street during a major snowstorm when Catherine Zeta Jones and Micheal Douglas had hailed a cab with me because there were very few cabs available at midnight in the blizzard blanketing the city...
...And then there was the former war correspondent from Albany, New York, who once wrote for Stars and Stripes from London during World War Two, and was now employed by CBS News as a weekly commentator on 60 Minutes, always sitting behind a walnut table which he made himself, as he commented about everyday issues like annoying relatives, faulty Christmas presents, sports mascots and bottled water brands, along with the recent headlines and the people he admired or wasn't all that fond of, on the program entitled A Few Minutes with Andy Rooney...
...He was eating what the menu called called the '2 Steak Breakfast with Anger' and reading The New York Daily News at the Hudson Eatery on West 57th Street early on a Monday morning when I happened to walk in. There was no other seat available, so I sat down next to him. Without looking up, he said, I don't want you staring at me. Makes me feel uncomfortable and itchy. Too many gawkies in this damned town for my taste and all they want are god damned autographs signed and most of them don't know exactly who I am! With that, he took a sip of coffee, then added, All I am is a writer who accidentally appeared on television. That's about it and it's no big deal. So I'd appreciate it if you don't talk to me while I'm eating my breakfast, if that's OK with you...He then went back to reading the newspaper.
His full name, the one he was born with, was Aitken "Andy" Rooney. He was originally from Albany, New York. Born in 1919, he had flown with the Eighth Air Force during bombing raids over Germany in World War Two. Later, he was one of the first journalists to visit concentration camps near the end of the war and was the first journalist to write about them. He joined CBS in 1949 as a writer for Arthur Godfrey's Talent Scouts, went to The Gary Moore Show, and wrote his first essay for 60 Minutes in 1964. On the day I met him on that cold winter morning of 1990, he had just turned 70 and had recently returned to 60 Minutes after a 3 month suspension by CBS New President David Burke for having said that there were too many homosexual unions, too much food, and too many cigarettes in America which would lead to premature death. Viewership immediately dropped by 20 percent, and management th0ught it was in the best interest of the network to bring Andy back.
He looked at me as he laid the folded newspaper on the counter top and said, Who are you? I told him my name. What do you do for a living? I informed him I was a writer, that I'd had 2 stage plays produced in London and New York, 1 book published, written numerous articles for various magazines, and that I was currently employed at a 2 year college called Interboro Institute where I taught writing. He asked: Why haven't I heard of you? I quickly replied Because I've apparently not been as irritable and crotchey as you are. By the look on his face it was obvious to me that my retort was not nearly as astute and witty as I thought it had been, and it took awhile before he asked: That's the college on West 57th, right? he finally asked. I said, Yes. The one for ghetto kids on Pell Grants? Again, I said, Yes. Why? he asked. Why what? I replied. Why do you teach down-and-out kids? And I answered: Because they need someone to teach them, and I'm all they've got. He smiled and said, That's a very good way to shape your experience as a writer.
He then turned to a discussion of his own family: His wife "Margie" and four children, Ellen, Emily, Martha, and Brian. There has never been a writer who didn't hope that in some small way he was doing good with the words he put down on paper, and I've always had in my mind that I was always doing some little bit of good, and when my family says I have, it means more to me than any Emmy I've won or any other award. If you're teaching these kids to take pride in what they write, then you've done right-by-them and their families, as well.
He suddenly stood-up, pulled his wallet out of his pant pocket, picked up my ticket on what I owed for breakfast, then said: Let me pay for your breakfast. OK? I looked up at him: Why? He smiled and answered: Writing is an honorable profession. Teaching is equally so. You're doing both. Keep it up. He smiled. It's time for me to go and put on the persona of the cantankerous old old grouch. It's what I get paid the big-bucks to do. He paused and gave me a smile before he added: Give yourself a shot at practicing a scowl and sneer and growl in the mirror. Maybe you can take my place when I retire...
...He then paid the bill, walked out the restaurant door, and disappeared from view as he made his way down West 57th and headed in the direction of CBS on West 52nd...
...And I know of no other city where something like that could have happened other than in the City of New York...
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