Five Minutes With Andy Rooney

Five minutes with Andy Rooney

A Life Goal Fulfilled

By Sandra Davis

Fort Lauderdale, FL. (February 4, 2010) ---I spotted Mr. Rooney immediately — the untamed shock of white hair, those wild eyebrows sporting a separate personality — when he walked in for dinner at the historic, waterfront, 15^th Street Fisheries Restaurant; in town for Super Bowl XLIV, (Latin speak for #44).

It seemed to take a while for diners to be aware of him, and then a hushed acknowledgement of the beloved, national treasure of essay journalism engulfed the large dining room.

Discreetly observing him from a distance while chatting with friends, I noticed, not one restaurant guest approached his table to ask him for his autograph; I was silently proud of our hometown folks for leaving him be.

Still, when he left the restaurant, I had to do it, my reporter muse made me do it: I deliberately walked out after him.

Mr. Rooney has always been at the top of my short list of wanting-to-meet journalism greats. To me, he embodied America, what is good about our country and said what is bad--he certainly took a no holds bared approach when something irritated him.

He was outside near the valet entrance, waiting delivery for what I thought was a rental car. Only humongous sized cars were arriving and departing, so, this didn’t make a bit of sense because none of these vehicles would fit him physically; he is a diminutive man.

I decided to approach him and then wait right along with him, for whatever type of transportation had been arranged; I even thought of offering to drop him off somewhere.

“Mr. Rooney, I asked?” preparing myself for a fuss-budget, acknowledgement, similar to his on-air persona. “Yes, he answered, and turned to me with a sweet, non- curmudgeon smile, “Hello, I said, Welcome to Fort Lauderdale, how are you, sir? “Umm, do you work here, he asked?” In one breathe I said--“No- sir, I –am- a- freelance- writer, live-up-the-street, and- have- been- an- admirer- of- you- for- many- years. “

“Oh, he said with a grin, not- missing- a- beat at age 91, “under employed”? (Who better to know the current state of freelance journalism?) I had to laugh.

Geeze, I said, “You sound just like my father”. He smiled broadly, and those troll doll eyebrows... they sprang up into his forehead and seemingly stayed there.

Page 2-Rooney

“Well, yes, I continued, freelance travel writing has hit a low these past few years; part and parcel of the economy; print and online assignments have been spotty.”

“...and you have worked for?” I gave him the litany of top-tier travel publications, which seemed to pique his interest in this interloper-- for a moment.

He seemed rumpled, fatigued and full from dinner, leaning heavily against a wooden handrail next to the restaurant’s exotic, Coy fish pond; ready for the ordered cab with neon white light that could now be seen speeding down the street toward us.

My parting words to this sweet, polite, old-school gentleman: “You have been my Sunday night forever—thank you sir, for your unequivocal, candid reporting over the years. “

He seemed surprised at my statement, then, looking directly at me, with eyes larger than they seem on screen; he smiled and said with enthusiasm, “Why, thank you very much!”

How I wish there had been the time... to talk about his “Stars and Stripes,” writing days during WW II,

the fabulous, journalism brotherhood of: Maxwell Perkins, (editor to Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald and Thomas Wolfe), Jimmy Breslin, Ben Bradlee, Charles Karult; Walter Cronkite, his renowned “60 Minutes” producer Don Hewitt; (both colleague-friends passed away last year)...his new book, and had wished him a happy, belated 91 st birthday; however, my five- lucky- minutes with the great, elder, American essayist was up.

I am thrilled to have met him; savoring every second with this journalism favorite of millions; my never miss on Sunday night’s CBS, “60 minutes” from 1968 to present day...

Fair winds and blue skies, dear Mr. Rooney...

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