Dear Andy Rooney:

 

I never knew the strapping young lad who, with great reluctance, joined the military during World War II.  I never knew the young lad who was opposed to that war until he got there and saw the carnage that was beginning to blanket the world.  I never knew the young lad who decided that maybe the war was indeed justified.

I never knew the man who put up with and wrote for Arthur Godfrey (who even I knew from pouring through books as a most difficult man).   Still, you managed to spin a joke or two as a professional writer would and did in those days.

I never knew the man, the writer, who wrote and produced for Harry Reasoner but I wish I did.  I have seen the old broadcasts and still watch them along with many other of my archaeological finds.

And

 I barely got to know you during your first days at 60 minutes but I did get to know you, first as a shadow talking to another shadow hidden away among the guest commentaries.  Then one day there you were with your rusty and cranky old comments--a scary old man-- and in all of that time you never went away like things tend to do for all of us, you never quit and I knew you would be there for me every Sunday without fail and in my world of constant disappointment you were there. Your words were a great sense of comfort for me in my more troubled days.

Well you went away ONCE but you know more about that then I do but I do understand.

I finally got to know you as the curmudgeonly troll and now wise old owl that you are, always the working man’s Oscar the Grouch and as I got to know you, with all of your complaining, with all of the snappy, sappy comments about what is wrong with this product or that product and with ALL of your final words (agree or disagree) I grew to love you.

And

Because I love you, Mr. Rooney, I have to let you go but I will look for you here and there expecting to see you peeking at the world behind piles of dusty old books and broken sunglasses.  I expect you to pop up like a Kanga Rooney and surprise me as I yelp with delight and surprise as I find you again—reading and savoring the words of someone who got to do what he wanted and did so well.

Write on, Andy!   I will miss you but you gave me so much and I am grateful for those words that I got.  Get some sleep and I won’t ask you for an autograph and you go ahead and enjoy your dinner.

Your Friend Whom You Never Met--John Mahogany