Farewell to Andy Rooney from one of your fans
I’ll admit that when I was growing up my “heroes” were not the ones that occupied the upper echelon of the sports or entertainment world. While there were some in that arena that I admired, I ranked those who expressed themselves with pen and ink or had voices that commanded attention when they even read a single word who were the ones that I aspired to be most like.
No one could craft a tale like H.G. Wells or Edgar Allen Poe in my book. No one could speak the “King’s English like Richard Burton, Orson Welles, Israeli Prime Minister Abba Eban, or frequent National Geographic narrator Alexander Scourby.
As I got older, others took their places; best-selling author’s Stephen King and Dean Koontz became my favorites and every time I heard James Earl Jones or Roscoe Lee Browne, I got chills hearing their magnificent diction.
This past week saw the death of one of my heroes of the written word: Andy Rooney. With his wit, his sarcasm, and his occasional eye-opening look at everyday life in Americat, the nationally-syndicated columnist put the stamp on the end of 60 Minutes for over three decades.
Rooney had a long career at CBS, starting in 1949 as a writer for Arthur Godfrey.
For a short period, he left the network in 1970 after a brief controversy over a commentary written about the Vietnam War. However, he returned shortly thereafter and joined 60 Minutes in 1978.
The columnist was bold and straightforward, occasionally getting the dander up of others. However, I always admired his style, his ingenuity, and his honesty.
His last 60 Minutes appearance was about a month ago. It that broadcast, which would turn out to be “swan song,” Rooney seemed to sum up his career.
“I've done a lot of complaining here, but of all the things I've complained about, I can't complain about my life. My wife Margie and I had four good kids...now there are grandchildren. I have two great grand children although they're a little young for me to know how great they are. And all this time I've been paid to say what is on my mind on television. You don't get any luckier in life than that.”
No, Mr. Rooney, you weren’t the lucky one. All of us who had the privilege to experience your writing were the beneficiaries of what you had to say.
To paraphrase somewhat from the song from the James Bond film, “Nobody DID it better.”
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
If reincarnation is true, I know what I DON’T want to come back as
Ever since I was a little boy, I always wondered whether or not reincarnation was a reality. Of course, I went to church – and still do – and was told that such belief is contrary to my Christian teachings. However, research shows that there are many religions throughout the world that believe that, upon death, a human being will “come back,” either as another human or as an animal.
I often thought that the idea of being “reborn” as another individual has its merits. Why waste a good soul after the body has served its purpose was one of those thoughts that went through my head in my youth. The idea of being reincarnated as an animal didn’t take top priority but now that I’m pondering the topic, I know that I don’t want to “return” as either one of these two: a cockroach or a gator.
Of all of God’s creatures, those are two that I can certifiably say that I detest. Regarding the disgusting insect, I just don’t see its purpose. Yes, I know that it is a part of nature’s “waste cycle,” living up to its duty each and every day of its existence. However, I wish the little “buggers” would just disappear from the face of the earth or, at least, relocate to other parts of the country.
I remember once, years ago at school, I was trying to reach a box that was resting on a shelf high above my head. I pulled the box toward me and, unknown to me, I was inching a dead roach closer, little by little. When it reached the end, gravity took its toll and the creepy crawly fell “dead” into my eye. I uttered an “expletive” and a student of mine happened to have been in the vicinity and he said, “Oooh, Mr. Garrard, I heard you!” I told him that if a roach had fallen into your eye, you’d utter the same four-letter creation.
Of course, that story is just one of many that can be shared by anyone who lives in the South. Thus, I’m sure that I am not alone in hoping that another “life” will not be as a roach.
As far as the gator is concerned, I am terrified of them, regardless of whether they are in my physical presence or even on film and in a book. When I was a kid, we had an animal book in our home library and on one of the pages was an illustration of a prehistoric alligator, predicted to have been over fifty feet long. I had to turn quickly from that page every time I picked up the book.
I had to sum up all the courage that I could when we took our students to the Okefenokee Swamp about twenty years ago. We took that cruise down the swamp and a gator decided to play “tag” with our boat, coming up on the underside and giving us a little “nudge.” That was another instance where yours truly almost uttered a wash-my-mouth-out-with-soap word or two.
Years, later, I don’t know why I went to see “Lake Placid” when it hit the theaters. I thought it might help me get over my “alligator-phobia” but it didn’t. The scene wherein the alligator leapt from the lake and gobbled up a ten-foot bear scared the” you-know-what” out of me.
A couple of weeks ago, I was looking on a friend’s Facebook page and I saw where she had posted some brave golfers videoing two alligators fighting on the course. I can’t believe these guys getting so close to film the battling reptiles. The caption on the video said, “This is how we roll in the South.”
Well, this ain’t how this Southerner rolls.
As I said before, reincarnation is not a part of my Christian upbringing but inasmuch as we really don’t know what the “afterlife” has for us, it’s one thing to ponder, even if in a lighthearted manner.
But, as I said, I don’t want to return as a night-crawling insect scurrying to hide when someone turns on the kitchen light or an animal that is great material for a handbag or a pair of shoes.
I think I’d rather come back as the AFLAC duck.
At least, I’d have job security.
I often thought that the idea of being “reborn” as another individual has its merits. Why waste a good soul after the body has served its purpose was one of those thoughts that went through my head in my youth. The idea of being reincarnated as an animal didn’t take top priority but now that I’m pondering the topic, I know that I don’t want to “return” as either one of these two: a cockroach or a gator.
Of all of God’s creatures, those are two that I can certifiably say that I detest. Regarding the disgusting insect, I just don’t see its purpose. Yes, I know that it is a part of nature’s “waste cycle,” living up to its duty each and every day of its existence. However, I wish the little “buggers” would just disappear from the face of the earth or, at least, relocate to other parts of the country.
I remember once, years ago at school, I was trying to reach a box that was resting on a shelf high above my head. I pulled the box toward me and, unknown to me, I was inching a dead roach closer, little by little. When it reached the end, gravity took its toll and the creepy crawly fell “dead” into my eye. I uttered an “expletive” and a student of mine happened to have been in the vicinity and he said, “Oooh, Mr. Garrard, I heard you!” I told him that if a roach had fallen into your eye, you’d utter the same four-letter creation.
Of course, that story is just one of many that can be shared by anyone who lives in the South. Thus, I’m sure that I am not alone in hoping that another “life” will not be as a roach.
As far as the gator is concerned, I am terrified of them, regardless of whether they are in my physical presence or even on film and in a book. When I was a kid, we had an animal book in our home library and on one of the pages was an illustration of a prehistoric alligator, predicted to have been over fifty feet long. I had to turn quickly from that page every time I picked up the book.
I had to sum up all the courage that I could when we took our students to the Okefenokee Swamp about twenty years ago. We took that cruise down the swamp and a gator decided to play “tag” with our boat, coming up on the underside and giving us a little “nudge.” That was another instance where yours truly almost uttered a wash-my-mouth-out-with-soap word or two.
Years, later, I don’t know why I went to see “Lake Placid” when it hit the theaters. I thought it might help me get over my “alligator-phobia” but it didn’t. The scene wherein the alligator leapt from the lake and gobbled up a ten-foot bear scared the” you-know-what” out of me.
A couple of weeks ago, I was looking on a friend’s Facebook page and I saw where she had posted some brave golfers videoing two alligators fighting on the course. I can’t believe these guys getting so close to film the battling reptiles. The caption on the video said, “This is how we roll in the South.”
Well, this ain’t how this Southerner rolls.
As I said before, reincarnation is not a part of my Christian upbringing but inasmuch as we really don’t know what the “afterlife” has for us, it’s one thing to ponder, even if in a lighthearted manner.
But, as I said, I don’t want to return as a night-crawling insect scurrying to hide when someone turns on the kitchen light or an animal that is great material for a handbag or a pair of shoes.
I think I’d rather come back as the AFLAC duck.
At least, I’d have job security.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Just an update!
I received a promotion at work. I'm now the publisher for The Camilla Enterprise and The Pelham Journal newspapers of Mitchell County (GA). I'm still writing articles and columns and enjoying that aspect of the business. I'm getting accustomed to the management end and it's becoming easier, also. My papers' readers and my staff have been most supportive and I'm appreciative of them.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Chic compilation
I learned of this recent release with some truly priceless unreleased songs. Of interest to me most are the three from a long-shelved album by Johnny Mathis. Can't figure out why Columbia didn't release them. I've heard all eight on YouTube and they're really good, a different style for Mathis.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Saturday, February 5, 2011
New position!
I am now the PUBLISHER of The Camilla Enterprise and The Pelham Journal.
Just think...five years ago I had just retired after 30-plus years in the classroom.
Just think...five years ago I had just retired after 30-plus years in the classroom.
Recalling a national tragedy from a personal perspective
Recalling a national tragedy from a personal perspective
Americans are always remembering where they were or what they were doing when a news story of national or international significance occurred. Most of us who were around can vividly remember where we were when the Twin Towers fell; when JFK, RFK and Martin Luther King, Jr. were assassinated; when the Berlin Wall came tumbling down; when Neil Armstrong and company walked on the moon; when Princess Di and Elvis died; and even when Marilyn Monroe went to that big movie studio in the sky.
However, of all the earth-shattering news bulletins that hit the airwaves or televisions in the past fifty years, the one that hit me the most personally was the Challenger explosion, an event that was recently commemorated the 25th anniversary of the disaster, January 28.
This has special memories for me because I wanted to be on board as the first teacher in space, an honor that tragically went to Christa McAuliffe.
For about a year and a half (or more) prior to the launch of the ill-fated spacecraft, I was in communication with NASA, filling out forms, receiving periodic documents, and planning for my “experiment” to be completed in space.
As far back as I could remember, I had longed to go into space, looking down at the Earth from above, floating weightless in the space shuttle, and eating from those little containers with the freeze-dried menu.
Hey, I was from the Sputnik/Tang generation and JFK had inspired all of us “boomers” that space would be the final frontier.
However, I was not to be a space-faring explorer because it was announced that McAuliffe would be my profession’s representative going where no teacher had gone before.
The day of Challenger’s final launch happened to be a work day for us teachers. There were no children at the school and I was in my classroom completing some required paperwork. I don’t know why I didn’t have my television on as much as I wanted to be in McAuliffe’s shoes.
All of a sudden my principal, Lure Jenkins, zoomed into the room and hugged me, saying that she was so happy that I didn’t get my wish to soar above the horizon. I was puzzled and she exclaimed, “The Challenger just blew up!”
I stood stunned for a few minutes before moving over to the ‘on’ switch and heard the last command heard by the Challenger’s crew and saw the image that was shown repeatedly: “Go with throttle up,” and the tremendous explosion, following by debris falling from the Florida sky.
However, the image that remained in my mind was that of McAuliffe’s parents looking upward, shaking their heads in disbelief as what should have been a day of jubilation turned into one of sorrow.
I couldn’t help but think that they would’ve been my parents if I had been chosen as the teacher in space.
But, things turn out the way they’re supposed to and guess I was meant to remain earthbound. For about two years or so after the Challenger Disaster, I received follow-up letters from NASA. I suppose my name is still registered on some list as being an applicant for the now-defunct teacher in space program.
Even though this quarter century later has not completely dulled my interest in space travel, I think I’d rather experience it from the safety and security of my own home.
I’ll leave the soaring through the cosmos to Captain Kirk, Will Robinson, and Luke Skywalker.
Americans are always remembering where they were or what they were doing when a news story of national or international significance occurred. Most of us who were around can vividly remember where we were when the Twin Towers fell; when JFK, RFK and Martin Luther King, Jr. were assassinated; when the Berlin Wall came tumbling down; when Neil Armstrong and company walked on the moon; when Princess Di and Elvis died; and even when Marilyn Monroe went to that big movie studio in the sky.
However, of all the earth-shattering news bulletins that hit the airwaves or televisions in the past fifty years, the one that hit me the most personally was the Challenger explosion, an event that was recently commemorated the 25th anniversary of the disaster, January 28.
This has special memories for me because I wanted to be on board as the first teacher in space, an honor that tragically went to Christa McAuliffe.
For about a year and a half (or more) prior to the launch of the ill-fated spacecraft, I was in communication with NASA, filling out forms, receiving periodic documents, and planning for my “experiment” to be completed in space.
As far back as I could remember, I had longed to go into space, looking down at the Earth from above, floating weightless in the space shuttle, and eating from those little containers with the freeze-dried menu.
Hey, I was from the Sputnik/Tang generation and JFK had inspired all of us “boomers” that space would be the final frontier.
However, I was not to be a space-faring explorer because it was announced that McAuliffe would be my profession’s representative going where no teacher had gone before.
The day of Challenger’s final launch happened to be a work day for us teachers. There were no children at the school and I was in my classroom completing some required paperwork. I don’t know why I didn’t have my television on as much as I wanted to be in McAuliffe’s shoes.
All of a sudden my principal, Lure Jenkins, zoomed into the room and hugged me, saying that she was so happy that I didn’t get my wish to soar above the horizon. I was puzzled and she exclaimed, “The Challenger just blew up!”
I stood stunned for a few minutes before moving over to the ‘on’ switch and heard the last command heard by the Challenger’s crew and saw the image that was shown repeatedly: “Go with throttle up,” and the tremendous explosion, following by debris falling from the Florida sky.
However, the image that remained in my mind was that of McAuliffe’s parents looking upward, shaking their heads in disbelief as what should have been a day of jubilation turned into one of sorrow.
I couldn’t help but think that they would’ve been my parents if I had been chosen as the teacher in space.
But, things turn out the way they’re supposed to and guess I was meant to remain earthbound. For about two years or so after the Challenger Disaster, I received follow-up letters from NASA. I suppose my name is still registered on some list as being an applicant for the now-defunct teacher in space program.
Even though this quarter century later has not completely dulled my interest in space travel, I think I’d rather experience it from the safety and security of my own home.
I’ll leave the soaring through the cosmos to Captain Kirk, Will Robinson, and Luke Skywalker.
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