The Softer Side of Andy Rooney
By Ann Hauprich
CLICK HERE to view this story as it appeared in
The Prayer Lines Behind the Bylines.
CLICK HERE for an in-depth feature article
about Andy Rooney that appeared in the
Summer 2003 edition of
Saratoga Living
magazine.
The first time I caught a glimpse of Andy Rooney in the late 1970s, I was
seated in the front parlor of my parents’ rambling Victorian on Church Avenue in
Ballston Spa, NY. Having only recently begun my career as a newspaper reporter,
I was in awe of the bushy-browed commentator who effortlessly articulated his
opinion on a subject I did not previously know mattered to my folks.
With several of their 10 children still young enough to require the services of
a free parental taxi, it was rare to catch my multi-tasking Mom and Dad glued to
a TV screen in the evenings. But that’s the picture I have of them, seated
side-by-side, listening intently to what Andy Rooney had to say during his
segment on
60 Minutes.
Even without the visuals, I’m pretty sure my schoolteacher mother and
blue-collar father would have tuned into the program that featured the wit and
wisdom of this broadcast journalist who was just a few years their senior. While
they didn’t always agree with what Andy Rooney had to say, it was rare that his
“way with words” didn’t leave them in an elevated mood.
When I resided outside of the USA during the 1970s and 1980s, Mom and Dad would often clip
syndicated columns written by Andy Rooney and mail them to me as well as gifting
me with some of his early books. To them — and to me — Andy Rooney was
larger-than-life. Like millions of others, we were fans from afar. Then came the
day in late 2002 when I heard that Andy Rooney not only had boyhood ties to the
Village of Ballston Spa through his late parents and grandparents – but that
some of his ancestors had resided in an historic house on Church Avenue where a
rustic barn still stood in the backyard.
The
property in question was one I’d walked by countless times since my family
settled just a few doors away in 1968. Suddenly an old house and barn I’d barely
given a second glance became an old house and barn about which I yearned to know
everything.
By now I’d returned to my upstate New York roots and founded
Saratoga Living
magazine. Serving as the then fledgling regional periodical’s editor and
publisher, I was constantly on the lookout for cover stories that would have
broad readership appeal. I was positive a piece about Andy Rooney’s ancestral
ties to Saratoga County would make for a winning edition, but the thought of
contacting him to ask related questions on this topic terrified me.
Widely regarded as something of a curmudgeon who rarely granted interviews and
had let more than one member of the media know that his private life was
private, my hands all but shook as I picked up the receiver to punch in the
number I’d been given for his office at CBS in New York City.
What if I called his assistant to request an interview and was turned down flat?
What if his assistant agreed to book a phone interview and when the time came to
conduct it, I became tongue-tied? The more I pondered what could go wrong, the
more convinced I became that I should leave well enough alone and find another
cover story for the Summer 2003 edition of the magazine.
Then it happened. I summoned the courage to pick up the phone very early one
morning, praying I’d get an answering machine at CBS. To my great amazement, the
voice on the other end sounded familiar because it belonged to none other than
Andy Rooney.
I have mercifully long since blanked out the memory of how I must surely have
flubbed my introduction. In its place is the blessing of a vivid recollection of
how downright congenial Andy Rooney was the minute I mentioned the house on
Church Avenue with the old barn in the backyard.
Half an hour later, my steno pad was overflowing with notes and quotes about
Albany-born and bred Andy Rooney’s boyhood memories of visits to Ballston Spa
with his older sister, Nancy Reynolds Rooney, and their parents, grandparents,
aunts, uncles and a special cousin or two. A favorite ancestor was
unquestionably his Uncle Bill Rooney – who had been not only a prominent local
attorney, but “a boy’s best friend” during the 1920s and 1930s. I learned Uncle
Bill had once been a champion runner and that he’d gone on to coach the Ballston
Spa High School football team when Andy’s father, Walter Scott Rooney, was a
student there in the early 1900s. Andy’s mother, Ellinor Reynolds Rooney, had
been raised on a farm roughly a mile from Church Avenue that is now a scenic
park where a playground known as Kids’ Creekside Village draws children of all
ages.
After sharing generously of his youthful memories,
Andy gave me a gift that at the time seemed insignificant, but proved to be one
of my life’s greatest blessings. He shared the phone number where I could reach
his sister, stating that Nancy knew far more about the rest of the family’s
history than he did. He also thought Nancy – who was then 89 and residing in a
posh assisted living center in Saratoga Springs – might have some old family
photos I could scan and publish with the story I was planning to write. (
Click
here for story about Andy's sister Nancy that appeared in the Summer 2003 issue
of
Saratoga Living.)
In the years that followed, I was to develop a close friendship with Nancy, who
had been robbed of parts of her cherished independence by advanced macular
degeneration.
Sometimes we’d visit in her lovely living quarters or the elegant dining room
inside of Prestwick Chase of Saratoga, but more often than not, she’d want me to
pick her up and drive her to a setting that had been familiar to her during her
youth.
For a severely visually impaired person, Nancy had an uncanny ability serve as a
tour guide. Not only could she describe in vivid detail how the exteriors of
select businesses and homes of distinction had looked in a bygone era, she also
remembered who the shopkeepers had been and the names of the families that had
once occupied the homes. Thanks to Nancy, I also began to look at landmarks I'd
previously taken for granted from an exciting new perspective.
History came to life in a way I had never before dreamed possible. The day in
2003 when I brought her to visit Ballston Spa History Consultant
Maurice
“Christopher” Morley (who had been born in the village in 1922), the pair spent
hours reminiscing about people, places and things linked to a bygone era. Photos
snapped that morning show them surrounded by artifacts linked to a time period
that clearly held fond memories for both.
Not long thereafter, my parents rolled out The Red Carpet inside their Church
Avenue home – where Nancy recalled the names of those who had resided there in
the early 1900s as well as waxing nostalgic about neighbors of a bygone era.
Another day, I escorted Nancy to the
Brookside Museum (home of the Saratoga
County Historical Society) because the historic property had once belonged to
Uncle Bill and his wife, Auntie Belle. From there we went to the nearby Old Iron
Spring where Nancy wanted to sample the mineral water that still bubbles forth
on the premises. How fondly she remembered sampling those same waters as a
little girl, accompanied by her little brother and their beloved mother!
Other times, she wanted to hear composer-pianist
Cole Broderick serenade her as
she sat on a deck overlooking Saratoga Lake where maternal ancestors had enjoyed
spending summer vacations around the turn-of-the-century. Cole and I were
thrilled when Nancy subsequently invited us to visit with her when she was
vacationing in the historic camp overlooking Lake George where she and Andy had
once spent summers with their parents.
Cole and I were preparing to depart for a luncheon visit with Nancy at Pilot
Knob one summer’s day in 2008 when our phone rang with the news that she had
peacefully slipped away in the night. While saddened that we hadn’t had a chance
to say our earthly good-byes, Nancy lives on in our hearts and in our memories.
I thought of her again just the other day when notes from a telephone
conversation I’d had with author William Kennedy tumbled out of a copy of his
1983 book O Albany! It was at Nancy’s urging that I had called Kennedy at his
Averill Park residence in October 2005 to seek advice about how best to prepare
a book for Ballston Spa’s Bicentennial in 2007.
Nancy had assured me that despite Kennedy’s celebrity after winning a Pulitzer
Prize for
Ironweed and the making of that novel into a motion picture
co-starring Meryl Streep and Jack Nicholson, he was still as “friendly and free”
as ever.
And indeed the friendly advice Kennedy freely gave to me just over a decade ago
proved to be invaluable as I began researching stories for
Ballston Spa: The Way
We Were, The Way We Are.
Watching Nancy blow out the candles on her 90th
birthday cake at a party given in her honor at Lake George by her brother and
his wife, Marguerite Howard Rooney ranks as another favorite memory. To my
surprise and delight, I was seated directly across from Andy Rooney and found
him as easy to converse with as Mr. Kennedy.
I did not realize until I got the film developed nearly 15 years ago that I had
captured a heart-warming image of Andy as he was moved to tenderly embrace his
Big Sis. The image brought a deeper meaning to another photo I’d seen of the
sibling pair — which was taken while they were visiting their paternal
grandparents in Ballston Spa, NY in the 1920s. In that photo, young Nancy has a
protective arm wrapped around her kid brother – whom she always referred to as
Andrew. Both photos speak volumes about the strong bond between the two.
A photo found elsewhere in this chapter shows a
specially signed copy of
Years of Minutes — which Andy Rooney arranged to have
sent to my Dad on the occasion of his 80th birthday in 2004. The hand-written
inscription reads: “To Donald Hauprich from his daughter Ann and her friend Andy
Rooney.”
Andy had earlier sent me a note in response to an in-depth article I’d written
about his roots and his career in which he stated: “Your piece is exceptionally
well-done. I’ve been writing long enough to know how hard it is to get it right,
and you did a job that amazes me. You not only got it right, you wrote it well.
I am impressed.”
I was profoundly touched by that compliment and promptly thanked him, but when
Andy used the word “friend” to describe me in the passage to my Dad, I could not
find the words to express my feelings.
Andy subsequently surprised me by calling with encouraging words about the
Bicentennial book I’d sent to him at the end of 2007 and a sequel that was
published early in 2009. He just wanted me to know he appreciated my efforts to
preserve the past for future generations.
Our final conversation took place a couple of years later when I answered the
phone in my office to discover the voice of Andy Rooney at the other end. He
said he’d been leafing through the Ballston Spa history books and that he hoped
to drive through the village one day en route to Lake George.
Mostly he wanted to take another peek at the old barn where he used to play on
Church Avenue. Andy promised to give me a call prior to his arrival – in case I
was free for lunch. It would have been a perfect time to tell him how I truly
felt about his many kindnesses, and I rehearsed how I would say what was in my
heart. It would be easier face-to-face than on the phone. Or so I made myself
believe -- and hope.
Upon learning of Andy Rooney’s passing at age of 92 near the end of 2011, I
regretted that I’d failed to open up about this and other things. For instance,
I never asked him what he thought of Danish philosopher Piet Hein. I can’t help
but think they’d have hit it off famously given their respective penchants for
penning words of wit and wisdom.
It was, after all, Hein who observed: “As eternity is reckoned, there’s a
lifetime in a second.” How grateful I am to have been afforded a glimpse of the
softer side of Andy Rooney – if only for a fraction of a millisecond on
eternity’s clock.