If I liked whisky as much as I liked books, I would be a perpetual drunk. I can leave the intoxicants alone, but I can’t resist a stack of books. Some folks like to hang out in bars. Bookstores are my favorite haunt. Occasionally, I’ll click on Amazon and download a book or two onto my Kindle or iPad. But what I really prefer is standing in a bookstore, surrounded by thousands of books. Rarely do I leave empty-handed.
And if I’m in a used-book store, I’ll lug out an overloaded cardboard box. When I’m in Franklin, N.C., I have to discipline myself when visiting the Macon County Friends of the Library Bookstore. At a buck or two apiece, you can get a hernia toting $40 worth of purchases to the car.
The other day, I reached for one of my dollar books. It was like finding an old friend. I never met the late Andy Rooney, but I felt he knew me. As I listened to his pithy commentaries, tagged on the end of CBS’s “60 Minutes,” I was spooked. How could he read my mind, and then tattle to millions? There were two distinct differences, however. He would articulate his musings far more cleverly. And he wouldn’t have swapped his paycheck for mine.
Still, I juggled my schedule to make sure I didn’t miss Sunday night’s “A Few Minutes with Andy Rooney.” I could see the mischief in his eyes beneath those hedgerows of eyebrows. Andy came across as a grumpy, but lovable curmudgeon. I liked his zany wit, often punctuated with a zinger on the end.
