Andy Rooney Looks at the News

My first cousin, once removed, steps in to opine

Andy Rooney Looks at the News

by Jim Reynolds | www.reynolds.com

Author’s Note: Andy Rooney was my father’s first cousin. Dad used to tell stories about visiting the Rooney household when they were kids, including the time he “borrowed” Andy’s bike without asking — which is how my father still describes stealing. I’m the only one of four brothers who never met Andy in person. When Andy came to our hometown for a speaking engagement, he went out to dinner with my folks and my brother Jerry. Jerry told me Andy kept talking about his good friend Walter, like we were supposed to know who Walter was. Of course, he meant that Walter.

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And Now, a Few Minutes With Andy Rooney…

I don’t know what’s changed more since I’ve been gone — the news itself, or the people who read it. The stories still come in, but they don’t make the sound they used to. Back in the day, you’d hear the clatter of the teletype and think, Something important must be happening. These days, the only clatter in my house is the whistle from my teapot.

Take this one: Democrats are “ready to fight dirty” to stop Donald Trump. That’s from The Guardian. I have a question — if you’re already fighting dirty, how do you “get ready” for it? Stretch first? Put on gloves? I used to think politicians didn’t like to admit they were breaking rules. Now they brag about it like they’re competing in the 100-meter dash.

And here’s a story from Texas — a “dry run” for the GOP’s “dismantling of democracy.” That’s from The New Republic, which says it the way you’d tell a child not to run with scissors. They’re talking about redistricting. In my day, redistricting was like painting your living room — you didn’t have to do it often, and you certainly didn’t do it in the middle of the year just to annoy the neighbors. Now it’s a political weapon. And in Texas of all places, the Democrats are apparently running away from a fight. I’ve been to Texas. Nobody runs away from a fight there — except maybe a tourist who just found out what “chili” means.

The vaccine fight is back too. MSNBC says RFK Jr.’s “misinformation” makes the CDC a target, which is like blaming the weatherman for the weather. The implication, of course, is that if you disagree with the CDC, you’re not just wrong — you’re dangerous. Meanwhile, Alex Berenson says we need a “transparent probe” into the mRNA jabs. I guess one man’s misinformation is another man’s investigation. Depends which channel you watch.

Over at Salon, someone’s wondering how we “ended up with a fascist dictator like Trump.” I’ve got news for them — if Trump really were a fascist dictator, they wouldn’t be writing about him in Salon. They’d be making candles out of goat tallow and hoping not to be noticed.

Then there’s Howard Stern. According to Spectator World, he disappeared years ago. I don’t think that’s true. I think he’s still on the air — but disappearing might have been the better career move.

I read another one about “manufactured anger.” Frank Luntz is telling people there’s a lot of it out there, like he just discovered margarine. Of course it’s manufactured. I’ve seen less factory production in Detroit. The problem isn’t that it’s manufactured — it’s that people are buying it wholesale.

You start to realize after a while that it isn’t just the stories that have changed. It’s the tone. The drama. Everything’s written like the fate of the Republic hangs on a zoning dispute in Akron. And the people telling these stories? They don’t even try to hide which team they’re on anymore. It used to be the job of the press to hide that. Now they show up wearing the jersey.

Walter would probably tell me it’s always been like this, but I think he’d be wrong. The left I knew argued about taxes and foreign policy and sometimes got sentimental about labor unions. Now they’re arguing about which words you’re allowed to use, and whether the truth should be edited for your safety.

I’ve seen a lot in my life — wars, recessions, presidents who couldn’t find their own countries on a map — but I never thought I’d see the day when we stopped pretending that civility mattered. That’s the loss I feel most. Not the shouting, or the name-calling, or the endless partisan brawls — those have always been there. It’s the absence of shame. The total divorce from the public they claim to serve.

It makes me wish the teletype would start clattering again. At least then, the noise meant something.

P.S. Grook
I used to think the news was true,
Or tried its best to be.
Now facts get picked like fruit on cue,
And tossed if they’re ugly to see.

We argue loud and smile less wide,
The jokes don’t land the same.
Somewhere my typewriter sighed,
And whispered, “Kid… it’s a shame.”