Sunday night, 92-year-old Andy Rooney bid farewell to his regular weekly segments on 60 Minutes, explaining that he sees himself as a writer and not a “television personality,” and after all, “writers don’t retire,” but he’s no longer going to be talking on television every week about fruit or the post office or whatever other nagging matter has his attention.
Rooney was candid about the nature of what he does: “I probably haven’t said anything here that you didn’t already know, or have already thought. That’s what a writer does.” He maintained that he’s been right more often than wrong, that he still hates it when people try to speak to him in public, and that he loves his family, even if he complains about everything else.
It would be disingenuous in the extreme, and therefore disrespectful, for me to claim I’ve ever been a fan of what Andy Rooney does on 60 Minutes. It’s not my thing, and it doesn’t need to be. But I will say this: if I’m still being paid to speak my mind when I’m 92 years old because people still want to hear it, I will expect everybody to shut up and give me my last three minutes.
Enjoy your retirement, sir. You’ve earned it.