Not That You Asked (9780307822215) (41 page)

I'd like to have Mr. Gorbachev as my guest if he comes here. He seems like a pretty good guy.

First thing I'd do is I'd bring him home. I'd put him in Ellen's old room next to the bathroom and tell him he's welcome to anything he wants in the refrigerator in case he feels like a beer or some cheese between meals. We're a little short on borscht but the average American refrigerator would look pretty good to a Russian from what I've seen of food in the Soviet Union.

After getting Gorbachev settled, I'd suggest we take a drive around our small town in Connecticut.

“You want to drive?” I'd say to Gorbachev. I figure he might enjoy that because, as an important official, he always gets taken in a chauffeur-driven limousine. He'd probably love to get his hands on an American car, anyway.

Gorbachev and I would drop in to visit with friends who live in houses with three rooms per person instead of three persons per room the way they do in the Soviet Union.

I'd take him over to the supermarket and show him the shelves full of loaves of bread, the refrigerated cabinets full of milk, cream, butter and eggs, and no lines anywhere but at the checkout counter.

After the supermarket, we'd head for the fancy new mall. I hate it myself but it would surely impress a Russian.

If there was time, I'd take him over to the Giants' training camp to watch practice.

That night we'd have dinner, watch television, argue until eleven and go to bed after the late news.

Next morning we'd give Gorbachev fresh-squeezed orange juice, bacon and eggs, and pancakes with maple syrup, just as if that's what we ate every morning for breakfast. The fact is, of course, I grab a piece of toast and a cup of coffee, but he doesn't have to know that.

The next morning we'd drive into New York City. We'd go at rush hour to make sure we got trapped in a traffic jam. The Soviet president isn't going to believe there are that many cars in the whole world.

Cars are hard to buy in the Soviet Union. One of President Reagan's favorite jokes was about a Russian trying to buy a new car.

He goes to the official government car dealer, puts his money down and the dealer says he can deliver the car in ten years.

“Morning or afternoon?” the man asks.

“In ten years,” the dealer says, “what's the difference?”

“Because,” the man says, “the plumber's coming in the morning.”

In New York we'd park the car and go over to Crazy Eddie or 47 St. Photo to look at electronic gadgets, television sets, kitchen appliances and computers. We'll walk or take a cab. I wouldn't let Gorbachev on the subway because the subways are better, cleaner and safer in Moscow. I don't want him to get one up on me.

For lunch, we'll go to the Russian Tea Room, a fancy restaurant near Carnegie Hall that specializes in celebrities and pretends to be Russian. We'll see what Gorbachev thinks of an American restaurant that thinks it's Russian.

This is only twenty-four hours but I'll bet I'm beginning to get to Gorbachev already and I haven't even taken him to the Empire State Building, Texas, Maine, California or Disney World.

It's raining. It's a gentle, steady rain. I hear it on the roof, see it running down the windowpanes. The grass out there obviously loves it. The garden by the side of the house is gulping it down.

Call it perverse if you wish, but I love a rainy day.

This is no recent love affair for me. I remember liking a rainy day when I was a child. I think I know why, too. When it's raining, it cuts
down on the number of options you have for action that day. There are things you know won't be possible to do so you don't worry about them.

A rainy day is special. On a normal day, we are all faced with so many things we ought to do that we go through it with the vague, gnawing feeling that we're leaving a lot of things undone. On a rainy day, we can't mow the lawn, go swimming, play golf or tennis, have a picnic or cook out. Everything, except staying dry, is simpler.

We needn't leave the house at all on a rainy day if it's a Saturday or Sunday. All inaction is excused by the unavoidable circumstance of weather. “It's raining.” I even recall my mother saying she wasn't going to do wash because it was raining and she wouldn't be able to hang it out in the backyard to dry. Many of you may have thought that even though Adam and Eve had no clothes, they had a washing machine and a dryer, but that is not true.

A sunny, bright day doesn't call itself to your attention the same way a rainy one does. You appreciate life more on a rainy day. A day with the sun out is an average day. You don't inspect it much. Even the weather reports on radio and television are dull when the sun is shining.

People think better on rainy days. This is not a scientific observation but I'd be willing to bet it's true. The sound of the patter of water coming down in equally spaced drops on everything drowns out distracting noises and it's easier to concentrate. Sun, on the other hand, is bad for the brain. Left out in it long enough, the brain becomes frazzled and inoperative. I'll bet Albert Einstein never got a sunburn.

Even though I could stay inside all day today, I know I won't. Just as soon as I finish this, I'm going to lace up my old shoes with the waterproofing on them, put on my yellow slicker that really sheds water and find some excuse for going out in the rain.

One of the good things about rain is the fun to be had trying to stay dry. It's a game, and people like it even though they seldom win it. The best raingear usually leaves you wet somewhere. If everything else works, the drips run up your sleeve when you lift your arm, or your headgear is less than perfect and the rain finds its way down your neck. The space between the bottom of your raincoat and the tops of your shoes is vulnerable too.

While I like to go out in the rain properly dressed, there is still some work to be done on rainwear. An umbrella is great fun in a good rain. It doesn't really keep you dry but having the rain spatter overhead without actually hitting you gives the illusion that you're defeating the weather. Umbrellas are efficient from the top of the head to somewhere
around the waistline, but from there down umbrellas don't help at all. Also, while umbrellas are good when rain is coming straight down, rain is so often accompanied by high winds that drive it in a slanting direction that umbrellas are of limited value in the average rain.

Cars have been made remarkably impervious to rain. I'm always surprised that you don't get wet at all driving a car in a rainstorm. I wish they'd make truck-size windshield wipers for cars that went straight back and forth across the windshield instead of wiping in that half-moon shape. I imagine they'll get to that because the half-moon shape leaves too much of the windshield unwiped.

There now. That's done—I can go out and play in the rain.

Word for Word 1986

Pieces of My Mind 1984

And More by Andy Rooney 1982

A Few Minutes with Andy Rooney 1981

The Fortunes of War 1962

Conqueror's Peace
(with Bud Hutton)
1946

The Story of The Stars and Stripes
(with Bud Hutton)
1946

Air Gunner
(with Bud Hutton)
1944

Andy Rooney, known as “Andrew” to good friends, spent the first fifty years of his career trying to attract attention to his writing and the last ten years of his career trying to avoid the attention he's attracted from his commentaries on
60 Minutes
.

Drafted at the end of his third year at Colgate University, Rooney spent three army years as a reporter for
The Stars and Stripes
. He flew on the first U.S. bombing raid over Germany and, after the Normandy invasion, traveled with the First Army across France and Germany. “For those who don't get killed or wounded,” he says, “war is a great experience.” He later wrote three books with his friend Bud Hutton about World War II. In 1962 he wrote
The Fortunes of War
, a History Book Club selection.

That same year he began his work as a writer and producer of television essays. Narrated by Harry Reasoner, these essays won four Emmy Awards and a Peabody Award, and on six occasions, they were voted best-written by the Writers Guild of America.

His 1971
Essay on War
was broadcast on public television's
The Great American Dream Machine
. It was followed by documentary hours at CBS News such as
Mr. Rooney Goes to Washington
and
Mr. Rooney Goes to Work
.

Today Andy Rooney is perhaps best known for his weekly cantankerous essays on
60 Minutes
. Rooney, who was one of the original writers and producers for the show, which began in 1968, has been on the air since 1978.

Since 1981 he has written four collections of essays:
A Few Minutes with Andy Rooney; And More by Andy Rooney; Pieces of My Mind
; and
Word for Word
. His syndicated column appears three times a week in 265 newspapers.