The editors of TalkingToTheWriters sat down last week with Larry McCoy, a 73-year-old retired newsman, to talk about his first book, “Did I Really Change My Underwear Every Day?” It’s a collection of humorous essays on aging, and McCoy, a very busy man now that he has joined Facebook, agreed to be interviewed only on the condition that we mention the book is now available for pre-ordering at Sunstone Press (800-243-5644) or at Amazon.com.
TTTW: First off, congratulations.
LMC: Thank you.
TTTW: Why did you decide to write this book?
LMC: What else did I have to do? I’m old, retired. Dross, worthless, aimless, shiftless – you name it.
TTTW: You’re joking, right?
LMC: Like hell I am.
TTTW: Sorry to hear that.
LMC: Sorry to hear what?
TTTW: That you feel worthless.
LMC: I never said that! Where did you get that?
TTTW: You just said it a couple of seconds ago.
LMC: Did not. Who the hell are you, by the way, and why are we sitting out on this deck? Whose deck is it? Do you know?
TTTW: It’s your deck, Larry.
LMC: Mine? I have a deck? Are you sure that’s the right word?
TTTW: Yes, I’m sure. Can we talk about your book?
LMC: Sure, why not. I don’t remember much about it but try me.
TTTW: How long did it take you to write the book?
LMC: Pretty long.
TTTW: How long is “pretty long?”
LMC: Seven or eight days, I believe. It took me another seven or eight days after that to discover that despite all my hard work my computer hadn’t saved any of it. Piece of junk. I still don’t know why. It was ancient. A Studebaker XP, I think it was. The first draft was a totally different book. It started out as a history of the 1948 epidemic of hiccupping in 4-H clubs across central Indiana, but Sunstone Press, my publisher, told me several books had already been written about that, so I picked another topic and spent another seven or eight days writing essays about being old.
TTTW: I see. I understand you have been going around to various libraries on Long Island, asking them to order a copy of “Did I Really Change My Underwear Every Day?” Is it true that when you walked into one library to introduce yourself, you whipped off your sunglasses and one lens popped out and landed on the floor?
LMC: It is indeed.
TTTW: Did anyone laugh?
LMC: Don’t know. It’s hard to hear when you’re all bent over, feeling around on the floor for a lens.
TTTW: Do you think this sort of embarrassing moment happens to many first-time authors?
LMC: God, I hope so.
TTTW: Have you gotten any feedback from your friends regarding the book, people saying they intend to buy a copy and want you to sign it?
LMC: Not really. There was one – excuse me. Do you know why these people have garbage cans so close to the deck? It’s very unsightly. It’s….
TTTW: Remember, Larry, this is your deck. Okay? You started to say something about “there was one” ….
LMC: That’s right. You did tell me I live here. (Long pause) Ah, yes, there was one guy who sent me an email, asking for a free book and in return he offered me unicycle lessons.
TTTW: What did you tell him?
LMC: That I’d have to check with Irene.
TTTW: Why did you say that?
LMC: Because she runs things around here, and I don’t want to be off riding a unicycle and carrying on if she’s got sweet potatoes that need slicing for dinner or sneakers to be shined.
TTTW: Most people don’t shine sneakers, Larry, but can we continue?
LMC: Well, that’s why they squeak. You never hear a shined sneaker squeak. Try saying that real fast three times. “You never hear a shined sneaker squeak. You ….”
TTTW: Okay, okay. I believe you. Your book covers a lot of ground, from prostates to basketball courts to GPS systems. Looking back, is there something you wish now you had written about but didn’t?
LMC: Yes siree. Killer cabbages. CBS Radio had a reporter way out on Long Island a few years back who did this grab-your-ass-and-run-for-cover story about killer cabbages. The piece made absolutely no sense and that’s what made it so terrific. It had something to do - supposedly - with odors or some such thing produced by cabbages that could kill you. Here you are in your 60s or 70s, worked hard all your life, paid your taxes and your bills on time and then when you retire and buy a home near the ocean, it turns out you’re surrounded by killer cabbages. Life really sucks! I wish I had written a chapter on that, but you can’t cover everything in seven or eight days of intense writing.
TTTW: I’ve noticed you are now on Facebook. What do you think of Facebook?
LMC: No wonder the economy is in the toilet. No one works anymore. They’re all on Facebook, all the time. Old, retired, wrinkly people posting pictures and jokes on Facebook – that I could understand, but most of the stuff is put there by people at work, people with jobs. Don’t their bosses know this? Don’t the bosses care that their staff is goofing off big time?
TTTW: I know what you mean. At TalkingToTheWriters, management closely monitors all our Internet activities –emails as well as websites visited. Moving on, two or three times in “Did I Really Change My Underwear Every Day?” you make fun of bankers. Aren’t they an easy, obvious target?
LMC: Absolutely.
TTTW: Then why did you do it?
LMC: Do what?
TTTW: Ridicule ….
LMC: Just messing with you. That’s a fair question. Maybe because one bank handles basically every cent we have and that makes us a little uneasy, so we try to joke about it and picking on our bankers seemed to make sense. I’ve warned two guys at the bank that I needle them in the book.
TTTW: What did they say?
LMC: They claim that’s fine, that they have no problem with it.
TTTW: Do you believe them?
LMC: Well, let’s put it this way, they could make sure our money is thrown after real dog stocks, and, if you came back in six months, maybe we wouldn’t have a deck or even any garbage cans. That would answer the question, wouldn’t it.
TTTW: Thank you, Larry.
LMC: Geez, this is like being on NPR. You’re welcome.
(Posted June 9, 2011)