Some people retire. Others just drift of into a state of sublimnity. Some of us “retire” without really going away, still hanging around like a faithful hound. Larry Munson is trying to retire his own way, but the newspapers, radio stations and letters-to-the-editor writers won’t quite let him have his peace.
OK, let him have it. No need trying to call and wish him bon voyage. He won’t take the call and he won’t return one. That’s all right. I’m just the opposite. If O.J. Simpson called me, I’d return his call just because that’s my habit. Otherwise I’d happily pull the switch on him. But this is about Larry Munson. I like Larry. We’ve had good times, doing television stuff, talking Bulldogs on Loran Smith’s Georgia football shows. We’re on a common age level, though I have an edge on him there. I wasn’t foolish enough to expect him to call back when I heard he had taken the walk-out and was hanging it up.
But, dang it, no matter how much of a hermit you become, there are times when some calls should be returned. I didn’t want to just hear that gravelly voice again. (One time I referred to it as “guttural”, and he bristled a bit. OK, that was his privilege. He looks at “guttural” differently than I do, I guess. Well, I’m sorry he’s crawled into his shell, but I think he made the right move. There was something missing in the growlly (that Ok, Larry?) old voice we’d come to savor. He wasn’t himself. There was no other way to go. He took with him the only voice I daresay can never be replicated. You can’t develop it, buy it, or market it. It is one of a kind, strictly Munson.
Don’t bother to return my call now, Larry. I didn’t plan to record it.