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Anne Serling
Went to Kensington in New York City and met with my new editor and her colleagues. They are all wonderful and warm people and I am confident that my book is in extremely skilled hands.· ·
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I have always thought this was a tough interview as my dad was trying to get "The Twilight Zone" on the air and slide it by the sponsors and the censors.
My father had a great deal of respect for Mr. Wallace.The Mike Wallace Interview featuring Rod Serling (1959)www.youtube.comPublic domain interview with Rod Serling, creator of the Twilight Zone. Share Anne Serling
"I knew early on that within my dad there was a kind of desperateness, an urge to go back, a need to touch home plate, to have things the way they were. And now I understand that on more than a farsighted level." ANOTHER DIMENSION Rod Serling talks about Writing for Television (Part 10) www.youtube.com  "My dad particularly loved our dogs. Sometimes, when we had guests and it was getting late, he got down on all fours, like their littermate. We knew he was playing but this could also be an indicator that he was tired and hoping the company would go home."
Happy New Year! I wish you all good things in the coming year.
Thank you for your continued good thoughts with your comments here, on Salon, in emails and on facebook. I am so moved and appreciative of your kindness. Below is a poem I wrote years ago about my dad. The excerpt in my memoir grew from this: MONOLOGUE The last time I saw you, you were lying in a hospital bed, in a room with bright, too bright, green and yellow walls. Inappropriate colors intended to console the sick, the dying. And as you slept, curled beneath a white sheet, I watched you breathe, willing you to. Your face, still so tan, against a pillow, too white. I thought of your morning sounds, the front door opening softly, you walking on the back of your slipper heels to get the paper, a cough, your spoon tapping the side of the coffee cup, and how I lay awake in my room beside the flower wallpaper, surrounded by all the things that mean so much, when you're ten, and listened to your sounds comfortable in their familiarity, secure in a world where, "Fathers do not die." Walking on the heels of my slippers, Tying ribbons in your black hair, (red was especially nice). You-a little boy in a grown- up suit, me-too small to see anything without standing on my toes. Wiping your forehead dry when you got sick, until you got too sick, and I could do nothing. And that wallpaper I remembered as a child, paled against that green. And now, years later, reduced to monologues with ghosts and this never ending private slide show. These images of you flashing too quickly, You on the dock, laughing so hard with your brother, you fall. You playing cards with Dick. You beside your new car. You and you and on and on until the screen goes black, because you are, no more. And the wallpaper peeled, and there was nothing behind it, only this and the smile you left in an 8X10 frame. Thank you, all of you, for your wonderful comments. I will be responding soon--still trying to navigate my way through this website business! Please click on the post "My Father's Friends" to see three comments that belong with this post. I will be back soon. Please know how much I appreciate your words and am sorry for the losses many of you have experienced.
One of the best things about writing my memoir was the way it reconnected, and in some cases--connected me to friends my father knew from different times in his life. Childhood friends, old war buddies, a college classmate and a fourteen year-old he befriended in 1964. People whose lives he touched and people who touched his. And for that particularly journey, I am forever grateful.
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January 2015
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