I just heard the news that Walter Cronkite died earlier this evening, at the age of 92. Long regarded as "the most trusted man in America" (seriously--a Gallup poll in the 70s confirmed it), Mr. Cronkite was hands-down the greatest of a great generation of journalists.
He'd have preferred the term "working reporter." And that's what made his stint anchoring the CBS Evening News for nearly 20 years so extraordinary. No one knew his personal political proclivities; no one cared. They knew he'd give them the facts, as unadorned as possible by even a nuance of opinion, and that he'd never either inflate his own importance or talk down to his audience. He created and embodied, for all practical intents and purposes, the original concept of the "anchorman."
Yes, he let his feelings on occasion seep through. I saw his broadcast of the news of President Kennedy's assassination, and even at the age of six-and-a-half, I recognized the since-famous moment where he removed his glasses and wiped a tear from his eye as genuine grief . . . for the loss of Kennedy the man, for the loss of Kennedy the president, for the loss of hope in the country and even the whole world.
I also remember him removing his glasses in July of 1969, wiping the sweat and tension from his brow, as the whole world got the word that "The Eagle has landed" and that men were for the first time on the Moon.
It's more than a bit ironic that his death comes as the 40th anniversary of the Apollo 11 mission is upon us. Mr. Cronkite lived to see the 40th anniversary of the lift-off. Alas, the 40th anniversary of the actual landing is still a few days away. Funny how it seems so immediate in my memory and yet so distant that I have to squint my mental eyes to see it . . .
I know that Mr. Cronkite was not happy retiring from his anchor desk when he did. He was essentially forced out. Not that he let that stop him from continuing to read, learn, and study the events of the world, participating in special reports on momentous subjects as he saw fit. But in a way, I'm glad he was taken from the anchor desk when he was. He was a working reporter who wrote his own copy. His early training with UPI during World War II trained him to get all the details, get them right, and get them out fast. He would have died long ago if he had stayed and been forced to turn into the purveyor of shallow entertainment that too much of our 24/7 news cycle has forced news anchors to become.
He was born in Missouri, and he got his journalism education at Texas. He was an educated man, but educated in a very plain-spoken way. Not unlike certain other famous Midwesterners: Mark Twain and Ulysses Grant. [If you doubt me about Grant, please go read his "Memoirs," which Twain edited and made sure were published so that Grant, dying of throat cancer, could provide for his soon-to-be widow and family. The work is a monument to plain-speaking.--Ed]
Mr. Cronkite also had "the voice." His stentorian baritone, delivered with perfectly measured modulation, has been oft copied--but never equalled. I think one of the most subtle on-going tributes to Mr. Cronkite's influence and importance is Keith Olbermann's occasional adoption of the Cronkite delivery. He tends to do it while reporting a bit of fluff, but it is done with respect and to make the point (without ever being so crass as to say so) that anchoring a newscast "ain't what it used to be." I'll bet Olbermann is sick at heart that he was away from his "Countdown" desk this night.
Walter Cronkite made the world a better place. He embodied the call to our better selves, the call to strive for greatness, that was the hallmark of the best of John Kennedy's speeches--and which attitude is about impossible to find much of anywhere these days. The world is a darker, lesser place without him in it. We were lucky we had him while we did. Requiescat in pace.
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