"That's the way it is."
I just read the news, online: Walter Cronkite died. I called my kids in to sit down in front of the computer. They were in the other room watching television, my son with the remote, flipping through channels whenever a commercial came on the show they were watching.
I told them about a phone call I got one day in 1992, "Hello Jeff, this is Walter Cronkite." Hearing his voice on the phone was unmistakable and exciting. Walter had been asked to introduce a film I made about Brooke Astor in honor of her 90th birthday. He was not willing to introduce it unless he saw it and thought it worthy of her. I understood it was nothing personal. I was also a bit stunned as I realized the voice I, and millions of Americans got the news from was speaking directly to me.
"It's a fine piece of reality film making. In a short time, you really captured who she is and what she's about. I would be proud to introduce your film at Mrs. Astor's party."
Hearing that from Walter Cronkite filled me with pride. Telling my kids that story seventeen years later still made me feel proud. His death made me feel sad. He lived a long life. Ninety two years is a good run. I'm not sad about that. I am saddened by the reminder of how far television news has fallen since he left the air.
I wanted my teenage kids to watch a few examples of what the news was like when I was their age. I went to YouTube, something else I couldn't have done back then. We watched Cronkite interview President Kennedy about the Vietnam War. Listening to the interview, I was struck by how a part of my lifetime has become part of the history my kids are learning about in school.
I then put on the clip of Cronkite's coverage of the Kennedy assassination. Cronkite took off his glasses as he announced, "From Dallas Texas, the flash, apparently official, President Kennedy died at one pm central standard time, two o'clock, eastern standard time, some thirty eight minutes ago." There were six seconds of silence. Cronkite bit his lower lip, fighting back tears, he put his glasses back on, then continued reporting.
"Wow", said my son. "That was so quiet and so powerful."
Cronkite had a mustache. He wore glasses. In today's focus group driven media, that would never be tolerated. If you were casting a movie today, he wouldn't be cast as the newsman. Neither would David Brinkley, Edward R. Murrow, Eric Sevareid or Ted Koeppel. No one was particularly handsome, cute or perky, but they all had journalistic credentials.
There were no graphics with dramatic soundtracks, no crawl of meaningless information going across the screen during the report. The coverage was direct, to the point -- powerful. You were supposed to pay attention to the story, not have your attention splintered over competing stimulus whose net effect is to numb rather than make aware. News wasn't meant to entertain, it was meant to inform.
"I wish the news was like that now," said my daughter.
That's the way it was.