Remembering Uncle Walter

You might not remember Walter Cronkite, who retired from the CBS Evening News in 1981 after 19 years on the air. I grew up with him, though. Cronkite was news for me. America voted him "the most trusted man in America," and he had a well-deserved reputation for integrity and straightforward reporting.

"Uncle" Walter, with his slightly gruff, gravely voice, black horn-rimmed glasses and stern, business-like demeanor, was the first news person I remember. One of my earliest TV memories was his coverage after President John F. Kennedy was shot in Dallas in 1962. Dismissed from school early, my family huddled around the TV in shock. Even as a first-grader, I was knew it was serious; Cronkite was visibly shaken announcing Kennedy's death. It was a poignantly human moment in a medium that can be cold and sometimes crass.

I remember, too, the awe in his eyes and voice when he broadcast the first moon landing seven years later. "Oh boy!" was his only personal comment that day.

Viewers like me trusted that when we heard his signature sign off—"And that's the way it is,"—that we had heard it, really, the way that it was.

In 1968, during the Vietnam War, Cronkite traveled into the war zone on a reporting trip. On his return, he sacrificed his impartiality to present his opinions on a conflict that he believed was an unwinnable quagmire. It was shocking to many to hear him editorialize, and his stock declined in the eyes of some hawks, who took to calling him "commie" Cronkite.

When a man like Walter Cronkite gave his opinion, though, people paid attention. Through decades of "just the facts" reporting (he began his career in the 1930s), Cronkite had earned the right to give his opinion to his millions of viewers. President Lyndon Johnson concluded after his broadcast that he had lost the public's support for the war and began to shift his policy toward exiting instead of escalation the war.

Cronkite considered those editorials the best, most important work he'd ever done.

In an age where every second talking head on the "news" is giving his opinion loudly and rudely, that might not sound like a big deal. But back in the days before 24/7 talk radio and news "infotainment" networks, the nightly news—and the people who delivered it—was a lot different. Cronkite, we all knew, took his job seriously, and he "inspired his staff to be both fastidious and fair. He frequently asked for multiple sources on even light news items and insisted on rigorous fact checking," writes Alex Alben, who worked for him as a researcher in the '80s.

Walter Cronkite died Friday at 92. I'm not sure we'll ever see another broadcast journalist of his caliber.

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