Why Do You Want to Be President?

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It was a very simple question, the kind of thing that is the very least that voters should know about anyone who seeks to lead the United States. Any voter can ask that question, and every voter deserves an answer to it. But Ted Kennedy, when asked that question on this day in 1979, stumbled through an obviously off–the–cuff response to the one question for which he should have had a definitive answer.

"Why do you want to be president?"

If there is such a thing as a softball question in presidential politics, that is it. After all, it didn't suggest that Kennedy should not have run — although I think the results from the 1980 Democrat primaries indicate that quite clearly (Carter received 51.13% of the vote in the primaries while Kennedy carried 37.58%). It was an uphill battle from the start. Incumbent presidents are seldom challenged for their party's renomination, and they usually prevail whether the challenge is serious or not. To succeed, Kennedy needed to be able to articulate a vision the way many Americans remembered his brother doing 20 years earlier.

Kennedy swung wildly when CBS' Roger Mudd asked him that question in an interview that was broadcast on this night in 1979 — and he missed with a rambling recitation of loosely linked talking points.

It inspired one of my favorite Doonesbury comic strips — in which an exchange between Kennedy and reporters was depicted. I don't remember now if the Kennedy of the comic strip was asked why he wanted to be president, or if he was asked about a more specific topic, but the answer was another rambling recitation. By the fourth frame of the strip, one of the reporters impatiently blurted out, "A verb, senator! We need a verb!"

There was more to it than the rambling answer, though. Kennedy had that kind of deer–caught–in–the–headlights look when Mudd asked him that question. How could he possibly have failed to prepare an answer for it? After all, he hadn't been asked to defend a bad, possibly embarrassing vote he cast in the Senate or some poor or reckless decision he had made, either professionally or personally. He hadn't even been asked about Chappaquiddick. He was merely asked why he wanted to be president. What did he want to accomplish? What was his vision for the nation?

If that isn't a softball pitch, what is?

It was an invitation to summon forth the Kennedy charisma, the soaring eloquence of "Ask not what your country can do for you." In hindsight, I believe that was the kind of thing Americans yearned for in 1979 and 1980. The country sought inspiration in 1980. Mudd's question tried to coax it from Kennedy.

It didn't even summon forth a grammatically correct sentence.

Standing Up to Joe McCarthy

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"If none of us ever read a book that was 'dangerous,' had a friend who was 'different' or joined an organization that advocated 'change,' we would all be just the kind of people Joe McCarthy wants."

Edward R. Murrow
Speech to staff before March 9, 1954 broadcast of See It Now

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Most of my life has been devoted to the printed word — supported by a steadfast faith in freedom of the press and freedom of speech.

Even when I disagreed with what was said.

That is what led me into journalism — along with the examples of great journalists like Edward R. Murrow, who was before my time but whose legacy lives on. He wasn't a print journalist, though. He was a pioneer of broadcasting.

I often heard his name mentioned in my journalism classes in college. I had already heard my grandparents speak of listening to his wartime radio broadcasts from London:

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"He was on top of the BBC building, a major German target, a place so dangerous that Winston Churchill's personal intervention was required before broadcasts could be permitted. Night after night Murrow went up there and elsewhere to describe the havoc around St. Paul's, the Abbey, Trafalgar Square. Buildings collapsed around him, his CBS office was destroyed three times, yet his measured, authoritative tones continued to bring the war ever closer to American homes. His effectiveness owed much to understatement. There were never any heroics in his newscasts. At the end he would simply sign off with the current London phrase: 'So long — and good luck.' "

William Manchester
"The Glory and the Dream"

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He was among the first reporters at the Buchenwald concentration camp in 1945.

After the war, the emphasis was on the emerging technology of television. Murrow had misgivings about television, and some of his concerns have proven to be justified, but he persevered, in his pioneering way, transferring his popular radio program Hear It Now to television, where it became See It Now. On the night that See It Now debuted, Murrow reminded the audience, "This is an old team, trying to learn a new trade."

Sixty years ago tonight, See It Now had learned its new trade well enough to take on Sen. Joseph McCarthy of Wisconsin — "when he was his most powerful," wrote historian William Manchester, "and exposed him as a fraud."

Murrow used clips from McCarthy's speeches to criticize him and point out contradictions.

(I always thought it was interesting that early audiences of "Good Night and Good Luck," the 2005 movie that told the story to a 21st–century audience, thought that the McCarthy sequences were too mean–spirited when, in fact, they were actual clips of McCarthy, not an actor hamming it up.

(Not really funny — because it makes me wonder if we learned anything from that experience. Of course, much of what happens today makes me wonder the same thing. It is interesting, though.)

In hindsight, the program was an important turning point — for broadcast journalism and for McCarthy's influence. Broadcast journalism was on its way up, headed for a rendezvous with destiny in which it would bring all the most important events of the next half century into America's living rooms. McCarthy's influence, ascendant for the previous four years, began to wane.

Initially, McCarthy insisted he hadn't watched the program and attempted to smear it with the same brush: "I never listen to the extreme left–wing, bleeding–heart elements of radio and TV," he said.

But that was a false characterization. Do not confuse the left–wing slant of modern broadcasters with Murrow, who asserted, "We cannot defend freedom abroad by deserting it at home." Murrow was anti–communist; he was also an advocate of civil and political liberties and a defender of free speech and freedom of the press.

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"We must not confuse dissent with disloyalty. We must remember always that accusation is not proof and that conviction depends upon evidence and due process of law. We will not walk in fear, one of another. We will not be driven by fear into an age of unreason if we dig deep in our history and our doctrine and remember that we are not descended from fearful men — not from men who feared to write, to speak, to associate and to defend causes that were, for the moment, unpopular. This is no time for men who oppose Senator McCarthy's methods to keep silent or for those who approve. We can deny our heritage and our history, but we cannot escape responsibility for the result. There is no way for a citizen of a republic to abdicate his responsibilities. As a nation we have come into our full inheritance at a tender age. We proclaim ourselves, as indeed we are, the defenders of freedom, wherever it continues to exist in the world, but we cannot defend freedom abroad by deserting it at home. The actions of the junior senator from Wisconsin have caused alarm and dismay amongst our allies abroad, and given considerable comfort to our enemies. And whose fault is that? Not really his. He didn't create this situation of fear; he merely exploited it — and rather successfully. Cassius was right. 'The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves.' Good night, and good luck."

Edward R. Murrow
March 9, 1954

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I sometimes wonder what Murrow would think of digital journalism. I suspect he would have his misgivings about that, too, just as he had his misgivings about television.

But I also suspect he would have embraced it as he did television, acknowledging as he did so that he was "trying to learn a new trade."

"I have reported what I saw and heard," he simply told his listeners after witnessing the atrocities of Buchenwald.

He could have said the same thing after exposing Joe McCarthy on national TV 60 years ago tonight.

A Broadcasting Milestone

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It might seem like a betrayal to all my friends in print journalism, but today is an important milestone in the history of broadcasting that is worth mentioning.

For it was 90 years ago today that President Calvin Coolidge gave the first–ever radio address from the White House.

Silent Cal had a reputation for being — shall we say? — economical with words, but he really gave broadcast journalism a boost during his presidency.

The speech he gave on this day in 1924 was not his first on radio. Less than three months earlier, he had delivered his State of the Union address on radio. As nearly as I can tell, that was the first presidential address on radio, but it wasn't delivered from the White House.

("So clearly was President Coolidge's message broadcast by radio through half of the nation ... that while he was speaking KSD, the radio station in St. Louis, telephoned to the Capitol and asked: 'What's that grating noise?'," marveled the New York Times, "and the transmission experts at the Capitol promptly replied: 'That's the rustling of the paper as he turns the pages of his message'.")

But, considering that presidential addresses from the White House are considered routine today, it is worth reflecting on a time when the concept was new. So, too, was the medium of radio. Most of its applications were yet to be discovered.

Today, of course, presidential addresses from the White House can be seen and/or heard via radio, television and online video.

I'm inclined to think that, at the time, Coolidge understood the political implications of broadcasting, perhaps better than any of his contemporaries. If so, he must have realized that his rather strict, New England schoolmarmish demeanor wouldn't be appealing in all regions of the country so he used radio to build a relationship with the American people.

Presidential approval polls didn't exist in 1924, so it isn't possible to compare the findings of such polls to see if his approval went up when he started speaking to the country via radio after succeeding President Warren Harding in August 1923.

But we do know that, when the American people went to the polls in November 1924, they gave Coolidge a full four–year term in the White House by a wide margin. He swept every state outside the South except Wisconsin, which voted for third–party candidate (and native son) Robert LaFollette.

The day after the third anniversary of the first radio address from the White House, Coolidge signed into law the Radio Act of 1927, which gave regulatory powers to the Federal Radio Commission. The FRC was created by Coolidge in 1926; it was replaced in 1934 by the Federal Communications Commission, which still exists.

What was the subject of his first radio address from the White House? I wish I knew, but no transcript seems to survive. It was, however, something he did fairly frequently during his presidency.

The day before the 1924 election, Coolidge delivered a radio address from the White House on the duties of citizenship. In it, he urged American citizens to go to their polls the next day and "approach the ballot box in the spirit that they would approach a sacrament" and select their leaders "in the light of their own conscience."

"When an election is so held, when a choice is so made," Coolidge said in his conclusion, "it results in the real rule of the people. It warrants and sustains the belief that the voice of the people is the voice of God."

I don't know if President Coolidge was a visionary, but the speech he gave today paved the way for all the broadcast addresses that followed.

And, to the generations of broadcast journalists who followed, it must certainly seem visionary.

The Self-Absorbed Saga of Shea Allen

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I think the thing that really bothers me about Shea Allen is her attitude.

That is a tough thing for me to say because journalism is my love. Well, I guess my love is really writing, but it led me into journalism as my college major and most of my professional activity.

And, believe me, I have known some reporters — some were colleagues, some were competitors — who had really atrocious attitudes.

But I would hire any one of them over Shea Allen, the former reporter for WAAY–TV in Huntsville, Ala.

Allen is an admittedly cute young thing, and, apparently, she had a pretty good following in the Huntsville viewing area, too, but she became an ex–reporter after her "tell–all" blog was — shall we say? — exposed.

Aww, that's way too easy.

It's dishonest, too, because Allen teased her readers with a confession about going bra–less during a broadcast, but the only thing she exposed was a misunderstanding of the First Amendment. When I was in college, my journalism professors always reminded me that there were limits to free speech. It is important to act responsibly. "You can't stand up in a crowded theater and yell, 'Fire!' " they would say.

And, in a figurative sort of way, that's what Allen has been doing.

And I think she is guilty of bad judgment — spectacularly bad judgment. As a journalist, I'm willing to accept a certain amount of bad judgment as being inevitable. But this goes beyond inevitability.

(Her undergarment revelation reminded me of an on–campus incident when I was teaching journalism at the University of Oklahoma. The student newspaper staff, for whom I served as the unofficial adviser, was notified that an unidentified coed had been seen sitting on the steps of a building. She had been wearing a short dress and, apparently, nothing underneath.

(The newspaper, which published daily, ran a story about it, and the next day, traffic was nonstop for hours around the building, which normally sat on one of the quieter streets in town. I never heard if that coed returned to that building, but, apparently, quite a few of the young men on campus not only hoped she would but also hoped they would catch a glimpse of her — in the flesh, you might say.)

"I've vowed to always fight for the right of free expression," Allen wrote. "It's allowed, no matter what the profession."

Yes, Americans are entitled to freedom of speech, and I encourage that. There are many things that I want to write about, and I like the flexibility that the digital world gives me. I write more than one blog because there are so many things of interest to me, but Allen's blogging isn't a commentary on the important issues of the day or an homage to something she enjoys or someone she admires. It is high–tech exhibitionism.

And, while her brand of exhibitionism isn't against the law, it generally isn't acceptable behavior, either, especially when one shares one's heretofore secret tricks of the trade.

Actually, it isn't even exhibitionism. It's more like digital teasing. Using a blog to appeal to people's baser instincts rather than educate or enlighten strikes me as being no more of a contribution to the greater good than the text messages Anthony Weiner keeps sending.

And I find that especially egregious when the blogger is in the public eye — such as someone who is on the news every night.

After reading Allen's post, one realizes that, deep down, she's shallow. I mean, come on, this is a fight for "the right of free expression?"

She revealed, for example, that she is best at her job when she has no script to read "and no idea what I'm talking about."

I don't know. Maybe she was trying to be funny. Or maybe she likes that crawling–along–the–edge–of–a–knife feeling she gets from winging it and thinks she excels under those conditions. Personally, I preferred being better prepared when I went out on an assignment as a reporter.

It probably wasn't a reassuring feeling for her employers when they read that, though — nor, I'm sure, was it reassuring for them to read that Allen's best story ideas came from people "who secretly have a crush on me." (Can you say "stalker?")

Or that she "hate[s] the right side of my face." OK, most of the people I have known have had some kind of self–image issues, but few have felt the need to announce them to the world. Unless they wanted to encourage a cameraman to shoot their good side.

(Speaking of which, she also wrote that she had "mastered the ability to contort my body into a position that makes me appear much skinner (sic) in front of the camera than I actually am." I can't say that her weight appears to be a problem — but if you're a self–absorbed narcissist, I suppose it could be.)

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If I had been in the position to decide whether she would remain at WAAY, I guess I could live with most of the things she wrote in her blog, even the confessions about doing a broadcast without a bra (borderline sleazy but mostly harmless) or winging it in some of her reports. I could probably even live with the knowledge that she has "taken naps in the news car."

Or that "[h]appy, fluffy, rainbow stories about good things make me depressed." I've never worked in broadcasting, but I assume the general rule there is about the same as it always was in newspaper newsrooms. Reporters write about what they're told to write about, and the boss doesn't particularly give a damn whether they like their assignments or not.

But there are a couple of items on her list that I just can't get around.

Professionally, it bothers me when she writes, "If you ramble and I deem you unnecessary for my story, I'll stop recording but let you think otherwise."

I believe that a reporter is entitled to have his/her own opinion, but most judgments are better left to the reader/viewer to make. A reporter should be neutral, a fly on the wall. I can understand if Allen has felt, on occasion, as if a source was wasting her time, but arbitrarily cutting off the recording is too judgmental for my taste — even if the source is unaware. A reporter is the eyes and ears of the community. That community is not served when the reporter chooses to be deaf and blind.

I understand about reaching conclusions on a source before the interview is done, but even if the source is rambling, he/she might still say something that is worthy of inclusion. (Perhaps that should be "especially if the source is rambling ...")

But the revelation about Allen that I find most troubling is this: "I'm frightened of old people and I refuse to do stories involving them or the places they reside."

OK, I get that our culture is obsessed with young people, and older people are looked upon as disposable. You can see it everywhere you look, and it's been that way as long as I can remember — the young are the face of everything.

But when I was growing up, there was still a healthy respect for older people, their lifetimes of experience, their accumulated wisdom. That seems to have disappeared at some point; now, older Americans are largely regarded as a nuisance. Why? I don't know, but I see it as a waste of a valuable resource.

Our politically correct (not to mention charged) culture is quick to pass judgment on racial comments that were made decades ago without bothering to find out the context in which they were made, but little is said about discrimination against older Americans, whether it is in the workplace or anywhere else.

I would consider it refreshing if Allen lost her job not because her breasts were roaming freely inside her blouse one day but because she so blithely dismissed one of the largest and most dependable segments of her station's audience.

Other than the increasing likelihood of dying soon, older people are reliable in just about every good way imaginable — including loyalty to local news shows. They vote, and they buy things.

Young people are more fickle, and that is definitely an age–related trait. Shea Allen and the rest of her generation don't realize it yet, but one day (much sooner, in fact, than they suspect) they will be part of that older dmographic, and they will want to be appreciated for what they have learned in their lives.

Right now, I'm inclined to think Shea Allen hasn't learned a lot.

I've heard some people spinning stories that Allen was fired because she is a woman. I'm not saying there wasn't an element of that involved. Perhaps there was. I have no knowledge either way.

But I do know she was a popular on–air personality, and broadcasters simply don't terminate popular on–air personalities without legitimate cause. I have to wonder if WAAY was concerned about losing older viewers. Maybe there were complaints. More than one–third of Huntsville's population is 45 or older (nearly 30% are between 25 and 44), and TV reporters — being as visible as they are — are representatives of their employers.

If Allen doesn't appreciate her older viewers, she can't be an effective representative. Hopefully, WAAY will replace her with someone who can appreciate older viewers — and won't be afraid of them.

And if Allen does get another broadcasting job, I hope she will enter it having learned something from this experience.

While social media is a great tool for writers, you really need to be careful about posting too much personal information — or too many incendiary opinions.

That's an important lesson for anyone who dabbles in the digital world to learn — but it is particularly important for young writers whose antennae aren't quite as sharp as older folks whose professional lives predate the dawn of the internet.

Getting It First vs. Getting It Right

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The pursuit of the Boston Marathon bombers has been a great opportunity for journalism professors like myself to explore the emphasis in today's media on being first with a story — regardless of whether it is right.

When I was in journalism school, the emphasis was reversed. Getting it right was more important than reporting it first.

I don't mean to suggest that being first wasn't important. It certainly was. Always has been. But the difference is that we were told repeatedly that accuracy took priority. Publishing rumor, hearsay or something that was not independently verifiable was unacceptable.

That was something aspiring journalists learned from reading "All the President's Men." Woodward and Bernstein inspired a generation of young journalists with their coverage of an imploding presidency, but they insisted on having at least two sources for anything they wrote.

As a result, they were rarely wrong about anything. They were often impugned by their adversaries in the White House, but they were seldom wrong.

Far fewer sources apparently were required by CNN when it reported — erroneously — that a suspect in the Boston Marathon bombings was in custody. This was more than 24 hours before the release of the photographs of the suspects by the FBI led to the death of one and the eventual apprehension of the other.

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The audience bears a certain amount of responsibility for this atmosphere.

We live in a culture that not only desires but expects instant gratification. Nothing demands discipline anymore. We have hundreds of TV stations from which to choose — and the ability to record multiple programs for viewing at our convenience. We have numerous options for quick, filling (and mostly absent any nutritional value) food to eat and pills to take to fall asleep at night.

If we experience pain, we can get pain relievers over the counter that promise instant relief. Landline phones are disappearing; everyone has his or her own personal phone now — along with his or her personal water bottle in case of a sudden attack of thirst.

And people in the 21st century know that they can go to multiple web sites — in addition to the traditional stand–bys, the broadcast and print media — for news and information. There is no shortage of sources, and each one seems eager to go with any story it has — even if that story is wrong.

Being first is what counts with the audience.

And the pressure to be first guides the often ill–advised actions of media outlets.

Being right is what should matter to all journalists

When I was a journalism student — and then a young journalist — I knew I was up against competition for the readers' time and attention. Competition is part of the business, just like it is part of any other business. And scooping the competition is definitely not a new concept. If I could scoop my competition, that was great. But my professors and editors insisted on accuracy.

I believed in it then, and I still believe in it. Double checking isn't just a good idea for insurance companies eager to attract customers with discounts, you know. It's a good idea for journalists, too, and it used to be underscored with the words Libel Manual emblazoned on the cover of the AP Stylebook — the journalist's bible.

Now, libel is treated almost like an afterthought by the AP — but I know it isn't. It couldn't be. Libel is still a significant portion of media law, and any media outlet that acts as if it isn't is playing with fire. At the very least, it is tempting fate.

E.J. Dionne laments, in the Washington Post, this rush to judgment in the media. And that judgment usually supports whatever the journalist is predisposed to believe.

There is every bit as much partisan rushing to judgment on the left as there is on the right.

In Boston, Dionne observes, "there was an immediate divide between those who were sure the attack was a form of Islamic terrorism and those just as convinced that it was organized by domestic, right–wing extremists. ... [A]bsolutely no one imagined what turned out to be the case: that two young immigrants with Chechen backgrounds would be held responsible for unleashing the violence."

This is not what I believe journalism is about. Journalists report the news. They are not cheerleaders for one side or the other. They report the facts, even if the facts contradict their personal beliefs, and allow the readers to reach their own conclusions.

OK, a few journalists are cheerleaders. They write opinion columns — and, in most cases, those columns are labeled as opinion.

If it isn't clear whether an article in a newspaper is a news report or an opinion column, I would not recommend that you continue reading that publication.

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The Daily Show with Jon Stewart
Get More: Daily Show Full Episodes,Indecision Political Humor,The Daily Show on Facebook

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There was a time when I would recommend to people that they turn to CNN for reliable news coverage.

I would have made that recommendation as recently as four years ago, when CNN was the only news outlet (as far as I know) that didn't jump to conclusions based on the observations of unauthorized personnel — and waited until someone who was authorized to do so confirmed that Michael Jackson had died.

That decision prevented CNN from being first; CNN, however, retained its integrity.

But, as the attached clips so clearly show, CNN yielded to the dark side in the aftermath of the Boston Marathon bombings and joined (nay, led) the rush to judgment. There were lesser news outlets that did what CNN should have been doing, what CNN used to do — what all media outlets should have done — the responsible thing.

Next time, undoubtedly, it will be someone else who does the right thing. And, rest assured, there will be a next time.

Responsible journalists do not report rumor, innuendo and hearsay. They do not take their lead from "canine dogs" barking in the darkness or what other outlets may be doing.

They do their job. They report the news.

When Jon Stewart makes you the recipient of his razor–sharp witticisms twice in a week's time, your credibility is pretty much shot.

The Standard of Excellence

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It was 45 years ago today that Edward R. Murrow died of lung cancer — two days after his 57th birthday.

When I was studying journalism in college, it seemed there wasn't a class I took in which Murrow's name did not come up. No matter what we were discussing in class, Murrow's life and career always had something relevant to contribute to the conversation.

As far as I was concerned, that was as it should be.

I didn't give much thought to what was the norm in other majors when I was in college, but, as I thought back on it over the years, I realized it had to be the same way with other subjects. Surely, physics majors must have many opportunities in their classes to mention the name of Albert Einstein and recall something relevant he said or wrote. Students of economic thought still speak of Adam Smith more than 200 years after his "The Wealth of Nations" was published. Euclid lived more than 2,000 years ago, but I'm sure his name is brought up with some frequency in math classes.

There are icons in every subject.

Granted, Murrow more appropriately belongs to the pantheon of broadcasting's pioneers. When we discussed print journalism in school, Walter Lippmann's name often came up. And when our discussions predated the 20th century, the conversation focused on names like Benjamin Franklin, Horace Greeley, etc.

But Murrow was always important — primarily because he showed the kind of courage that journalists always admire.

Regardless of the risk to his personal safety, he brought war news to Americans from Europe. After the war, he stood against Joe McCarthy and the infamous Red Scare.

He was a giant of journalism, but even a giant eventually tumbles. Murrow was a heavy smoker throughout his adult life, and that presumably was what brought him down.

But even in that regard Murrow was something of a pioneer. At the time of his death, it had only been a year since the surgeon general made the connection between cigarettes and life–threatening illnesses, which ultimately led to the health warning labels that are now standard on cigarette packages, but in 1965 many people may not have gotten the message until Murrow, whose cigarettes were ever present during his broadcasts, died.

We may never know how many people were inspired to give up smoking by that event, but even if only one was so inspired — and that person added even a day to his/her life because of it — it could be said to be Murrow's final contribution to a better America and a better world.

I don't know if he would be gratified today to know whether his sacrifice played a role in the dramatic decrease in adult smoking in the United States in the last 45 years. Perhaps he would, but I'm more inclined to think that he would be concerned about the future of journalism with so many newspapers struggling to survive.

Even though he made his mark in broadcasting, Murrow addressed the proud traditions in this country of freedom of speech and freedom of the press when he said, during the conflict with McCarthy: "We must not confuse dissent with disloyalty. We must remember always that accusation is not proof and that conviction depends upon evidence and due process of law. We will not walk in fear, one of another. We will not be driven by fear into an age of unreason, if we dig deep in our history and our doctrine, and remember that we are not descended from fearful men — not from men who feared to write, to speak, to associate and to defend causes that were, for the moment, unpopular."

The Vanishing Newsmen

So far this year, we've lost two of the greats from broadcast journalism when I was growing up — Irving R. Levine in March and now Walter Cronkite.

When Levine died, I noted that "He was finicky about his sign–off." That was a reference to his insistence upon including his middle initial when he completed a report, saying "This is Irving R. Levine." The folks at NBC asked him if he would mind dropping that middle initial. They wanted to save a little time. Levine replied that he would rather leave out the B in NBC.

I guess being finicky about sign–offs was a trait among the old school broadcasters because, apparently, Cronkite had some problems with his sign–off.

At least, that is what Tom Watkins is reporting at CNN.com.

Today, the day after Cronkite's death, his memorable sign–off, "And that's the way it is," is being remembered as classic. But it didn't get off to a great start, Watkins writes.

Sandy Socolow, who was Cronkite's producer for four years, told Watkins the story.

On Cronkite's first night as CBS' anchorman, Socolow said, "he ended the show by saying, I'm paraphrasing, 'That's the news. Be sure to check your local newspapers tomorrow to get all the details on the headlines we are delivering to you.'

"The suits," Socolow said, "went crazy. From their perspective, Cronkite was sending people to read newspapers instead of watching the news."

So Cronkite changed his sign–off.

"In the absence of anything else, he came up with 'That's the way it is,' " Socolow said.

But that, too, caused some problems for Cronkite.

"(CBS News President Richard) Salant's attitude was, 'We're not telling them that's the way it is. We can't do that in 15 minutes,' which was the length of the show in those days. 'That's not the way it is.' "

But Cronkite wasn't going to come up with a third sign–off so he kept the one that is now being regarded as iconic.

Those old school broadcasters had their standards.

An Exaggerated Report

Mark Twain is one of my favorite writers of all time. And one of my favorite quotations by him apparently stemmed from reports about a serious illness with which his cousin was afflicted. Somehow, word got out that Twain was the one who was ill — and, from that, things got out of hand. Twain, subsequent reports indicated, had passed away.

But that was not the case. So Twain attempted to set the record straight.

"The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated," he famously said.

I'm getting somewhat the same sensation today with the reports concerning retired news anchor Walter Cronkite.

The 92–year–old Cronkite has been ill recently, but Mark Shanahan reports, in the Boston Globe, that he isn't at death's door — at least, not yet.

Even the Chicago Sun–Times, while hedging its bets with a headline that said "Reports of Walter Cronkite's illness are exaggerated," nevertheless informed readers that Cronkite was "gravely ill" a couple of paragraphs before reporting that Cronkite's executive assistant said he was "dealing with the challenges of being a 92–year–old man."

And that tends to put things in a somewhat different light.

Unless you're over 35, you may not remember Cronkite. He was a fixture in the evening TV news broadcasts, often considered "the most trusted man in America" and known by many viewers as simply "Uncle Walter."

For nearly 20 years, until his retirement in 1981, Cronkite was the anchor at CBS, presiding over the network's coverage of the assassinations of the Kennedys and Martin Luther King, the landing on the moon of Apollo 11 and the Watergate scandal — as well as practically all the other major events of the 1960s and 1970s, like Woodstock and Watts, Three–Mile Island and Kent State.

His on–air editorial in 1968 stating that the war in Vietnam was not winnable is often credited with being the event that turned the tide of public opinion. President Lyndon Johnson, who withdrew from the presidential race a month later, reportedly said, after Cronkite's editorial, "If I've lost Cronkite, I've lost Middle America."

Well, America hasn't lost Cronkite yet — and it may not lose him for several more years. His mother was 101 when she died in 1993. Cronkite was 77 at that time.

By the way, in case you're wondering, it's my understanding that Twain's cousin recovered from whatever had afflicted him.