Red Room Where the Writers Are

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When I was in fourth grade, our teacher decided to have us all write a little biography of ourselves. Every Monday, a student would post what they wrote about themselves, and other students would add their own words and descriptions. 

I'm quite sure I was the only ten-year-old in that room who wrote about the Jonestown Massacre and Three Mile Island. I wouldn't have blamed my teacher for ordering a psych evaluation for me, but she understood what those words meant: that I followed the news, and that I wanted to be a journalist.

I regret never finishing college, but I feel that the education that I do have is a result of reading the paper (cover to cover) and watching the news every day. And for many, many years, the news for me - and my main professor - was Walter Cronkite.

When most other kids were watching cartoons, Schoolhouse Rock or Sid and Marty Krofft, I was watching the news and, in particular, "Uncle Walter." Cronkite looked a little like my father and spoke with a rich baritone voice. He may have said "that's the way it is" as the coda to his nightly program, but Walter's voice and demeanor made that statement unnecessary. 

As I got older and learned more about journalism, my respect for Cronkite grew. It is true to some degree that anyone can be a "talking head," but it takes a special skill to be as good of an anchor and reporter as he was. He had the great skill of being able to understand a situation quickly. He was phenomenal at taking a complex story and reporting on it in a way that made it easy to understand.

Our TV at home was almost always tuned to CBS. KDKA in Pittsburgh was as much of a legend as Cronkite himself; it was in the history books as one of the first stations to go on the air. And it had its own legendary newsman in Bill Burns. Seldom an evening went by without those two voices in the background as we ate dinner.

I have a great respect for the man and his undoubtedly important work, and prefer his news - which was, to steal a misappropriated phrase, 'fair and balanced' - to the shoutfests that often pass for objectivity or discourse on cable television these days. (We watched the coverage of Cronkite's passing on Rachel Maddow, a reporter I respect and that I believe shows the most objectivity and eloquence of any cable news anchors on the air.)

But I think part of the legend of Cronkite was his omnipresence. Much of the TV that we watched in the 1960s and 1970s became so deeply imprinted on us as an audience because there were far fewer channels to choose from. The voices we heard over the air - whether they were real ones like Cronkite or fictional ones like Archie Bunker - had such an impact on us. 

Cronkite's passing marks the end of an era in so many ways. Traditional media is struggling to survive. Broadcast television is struggling to remain relevant. The Internet, blogging and YouTube have all boosted citizen journalism in a way that can no longer be ignored.

Last December, I was invited to New York by the PR team of the CBS daytime soap Guiding Light. As we walked through the old, byzantine studios to get to where GL is taped and produced, we walked by the CBS News studios. It was in those studios and in CBS' Washington bureau where that rich history was made. 

I am glad I made that trip and got to see that history. But for a minute, I wished I could ditch the group and wander down those halls. I wanted to make my way to the news studios, and see all of the rich history inside of the midtown Manhattan Broadcast Center. 

Traditions eventually erode with time. Guiding Light was canceled in April, and those studios will be dark after it leaves the air. With it goes a huge piece of history; for the first time in over 50 years, no scripted television will be filmed there.

And just as Cronkite was humbled by the shadow of Edward R. Murrow's ghost (and Murrow's definitive work), so will the many reporters and anchors at CBS be humbled by the shadow of Uncle Walter.