Walter Cronkite: 1916-2009

If you notice, I have a photograph of Walter Cronkite and me about halfway down this page on the right side. That was a huge moment in my life as a journalist. Absolutely huge. I'm very proud of that picture. So let me tell you a little about that photo and the power Mr. Cronkite held over normally jaded, bored, and "oh-so-sophisticated journalists," like me.

The picture was taken several years back when I was working at one of the Los Angeles stations. I pulled the morning shift and the on-air day was over for me. I forget what I had covered. But I was back in the station, the morning shows were over and I was done.

One of the anchors was supposed to go interview Mr. Cronkite but she apparently had other, better, more important and anchorly things to do. In short, she had already left for the day.

The Assistant News Director shouted across the newsroom, "Hey Marti, are you busy? Can we get you to do us a favor?"

"Not particularly busy," I said. "What's up?"

I had already overstayed the shift and was about to slide out the door, but as a freelancer, I was always ready to suck up a little.

"Would you mind going over to UCLA to interview Walter Cronkite?" she queried.

"Would I? WOULD I?" I jumped up and started literally racing around in circles, too excited to know what direction to go with this. Did I look alright? Was my hair okay? Did I have on an okay suit? And most importantly, where was my personal camera? (At home under a pile of reading material.)

Immediately after buying a disposable camera, I raced off to UCLA as fast as I could. I didn't know how to get there before, but I mapquested and had the desk guys on the phone directing me. I was determined.

I was a little bit late, but none of the ceremonies had started. Mr. Cronkite was wandering the hall and hugging Judy Muller, who was apparently an old friend of his and receiving an honor that day. I was so excited that I could have spit.

Unfortunately, it was not "as billed," in that it was not an interview. It was a media availability, which means that about 6 of us were supposed to ask one question each. UCLA was video-taping it and didn't seem to have a reporter.

Because I was so thrilled to meet "Uncle Walter," who had been the most trusted man in America for years, I made a total fool of myself. But who cared? I got to meet him.

He was very kind and gracious to a reporter falling all over herself and bumbling with excitement. In his 90's already, he was a little hard of hearing, but beyond that bit of limitation, he was clear as a bell. I pushed a little and asked about four questions. (You knew that was going to happen, right?) He told me afterward that it was obvious who the students were and who had been a working journalist for awhile. He was a definite charmer and I walked away feeling, well, charmed.

I also got the photograph. I sent him a copy and he signed it. I framed it. It's a treasured memento. And now it almost seems appropriate, with everything that is happening in journalism currently, that he passes. Those of us to whom the torch passed and then dimmed don't really want him seeing our failings. He shouldn't have to see what's going on. It seems almost respectful that he fades from our sight.

But not from memory.

Do I Lead A More Exciting Life than You?

Ahhhhhhhhhhh, yes! Life in the District of Columbia is sometimes a bit dull, but never without its quirky little "Capital of the Free World" mini-dramas.

"Today in the United States Capital, we are enjoying cloudy skies, high humidity, reasonable temps (for July) and a weird little warning."

I noticed the first reference to it on a listserv that I signed up for years back, and kept with through my time in Los Angeles. Now that I'm back on the East Coast, it's full of all manner of "for sale" and "help wanted" stuff.

But today, a message said:

*Security Information Alert

**From: Wilson, Kelly (MPD)

Sent: Thursday, July 16, 2009 9:34 AM

Subject: Flash Mob at DC Locations on Friday

Importance: High

We have seen violence with Flash Mobs in New York and Pennsylvania. One flash mob in Philadelphia pulled drivers out of their cars and assaulted pedestrians and
severely beat a cyclist. ** **

**Implication for DC: Flash mobs could potentially disrupt traffic, entry/exit from train stations, and businesses. A flash mob is an electronically-organized event that creates the appearance of a seemingly random gathering of people. Participants gather and perform an unusual action for a brief moment, then quickly disperse. ** **

**Flash mob locations and times for July 17:

Union Station: 8:30 a.m.Freedom Plaza: 10:30 a.m.

Lincoln Memorial: 12:30 p.m.

Dupont Circle: 1:30 p.m.

Embassy of Pakistan, Iranian Interests Section 3:30 p.m.*

I spotted another notice when I logged into a government email account that was recently opened for me at a part-time government media job. (See! I can tell you that without having to kill you. So now you know I don't work for the CIA.)

I am telling you this just to remind you that I do, in fact, lead a much more exciting life than you. Yup, full of opportunities to be beaten senseless while cycling, fattened by french fry gifts, and lugging around a 3 year old who thinks she is Princess of the Universe.

On a more serious note, it's an interesting little view into the Beltway Universe, isn't it? Yes, I do know lots and lots of very important people. I probably can expect to meet lots more in the future, too. But I also sit in Beltway traffic, swelter in the humidity, avoid metro stops where terrorists have organized and assigned mini-meltdowns among would might have appeared to be passersby, and probably see emails between South Carolina's Governor Mark Sander and his Argentinian mistress a few minutes before you do.

Aren't I the lucky one?

(Inside ballgame note: isn't it fascinating that the first concern listed under "implication" is that traffic, transit and business could be disrupted?)

You've Come A Long Way, Baby

Given any thought to the future of your job lately? What about the balance of power in your relationship? Any consideration at all to the girl in the Honda Civics next to you on I-Wherever?

You might want to. I read this Washington Post article today and I have to admit that I sorta liked it. I used to be neighbors with Claire Shipman who now is senior national correspondent for "Good Morning America" and reading her thoughts on the future of our global economy was interesting. I liked that she listed Russian examples because I know she used to be based there as a reporter for CNN and probably retains strong contacts and excellent insights. And I am, afterall, a woman.

The article discusses the shift of economic power on a world-wide basis. In short, the end of economic power being held by an all-male culture of good old boys who block economic progress for women. While the Washington Post article also links to this lengthier article in Foreign Policy Magazine, I'm guessing a lot of the reason that Claire and her writing partner, Katty Kay of the BBC wrote it was to hype their newly released book, "Womenomics" available from Harper Collins Books.

The article (and the book, I assume) details Shipman and Kay's theorems of how government stimulus projects in the past, ie The New Deal and every road and infrastructure project ever devised, have been devised to prop up the male-dominated economy and keep women out of the workplace.

Hmmmmmm. Interesting premise.

Except that now, great minds are starting to think alike. Financial statisticians are churning out research showing that companies with more women in upper management report consistently higher corporate earnings.

Democracy is getting the message, too. Norway requires 40% of any corporation's board to be female. Iceland, after its last economic meltdown, elected a woman to head its government. Same for Lithuania. The Vilnius newspaper headline proclaimed, “Lithuania has decided: The country is to be saved by a woman.”

I bet Hilary is choking on this. I bet Bill is even more angry.

So, it's an interesting concept to read about. And whether you agree with "Womenomics" or not, Shipman and Kay are putting it out there.

And shaking it.

My American Journey

To update you, I recently returned on a more or less permanent ('permanent' is all relative, right?) basis to the East Coast. Below are photographs and a little narrative of my trip.

I left California. I got up on Sunday morning after covering Michael Jackson's demise for two grueling (and a bit surreal) days to load my little econo-car at its limit. I then drove off on a new adventure.

On the first day, after drying my tears, I drove to Southern Utah to see some family. I found them under a rock in Zion National Park.
They were every bit as much fun as they look, but soon I was off again. I drove on across Utah toward Colorado. This is Spotted Wolf View, which hangs out over I-70. It goes out another 50 yards or so of gravelly drop-out path.

See that crack in the lower center of the photo? It appears that chunk of "path" to the left could fall off just about any second.

It looked like a great place to walk out, rather like this scene in the movie, "Pride and Prejudice" starring Keira Knightley.

Due to the fact that these are not climbing shoes...

...but are in fact falling to your death shoes, I did not walk out to the edge. I may regret that someday. But any regret will have to wait until I stop shaking at the thought.

Next I drove thru Colorado and into Kansas, which appears to be a beautiful, if seemingly endless state. Finally, I arrived at that spot of gastronomic heaven known as "Arthur Bryant's" in Kansas City, Kansas.

Here I am in front of Arthur Bryant's BBQ House at the Legends in Kansas City, KS. I'm particularly proud of this t-shirt. My Dad presented it to me just two weeks before. He, uh, didn't like the one I had worn to Father's Day lunch at my brother's house, which said "Jesus is our dishwasher" on the back. I don't think he likes colloquial humor. Oh well.

Mr. Bryant's barbecue establishment is world-famous for its great tasting smoked meat and sauce.

This generous overall-clad fellow was behind me in line. He said it was a great bbq place and since I'm a believer that "you are what you eat," I expect he'd be one to know.

He proceeded to order a luscious pound and a half plate of barbecue meat, including pork, ribs, and sliced brisket. He also got himself a large order of fries. I know this because they arrived just as I got to the "pay up, please?" part of the deal. He said "Aw, look what Daddy got!"

I asked "Daddy" if I could try three of his fries. He graciously agreed. I swiped 'em. I swiped my card. And I dashed around the corner to indulge myself.

Yessiree! (That's colloquial Kansas barbecue house verbage, right there!) It was great!

It's funny how in LA, those sunglasses look sorta hip. In a Kansas City barbecue house, they make me look a teensy bit like blonder, less hairy Blues Brother, don't you think? Of course, what they really do is let me hide behind them as I watch my fellow diners. This way, I can see their expressions as they gather their families around the table for the big treat. Yessiree! Arthur Bryant's is that good.

And "Daddy?" I passsed him and his pal on the way out. He said they would have invited me to dine with them, except I disappeared. I was actually a little worried I might have been tempted to steal another fry and that might have proven lethal. He definitely he could eat.

Next, I drove over to this place, Sheridan's Frozen Custard, which was also at "Legends." For those of you homebodies, "Legends" is a big "town center" bunch of strip malls with stores and restaurants covering a good 20+acres just off an exit in a nice area residential area of Kansas City. BTW, I was tipped off to the this particular location by my barbecue consultant, Kevin Westhues, who I worked with years ago in Omaha, NE.

I went up to the window and met another Kevin. This 'un is friendly enough until you tell him you want to take his picture. Then he gets quite unfriendly. Downright weird, in fact.

You ask him his name. He says "William." Not true. His name is Kevin. There's an entire story, but it's frankly pointless and boring, so let's move on. His name is KEVIN. Deceptively pleasant looking, isn't he?It was here as I tried to decide on ice cream that I met the Hongslo's of Minnesota. Marie and Michael and their kids were enjoying Kansas City's gourmet fare as much as I was. It took them a fair amount of time to order. I think they really enjoy the "ice cream with the kids" experience a lot.
Marie Kibler Hongslo (I know her full name because she "friended" me on facebook a few days later) is as honest and agreeable of a person as you could wish to sit down next to and begin chatting up. I hope she forgives me for posting this picture of her from the backside with her family.

As for me, I wimped out. I ordered this double scoop, which was the smallest thing on the menu at Sheridan's and I only made it halfway through before I was "sugared out." I'm guessing I'll always be kinda disappointed in myself about that.

But I'll learn to live with it. That and the "no walking out on to deadly overhangs" thing.

I drove on to Columbia, Missouri that night and woke up to a lovely barbecue turkey sandwich for breakfast before driving on to Lexington, Kentucky.

In Lexington, I was invited to stay with an old friend and make two new ones. Keith, on the left in the picture below, is my old friend.

Keith was the first friend I made when I moved to the East Coast years ago. His best friend Andrea and their dog Autumn are my new friends. Check out that dog's face. Andrea's face is pretty darn cool, too!

I enjoyed my time there so much that I wanted to enhance the local economy.

So I bought myself a gift: a spiffy new tire. Don't ask.

Please don't ask.

Eventually, I arrived in my new home. And boy-howdy-yessirree, I was glad to get out of the car. That's more colloquialism, by the way. I learned it in Kentucky... waiting for my new tire to be put on.

As you may by now know, I drove from Los Angeles to my new home, enjoying the scenery and talking to people I met along the way. I'd smile and compliment them on something and tease them about all kinds of things. From barbecue orders to restroom decor and anything else I could think of... I just talked with people who were out and about. It was very fun.

People always ask me about these cross-country drives. Three time this year has been a bit much, even for my wanderlust.

But the Great American Countryside is absolutely beautiful and the horizon always draws me. I always seem ready to go.

One thing I have figured out that it's not the views (although they are pretty great!) that pull me out my door and down the road. It's the people.
Look at this woman. Can you not want to smile at her? I never asked her name. Most of them, I did not. (Marie: You were special.) I just snapped her picture because she was so fun to look at. She was beamingly happy on July 4th. Which is great, isn't it? And it made me happy to look at her.

Because to me, Americans are like candy and for the life of me, I can't stop wanting to gobble it all up.

Sanford, Ensign, Spitzer, McNair...

Do all our role models have "someone on the side" these days? Is this something that we need to accept about modern life?

It sure seems like that's what people in high profile positions believe, privately and when caught, want to dare us to argue with them about publicly these days.

From politicians like United States Senators and the Governors of some states, to NFL players who appear publicly happy in their marriages but like to have a little 'sumpin-sumpin' on the side, it seems like those who are successful want extra rewards in their personal lives.

And when they are caught, they want to simply say "Oops! Sorry." And we're all supposed to just move on. You know, it's one thing to forgive infidelity, which is probably truly between the sinner and their spouse, but I must admit, I'm not nearly as forgiving when the adulterer has lied publicly. If they were just quiet about it, that's one thing. But public servants, lying to the public, I'm hard pressed to suggest that deserves a free pass.

Particularly annoying is when the rationale is "Oh, we fell in love." No sir. 15 year olds "fall in love." College kids under the influence "fall in love." Grownups with responsibilities (Like four sons? Or a mortgage with another person's name on it. Or promises made?) are supposed to be on their guard against that type of thing.

These opportunities aren't made in a vacuum bottle. They don't "just happen." They happen because someone left the garden gate open and the rabbits snuck in and started chewing on the radishes.

Wouldn't you think that right now, in the midst of the worst economic downturn in decades, most people would be trying to hang on to what they've got, rather than taking it outside their marriage? Taking it down the street and around the corner can get mighty pricey. And in at least one case, police say it cost former NFL quarterback, Steve McNair, shot to death by his financially desperate girlfriend, far too much.

Why do high profile, easily spottable public figures think they won't get caught? At the risk of everything that they have why not keep it zipped all day and take it home at night?

I don't actually have any answers on this. I don't think it's ironic or even slightly funny. My only thought is to note that it seems like in addition to losing money these days, we're losing a lot of capital in the integrity arena. I would have thought we didn't start with any to spare.

Addendum: this one seems more like an annoyed whine than a blog. Better stuff in the next one, I believe. We'll have some fun again.

A Seaside Interlude....

As you know, watching celebs drop like flies and fly-dropping politicians can be very wearing on my psyche. To alleviate my soul's angst, I hired on as a personal photographer and sherpa for a young family vacationing along the central California coast. Their intrepid Leader, seen below, is small of stature, but quite decisive about the group's travels.

She paced thoughtfully in the picture above.

Our journey took us to San Simeon to visit a Castle set amid the hills high above.


It seemed a setting that befit our Great but Physically Dimunitive Leader, who liked it mightily. The pool provided a distraction that pleased most of our eyes. But to our Leader, it seemed but a mere moment before she saw that this all was but a wisp of cloud before her eyes.

The pool is 9 feet deep in some areas, laid with white marble and surrounded by artifacts of a bygone age. Sadly, it remains unfinished.

But lo! Do not worry; our dear Enlightened One began offering suggestions on how to improve the beauty and elegance of the furnishings.

So taken up with those changes was she, that we could not entice her to turn towards our camera. Try as we might, we could not dissuade The Leader to embrace the mundane... to turn and be photographed. "NO!" she asserted. "I don't want to!" The Great Ones are all about serving others. And we marched on, assured She was intently looking after our best interests.

Next we rose to even higher heights: the Celestial Room.

Surely this would be the right place to bring our little earthly Goddess of Goodness and Light! So full of bright airiness was this room that we knew it was the perfect setting for our Marvelous One to lay her precious head.

Strangely, the Castle's owners did not see it that way. And we ascended to the garden where more earthly delights were found.

It was here I began to carry our Great One, in order that her hands need not touch and "bless" the surroundings by their presence. We also visited the beach, where the Great One pondered sand in her sandals and considered the tides.

Ahhhhhh, the ebb and flow of it all. So meaningful, so endless. It is almost too great to consider.

But here our Great Leader clearly knows her importantance. I was fortunate to carry her to meet some of the smaller the minions of the sea under her dominion: a starfish and anemones.

Oh, how often has man turned the sea to understand their own insignificance in the Universe.

Our Great One knows her place in the Universe. Along with every one else's place, too, at times, it seems. She is always thoughtful and considerate in telling us where we should best stand for the benefit of all and provides guidance along the way.

Such considerate help and assistance is always appreciated by lesser beings such as ourselves. Who would not appreciate the condescension and thoughtful assistance in answering all of life's questions such as "May I have one of your M&M's, Great Leader?" "NO!" "Could I possibly try one of your many green jelly belly candies?" "Yes, you can have ONE." "Would you like a waffle for breakfast this morning?" "I want an egg!"

Ahhhh, such insights our Precious Leader imparts.

Is it any wonder that the very tides of the sea seem to cling to the shore, hoping to be closer to our Great Leader, gracious and kind in her condescension as she is. Let us all hope to share in Her Light for years and blessed decades to come.

More Media Insight

Since one of my friends commented on how much she enjoyed seeing "behind the scenes" of coverage of a big national story, such as Michael Jackson's death, I thought I'd show you some more of the pictures you didn't see.

We'll start with this first one. You see the young man "praying" there at the barricade in front of the dead singer's star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame? Yeah. I first spotted him around 7am on June 27th. He had his head bowed over that guardrail but his eyes weren't actually closed.

Instead, his eyes were darting back and forth to checking to see who was watching him. He was positioned directly behind me, and as I watched a little longer, I could see that this "gentleman" was watching to see which cameras were on, and where he could best position himself to be in their line of sight.

That sounds pretty bad, but guess what happened next? I pointed him out to the BBC and Reuters photographers, and then the BBC cameraman shouts to the Reuters photog, "Hey, make sure you get a shot of that dude who's praying."

Guess what happened next? You got it: "praying dude" snapped his eyes shut and stayed that way off and on for the next two and a half hours. Whenever someone started to shoot, he started to pray. Not exactly sincere, is he? But he did make the LATimes, the TV Guide Channel and a couple of other media outlets. He invested 2.5 hours and got his 15 minutes.

You already saw this next fan. He claimed to be one of Michael Jackson's biggest fans, but apparently can't spell his idol's name correctly.

By the way, when I arrived at the Walk of Fame at 12am Friday night, I noticed a sharp increase in the number and quality of "party dresses." And not just any kind of party dresses. These were the most expensive, short little outfits I'd ever seen down there. Not a sparkly glove in sight.

To give you an idea, usually, the Friday/Saturday night crowds are bar-hopping, but these crowds were mostly on one side of the street: walking up and down in front the barricaded area of "the Walk." Maybe they were there to honor Michael Jackson, but they all seemed to want to get their moment in front of the cameras. Interesting, isn't it?

Please don't misunderstand what I'm saying. I don't want to suggest that Michael Jackson doesn't have his fans. He does. He was a huge influence in the music industry. He has legions of fans. His misfortune was dying in a town that is full of posers. And lots of those turned out to "honor" him and be photographed in doing so. It's stunning to think of the numbers of people who were hoping to be "discovered" at a sidewalk memorial, isn't it?

This photo shows the reporter and photographer in position for a live shot. You can tell the shot is coming up soon because my jacket is on. It was so warm that between shots, my jacket was off and the sun glasses were on.

Next is a picture of the reporter, in a rare moment of doing what she's supposed to do between live-shots. I'm supposed to sit down and update my information by reading wire copy stories on my pda and maybe do a little writing. Usually, I pace. I pace a lot. I like pacing. I think it should be a national sport. I could be an Olympian. But for this moment, I grabbed a chair, sat, and read.

This is a photograph of a happy and successful crew: two truck operators, a correspondent and a wonderful producer.

By way of explanation, I took no pictures from the first day after the 50 year old singer died. Candid pictures are something that gets done after the writing, tracking, shooting and other set-up are complete and between live shots. The first day's schedule was just too busy. We started at the Holmby Hills rental house at midnight, ran on to the Walk of fame at around 8 am, and then raced to the Los Angeles County Coroner's office by mid-morning. No time for intelligent, hard working and dedicated news crews to shoot pictures until Day Two and beyond.