A Brief Obituary or Two

Walter Cronkite (1916-2009)

One promises to eschew the odious term “avuncular.” Cronkite, at times referred to as “Uncle Walter,” earned his familiarity from a generation at the helm of the CBS Evening News. The whole uncle thing has been blown way out of proportion. Most people don’t have uncles like Walter Cronkite, but wish that they did. Most uncles are not genteel and erudite, and that is something that they would like to forget.

Mr. Cronkite was a product of another time. His impartial rendering of the day’s events in clear, concise language earned him recognition as the “Most Trusted” man in America. If Cronkite deigned to render an opinion, it was clearly acknowledged as such, with objective support for the conclusion. Cronkite’s detachment was so ubiquitous and notable, that only two occasions are noted for him going outside the boundary over a career that spanned seven decades.

What may not be remembered by most people under 40 will be Cronkite’s unassailable integrity or his spectacular confidence. Unconsumed by ego, he enjoyed a reputation as a fair broker before such argot became commonplace. On occasion, he was noted for playing upon his image with self-deprecating good humor. No modern journalist can achieve that.

Ultimately, Walter Cronkite was the best kind of teacher. He accepted and lived up to the challenge that his role was to bring others in debate up to his level.

Walter Cronkite has gone on assignment for eternity. No one is likely to fill the big chair behind his desk in the foreseeable future.

Sadly, that’s the way it is.

John Hughes (1950-2009)

We move from Walter Cronkite’s empirical truth to another approach which is no less valid. John Hughes was an entertainer whose films chronicled the maturation of a generation. For those born in the mid to late sixties, we saw ourselves for the first time in his films.

Our generation had no moment as a touchstone. There was no Beatles on Ed Sullivan or moon landing, merely the Chicago suburb of Shermer, Illinois. These were young people who spoke our language and became a common experience.

While some of the films may now appear dated in music and fashion, the underlying integrity continues to make them relevant. When we see John Bender’s Dionysian rebel from The Breakfast Club or the Authoritarian Ed Rooney from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, their conflicts and characters are still as recognizable as they would be when the films were released.

On an August morning in Manhattan, the trenchant and timeless observations from John Hughes came to an end. In the theme song from The Breakfast Club, we are implored, “…don’t you…forget about me.” The mirror has been covered, and those of us who recall the eighties in their glorious bouffant excess sit Shiva, but we will not forget the artist who knew our face before we realized we had one.