Something inside me died when news of Walter Cronkite’s death invaded my small, modest condo of one bedroom, part office, bath, kitchen, living room- dining room combination -- nothing to set the Donald on the downward path to envy, but to me, after reading the morning newspaper, it appears luxurious.

Then, on Thursday, July 23rd I was consoled by the Letters to the Editor section in the Chicago Tribune, a kind of public wake for the little people who wouldn’t have been invited to the private services.

I can’t help but wonder what the homeless people were thinking, remembering their friend, far beyond their Tent City Under a Bridge by the Providence River in Rhode Island. The night had spread shards of unrest and terror through the camp, but the chief, with his first cigar of the day, spreads calm and trust.

How often, I asked myself, had Walter Cronkite’s calm delivery of the news reassured the 80 or so people living in tents on a dot of the state’s land beside the river, no certain address, downtown Providence.

Because two men had broken the camp’s rules by fighting, violating the community’s unwritten contract, they were escorted off the camp, away from the protection of an abandoned overpass.

Tonight, there will be a community dinner of donated chicken, parboiled and grilled, donated corn on the cob, donated potatoes. Paper plates grace the wooden tables.

It strikes me as though if Walter Cronkite might drive along, park his car and meld into the crowd, be offered a paper plate on a chance of becoming a member of the elite group, he would be as at home there among the tents as behind his CBS desk.

Dan Barry explains that the clanking of metal signifies a hot game of horseshoes is going on. At the end of the road, live young couples, some substance abusers among them.

Further on is the recycled can area (the money is used for ice and propane). Garbage bags will be tossed in dumpsters on the outskirts of the camp.

Justin Ruta of Moline, Ill sent a letter comparing today’s journalists with the likes of a Walter Kronkite,
July 23, 2009, to the Chicago Tribune:

Failing the Public:
Maybe instead of treating Mr. Cronkite as a cute, quaint “Uncle Walt,” they could try to examine what made him connect with his audience: truthfulness, honesty, conciseness, class and respect. Maybe then they would realize they fail the public every single day with the current levels of journalism they practice.

Lord, please bless our people with journalists who do not think they must giggle and disrespect their listeners, who are not there to be entertained, but to be informed. Oh, yes, if they could go back and take a few classes in grammar, we would be most grateful.

Amen

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