Getting to Cronkite Late
July 17th, 2009 by Bill ColleyA neighbor of mine many years back was pretty and blond and nice and at the age of 50 she was unmarried. Her name was Joanne and mornings we would meet for coffee and take our dogs for long walks to a pond where the growing puppies could play and swim. Joanne was never a romantic interest but we developed a lasting friendship. We know more details about the life of the other than probably many married couples know about spouses. It was a level of trust developed as we would set atop a picnic table talking while the dogs frolicked.
Joanne never talked much about being in love but I knew she’d had a boyfriend who had played football at Notre Dame and then later with the San Diego Chargers. College had split the two. She stayed closer to home, attending St. Bonaventure University. Years passed and her old boyfriend divorced and wanted to rekindle a romance. She turned him away. He was a successful businessman after football but she had no interest. Why? “The Irish drinking thing”, she replied, and it made me chuckle and think about my own experience.
My last name has a distinctive Irish feel about it and there are memories of my dad. He was a formidable drunk. He was a towering physical presence until he was felled by heart trouble. He taught his sons all he knew about drinking and sometimes I’ve regretted the lessons. If I’d been at home some nights I could’ve saved myself some embarrassment. It also taught me I could drop some of the inhibitions I had earlier in life and some of them I’m glad are gone. We built a house together, when I was just getting out of high school, and for a time my brother joined and we lived together as three single men.
In the morning we would wake up and there would be a race to the bathroom. Later there would be an addition to the house and 3 bathrooms but in the early years with just one there was gridlock. The house was constructed resting against a hillside. A backdoor on the second floor was at ground level. It’s a guy thing and probably shouldn’t be shared in public but when drinking men get out of bed there is urgency. Two of three would relieve themselves out the door before going downstairs. The lucky of the three was already relieving his bladder on the ground floor where polite people relieve themselves. Later the old man put a deck outback and two guys would walk a few feet and do their business, wearing nothing but skivvies. This wasn’t a problem as there were no neighbors who could see us in a partially secluded rural setting.
The habit was broken for me one foggy morning when I stepped outdoors without my glasses and while doing my business heard footsteps. I was relieving myself amongst a herd of deer. It civilized me. Country boys sometimes need some civilization.
About the same time I read Merle Miller’s oral biography of Lyndon Johnson. At his Texas ranch LBJ would relieve himself before bed from his front porch. After becoming President he continued the habit until one night security grew alarmed by noise on the porch and switched on spotlights.
My interest in Johnson’s life was fueled by one man. Walter Cronkite. I was a small boy when Johnson was President and he’s the first President I remember. Why? Because Cronkite was in our living room every night talking about the President. Forty years ago this week Cronkite was in the Makarowski’s living room uttering some familiar words. “Man on the moon”, he said. The Makarowski’s lived next door and neighbors from up and down the block gathered there for a party and for what was the greatest endeavor in human history.
There are a great many broadcasters who became what they are because one person was their influence. I’m not among them. There were many influences in my life, some refined and some not so refined, however. Aside from my parents and grandmothers I spent more time growing up around Cronkite than any other adult. There could’ve been far worse role models.