The last rites and wrongs of the recently deceased

It is better to go to a house of mourning than to go to a house of feasting,
for death is the destiny of every man; the living should take this to heart.

Ecclesiastes 7:2(NIV)

Friday, July 17, 2009

Walter Cronkite


What's WRONG? At CLUB DEAD, The bell tolls for Walter Cronkite, the Most Trusted Man In America, dead at 92 at his New York home, following a long illness. He didn't just bring us the news, he was family, the gentlemanly uncle we all admired.



Walter Cronkite's words resonate in the memory of anyone alive on November 22, 1963.

"From Dallas, Texas, the flash, apparently official: President Kennedy died at 1pm Central Standard Time, 2 o'clock Eastern Standard Time, some 30 minutes ago.".

America remained glued to the television for next few days, watching Cronkite. It was his words, his demeanor, that told us we would survive; we would move ahead.

Walter Cronkite was our witness to the events which shaped our lives. All the mileposts which defined the path of the world are permanently embedded with our memories of hearing Walter describe them.



It was Cronkite who, disillusioned with the American presence in Vietnam, publicly called for an end to the war. It's probably an exaggeration to say he ended Lyndon Johnson's Presidency. He was far from the first public figure to decry the war. War protests had become so commonplace as to attract little attention. Yet there's no way to know the nature of Johnson's plans when, after watching Walter's broadcast, he turned to his advisors and said, "If I've lost Cronkite, I've lost Middle America."


It was Cronkite who spoke to an already racially polarized nation on April 4, 1968, and told them the sobering news that America's best hope for the peaceful advancement of civil rights lay dead in a Memphis hospital. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. had been silenced by a sniper's bullet, and no one could know what lay in store.


It was Walter Cronkite who later that year, dared to call the Chicago security officers "thugs" as they roughed up correspondent Dan Rather on the floor of the Democratic national convention.

And it was Cronkite, 40 years ago this week, who was there when Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldren walked on the moon.

Walter Cronkite started at the very bottom, as a newsroom 'gofer,' as he described it, going for cigars, egg rolls, whatever the reporters needed. He cut his teeth in Kansas City in the days when Boss Prendergast ran the city. He went to war, came home, fell in love with and married Betsy. He worked his way up to the CBS newsroom in New York, and in 1962, was tapped as the replacement for Douglas Edwards on the evening newscast.

As a boss, he never asked a correspondent or editor to do anything he hadn't done himself. He edited his own copy, and in the days before teleprompters, scribbled story notes to himself. He talked to us. He was not the lofty soothsayer proclaiming the great truth. He was a friend, someone we could trust.

Frequently, polls showed him to be the most trusted man in America, The nickname stuck. His singsong delivery and signature closing "And that's the way it is..." were quoted and parodied by all, including Johnny Carson.



He was witness to America's darkest days: the Cold War, Vietnam, race riots, the energy crisis, Three Mile Island, the Iran hostages. He told us of the murder of a young President. He brought us through the trying days of the two administrations which followed: Lyndon Johnson, whose albatross was the war in Southeast Asia, and Richard Nixon, whose term ended like none before, collapsing under the weight of its own paranoia.

Walter was also with us through our finest hours: conquering the moon, bringing peace, albeit temporarily, to the middle east, and standing tall on July 4, 1976 as America rose to celebrate its Bicentennial with pageantry like had never before been seen.

Against his instincts, Cronkite left the CBS Evening News anchor desk in 1981, a casualty of CBS' policy of mandatory retirement at age 65. He was disappointed to learn he would no longer be anchoring specials, political conventions, and breaking news events; duties which he believed he would be able to continue after foregoing anchor duties.


He watched as television news became a hodgepodge of rumor, opinion and sculpted, homogenized content. It was no longer information; it was product. Young people sought to be news reporters, but not to report the news, not to seek the truth, but because it was a way to be on television.

His personality was certainly the greater part of the giant figure he became. Dan Rather once said we wasn't sure if a movie could be made of Cronkite's life, for no actor could be found who could portray his combination of grace, dignity, and integrity.

And that's the way it is.


Then again, screw him, he's dead. Let's go look for crocodiles.



StevenK

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

Karl Malden


What's WRONG? At CLUB DEAD, The bell tolls for Karl Malden Hoosier, Serb, sometimes the hero, sometime's the hero's best friend, dead at 97.


Mladen Sekulovich came of age in the close-knit Serbian community in Gary, Indiana. Handsome, strong and determined, he made a great impession on those who new him. Diversions came in two forms, sports and performing. His father was active in choirs and plays in their church, and young Mladen was encouraged to join in.

The early decades of the 20th Century were the glory days for Gary, when the steel mills meant opportunity and financial stability for the men who could handle the inferno. There was little doubt that Mladen would one day take his place in the mills, following in the footsteps of so many other first and second generation members of the immigrant families who had settled on the Indiana shore of Lake Michigan.

But after three years of the daily grind, his dream of an acting career finally broke through. Surpisingly, his father, who had encouraged such things within the church, felt such goings on were not proper fodder for a career. Undaunted, the young man made his way to Arkansas, enrolled in college. A name change to the more American-sounding "Karl Malden" followed, and within a few years, he was pounding the boards in New York. Broadway soon called, then after service in World War II, Hollywood.

So many movie classics bore his imprint: The Gunfighter, A Streetcar Named Desire, On the Waterfront, Baby Doll, Pollyanna, The Great Impostor, One-Eyed Jacks, Birdman of Alcatraz, How the West Was Won, Gypsy, Cheyenne Autumn, The Cincinnati Kid, Nevada Smith, Hotel, Patton, The Wild Rovers...

One of his best friends in New York had been Issr Danielovich, another Eastern European immigrant who became famous after changing his name to Kirk Douglas. When Karl's TV cop show "The Streets of San Francisco" was being cast, a young actor showed up to audition for the part of the young hotshot officer who provided the counterpoint to Malden's seasoned, experienced detective. "That's a Douglas chin," remarked Malden with a smile, recognizing the famous cleft. And so Michael Douglas got his big break. With solid performances, and the great scenery of the city, "The Streets of San Francisco" was a fixture on ABC for several seasons.

He remained humble and never forgot his working-class upbringing, nor his Serbian Orthodox heritage. His TV show "Skag" told of a Serbian man who raised a family while toiling in the steel mills. It was a critical sucess, if not a commercal one. And in most of his movies, there is a charater or reference to someone named "Sekulovich."

He was universally lauded and respected by his peers. He recieved several Academy Award nomitations, and won the 1952 Oscar as Best Supporting Actor for A Streetcar named Desire." In 1988, he was elected president of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, a title he held for five years. His characters were memorable, and always crafted with painstaking detail.


Then again, screw him, he's dead. Let's go look for crocodiles.



StevenK
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