Peter Jennings, First Rate

The death of Peter Jennings last night was the sad end of an era. In forty three years of life there have only been four men I looked to for the news of the day. Not entertainment, mind you, but news.

Chet Huntley and David Brinkley opened a fascinating window onto the world from my childhood dinner table, always ending a broadcast with their signature sign-off…
“Good night, Chet.”
“Good night, David. And good night from NBC news.”

Later, not surprisingly, Walter Cronkite became my standard bearer, his tone and confidence so reassuring in times of national crisis, which were many.

And then came Peter Jennings. Unlike his predecessors, who were fatherly, and later grand-fatherly, the authoritative Jennings was less a person I looked up to than a person I wanted to be. He was sophisticated yet unpretentious, and had an extraordinary grasp of his subject matter (despite never graduating from high school!). His demeanor was always calm and collected, and he spoke with a soothing yet expressive voice. He was also a master of the insightful ad-lib.

Most of all, he seemed to care deeply about what he was doing and directed his passion to serve the viewing public. He tried to get to the heart of things, to inform. The rare occasions when his broadcast included a fluff story, so much a part of other “news” shows, he couldn’t hide his discomfort and disdain. And unlike the angry, trash-mouthed neo-news reporters on tabloid channels like Fox, I rarely new where he stood on an issue, even when covering politics. (As the story of his death broke and was immediately covered by the networks and CNN, Fox stuck to its relentless coverage of the Natalie Holloway story from Aruba.) Peter Jennings was a real journalist, and he towered over his peers.

Yes, his competitors were excellent and accomplished. Guys like Brokaw and Rather deserve a lot of respect. But when tragedy struck, I always turned to Jennings first. I could count on him to tell me what was going on, emphasizing the important aspects of an issue. Nowadays, among shouting matches, celebrity breakups and missing white women (no offense to the Holloway or Peterson families, only the networks who ignore war and famine to cover them 24/7), it’s too much to expect a reporter to stop sucking up to the White House or Senate Leadership long enough to ask a challenging question, much less calling untruth a lie.

I used to see Peter Jennings walking around the Upper West Side, once buying a hot dog for a young man I presumed to be his son. As in his professional life, he stood out, smiling warmly and exuding dignity and confidence. He was a first-rate newsman, and his death leaves a void that will never be filled.