More than anyone or anything else, Walter Cronkite is why I am in this business. Sure, as a kid I was already a “news junkie.”  

I think I’m one of the few ten year olds who watched gavel-to-gavel (and it was in those days) TV coverage of political conventions.   

But it was Walter Cronkite who personified everything that was exciting, important, dramatic, and enthralling about covering the news. Behind an anchor desk or in the field.  

And that, just maybe, you could make a difference doing it.

It’s ironic that his passing comes near the 40^thanniversary of man’s first walk on the moon. Because it was Cronkite’s  excitement about space travel (shared by me) which I so loved.   

I followed every space shot, closely watching Cronkite play with his model space capsules (and I might have done my own make-believe anchoring on the side!). 

He was “Uncle Walter” around our house.  Actually, my brother and I had our own nickname for him : “The Cronk” (I don’t know whether he would have liked that!).

No Huntley/Brinkley at the Palkot home.   It was “The Cronk” every night.   First in 15 minute form. Then a half hour.   Then, gosh, in color. Along with dinner. 

His announcements of the stock market figures each night told us whether we were rich or poor. Maybe, he’d have a funny story at the end of the show.  If you were really lucky you could see him pull out his pipe behind the closing credits.

As many others have noted, he was the one that helped all of us through a lot of trouble.    No worse than the John Kennedy assassination.    The TV (and Cronkite) was on constantly during that terrible long weekend in November 1963.   Kind of…like “rolling news” today. 

I remember him getting angry on air when security guards roughed up Dan Rather on the floor of the Democratic convention in 1968.   I got angry too.
 
And another moment from 40 years ago, I remember him bemusedly leading his show the Monday after Woodstock weekend with a story about a strange gathering of young people and rock musicians in upstate New York.   That made it news.

I remember the other really cool shows he did.   The moving CBS Reports documentaries.  Including one that sticks in my mind on an anniversary of D-Day.  He rode a jeep with Dwight Eisenhower describing the brave and deadly battles on those Normandy beaches.  Years later, I’d report from those same beaches.

There was his serious Sunday evening show, “The 20^th Century.” (His follow-up technology show, “The 21^st Century,” never really made it!)

But my favorite was  “You Are There,” where they recreated historic news events and Cronkite pretended to report them “live.”   For some reason, I always recall the Pearl Harbor episode, with him on a patio, with a scared young couple,  describing Japanese fighter planes swooping in low and dropping bombs.

I remember the slights against him.   When CBS political convention coverage ratings were low one year they yanked him for a Roger Mudd and Robert Trout anchoring team (I think they thought Mudd/Trout had a nice ring to it).   It failed.

And the greatest injustice, replacing him with Dan Rather early, before his retirement age, with several more good anchoring years left in him.   CBS News ratings slipped.

Which brings me to my own “in-person” memories of Walter Cronkite.   My first job in this business was as a Desk Assistant for CBS News in New York when he was still Anchor.  I was so in awe of the man I never gathered up the courage to tell him how much he meant to me. I wish I had. But it was great being around him. 

I’ll always remember sharing an elevator ride with him once. During which he told in great detail a story to a colleague about covering a story on an aircraft carrier and having to relieve himself off the side of the ship.    How cool was that?

In later years when I was anchoring my own show aired on PBS, I would think in my own very small way I was carrying on a big tradition carved in stone…and a flickering black and white image … by Walter Cronkite himself.   

I never attempted to sum up my broadcasts, though, as no other anchor ever really has, with as fitting and proper a closer as he delivered every night.

When he pronounced “And that’s the way it is,” you really believed him.   And you could go to sleep soundly, knowing that everything was, more or less, OK, in that simpler, but still sometimes scary, world. 

Thank you, Walter.  You will be missed.

OK, I must admit, I wasn’t the hugest of Michael Jackson fans.   I, like millions of others, own a copy of Thriller (the vinyl edition sits in a box in my father’s basement on Long Island).   And I, like millions of others, danced many a disco night (including at Studio 54) to “Billie Jean,” “Beat It,” et. al.

But after the 80s, Jackson, and I, had moved on.

So it was with a little cynicism I took on the assignment of covering the Jackson death in London.  But almost right away I realized how special he was to a lot of people.

Getting my Friday morning coffee at our cafeteria, I chatted with a young woman who was very sad.  She was disappointed that she hadn’t been able to buy one of the 750,000 (!) seats for Jackson’s planned series of concerts in London which were sold out in a matter of hours.

When we were doing man-on-the-street interviews near the Michael Jackson sound-alike show “Thriller” in London’s West End, we ran into, by coincidence, two New York musicians who played with Jackson in 2001.    Their deep, profound and heartfelt regard for his artistry moved me.

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As did other warm comments from people ranging in age from around 12 to 60+.

By sheer coincidence, this has been a huge Rock weekend in the London area.   The UK’s annual version of Woodstock, the Glastonbury festival, was being staged outside of the city.  That drew artists to gigs in London.

Jackson’s death and these concerts got me thinking about what “Pop” music (remember he was the “King of…”) means to me…and us.

Last Thursday night I saw, for the first time, one of my more modern groups, The Dave Matthews Band.   They usually play huge arenas in the States but as their following is smaller here, they played in a cozy smallish theater.

Friday, a venue in my Chelsea neighborhood hosted Roger McGuinn, founder of the legendary Byrds group. It was a bit forced, but he performed wonderful, absolutely iconic (there I said it), tunes from the Byrds’ catalogue.

Then, the big time.  The Hard Rock Café sponsored a set of concerts at one end of Hyde Park in London getting a crowd of some 50,000 for each day’s set.   The headliner Saturday night was one of my favorites, that old rock warhorse, Neil Young.

Sunday night at Hard Rock Calling, the headliner was none other than New Jersey’s hometown boy, Bruce Springsteen.   He’s arguably been my favorite singer since the first time I heard “Rosalita.”   His music a constant of passion, politics and hard–driving, good-natured rock.  Sunday he didn’t disappoint.

The age of the audiences for all the shows literally spanned decades.   And nearly everyone seemed to know the words to all the songs.  And nearly everyone got into it.

At my relatively advancing age, I’m still belting out  “Born to Run,” “Rockin’ in the Free World”  “My Back Pages” and more.

When I was young, rock’n’roll was the music of youth and rebellion.    You always kind of thought you’d eventually grow out of it and by the time you were thirty you’d be listening to classical music and Frank Sinatra.   But funny, that didn’t happen to me and it didn’t happen to a lot of other people.

One song at the Neil Young concert summed up the generation-spanning emotion-grabbing character of pop music.    These days, Neil Young’s encore tune is an odd choice, the Beatles’ 1967 Sgt Pepper anthem, “A Day in the Life.”

Saturday night it was perfect :

After Young did the first part of the song (the bit Lennon wrote and sang, “I read the news today ‘O boy’…”), out came Paul McCartney from the side of the stage where he’d been watching the concert.  And he sang the bit he wrote and performed  (“Woke up, fell out of bed…”).  They then finished it together including the endless final note, with back up vocals and cheers from EVERYONE in the crowd.

So what does this all have to do with Michael Jackson?

While a few acts at the Glastonbury festival paid tribute to Jackson, funnily enough, Jackson wasn’t mentioned at any of the four concerts I attended.

Disregard?  Emm, not really.

Most of the acts had some link to Jackson.  McCartney performed with him.    Springsteen’s ‘80s albums dueled with Jackson’s. Both Young and Matthews use or have used backings that would not have been not out of place on any funky Jackson album.

No.  I think tribute was paid by all of these performers simply by performing the music he championed, and made even bigger.

And again while “Beat it” might not have been in my pantheon of rock classics, I defy anyone to sit still when the riff  “ABC….It’s easy as 1,2,3….It’s simple as Do-Re-Mi…” blasts out of the radio.

All the best, Michael.

The British government is going through one of the biggest upheavals in centuries. Members of Parliament are quitting, retiring, facing defeat in the next election, even possibly going to the klink.  And who is responsible  for this revolution in the mother of parliaments, the seat of democracy?   A young American woman!

Actually, 38 year-old Heather Brooke has British parents and dual citizenship.  But she was born in the states and went to school and worked in Washington and South Carolina before coming to the UK where she is now a freelance journalist.    In Britian in 2004, she got the idea to use a brand new Freedom of Information to find out what the British pols were writing off on their expense accounts.

After five years of struggle and court cases the news is finally out.  And its not pretty.    MP’s are writing off all sorts of household items supposedly necessary to do their jobs as representatives.   Including, er, upkeep of tennis courts and pools, a $4000 house for ducks, and of course (this is England after all), the cleaning of a moat surrounding a property.

Throw in even more serious fudging like charging for mortgage payments that were already paid up and fixing up places with expense money and  then selling them and you’ve got a scandal that’s captured the attention and anger of the British public for weeks now.   Already hit with big recession worries and suspicions about politicians and this just did it.

The only hitch for Heather is … she didn’t break the story.     The expenses which she was fighting to get revealed should have been made available this summer.   Instead, the Daily Telegraph newspaper got its hands on a hard drive with all the information on it and for a price made it public early. And got the glory.

Consolation for Heather though that she’s been  recognized for efforts.   She herself did a great documentary on British TV a month before the news broke and it revealed the whole corrupt mess.   Now she’s being interviewed and written about in all the British media.  She was good enough to chat with us and that’s included here.   As well as the story we did for Special Report on a typically wet and gloomy day ion London.

So check her out, log on to her great blog at www.ytrk.org, and sing her praise.  I promise you there are a lot of polticians here in England who are saying a lot of other stuff about her … mostly unprintable!

Watch the interview:

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Check out the full package:

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With Captain Richard Phillips leaving Mombasa Friday for reunions with family and friends, the Maersk Alabama pirate drama came to a happy ending (except for pirates’ unhappy end).

What a crazy ten days it was.

Cameraman Mal, Producer Claire and Assignment Manager Anastasia had the funny idea of just turning me around at the airport and jetting us all down to Africa at that moment.

Cold weather Korean gear in hot humid Kenya might not have worked sartorially.

So it was a night of lives from the London bureau then off the next day.

The piracy story is, of course, a big draw. And mix in U.S. victims and heroism, and you’ve got a tale that’s bound to knock anything else off the edge so I was happy to be on it.

For the past year, I’d been treking down to Africa reporting on the growing problem of piracy off the coast of Somalia. I’d spent Christmas cruising with the French Navy in the Gulf of Aden. I’d spent time with the Dutch Navy in their anti-piracy mission. I’d nosed around the ports of Mombasa and Djibouti. And talked to sailors and folks a little too close to the bad guys.

But this was a different spin. Now, the Americans were targeted. For the first time in a longtime.

By the time we’d made it Friday to the Severin Seaside Resort on the Indian Ocean coast in Mombasa (OK there are upsides to covering this story), the tale had changed. The crew had seized back control of the Maersk Alabama and were headed our way. And the Captain was in the clutches of the pirates bobbing around in a lifeboat, with the growing might of the US Navy around him.

It doesn’t get much better than this.

Luckily, I’d managed to squirrel away some sleep on the flight down and at the Nairobi Hilton because it was another of many long nights of live shots (remember we were seven hours ahead of New York time so a 7am to 7 pm schedule gets shifted to 2pm to 2am).

Somehow it seemed to get hotter, more humid and breezy as the night wore on. After that first night, I realized I wasn’t going to win any GQ awards for grooming.

Saturday, it was down to the Mombasa Port to await the arrival of the Maersk Alabama. Along with all of the US media who had also made it over for this one. Mal found a spot for our stream box lives (no clunky and costly satellite dishes for us), Claire managed to secure us some soggy but filling boxed lunches from the hotel, our driver Jack turned out to be a big buddy, and then we waited for our ship to come in.

Which it did rather neatly in the early evening hours. Mal was very pleased that his super duper new camera sent out better shots of the ship then the rest of the world was getting via AP.

After a bit, I dragged Mal over to the ship and “shout-chatted” with a few of the crew members. They all praised their captain and at that point and were still worried about his welfare. But at the same time, were sure he’d pull through.

Only one crew member came out and screamed at us calling us “media leaches.” Hey, I’ve been called worse. And they’d had a long week.

Sunday and another busy day. We got a close- up look at the Maersk Alabama. I’ve seen literally giants of ships at sea in my coverage of piracy, but in port this one looked pretty big too. The stern sits fairly low to the water and you might imagine how the pirates could shimmy up ropes. Still with guns blasting and a hostile crew on deck, still quite a feat for four brigands.

Then, you could just imagine the fight and counter fight which occurred on board which resulted in Captain Phillips being launched in a lifeboat with the armed pirates and the crew back in charge of the ship.

Helping with our imagining, FBI agents who walked up and down the decks with the crew members recreating the act of piracy. The ship was dubbed a crime scene and the those involved could face a trial in the states. I called it on air “CSI Mombasa.”

Meanwhile, I had been getting word that Phillips’ lifeboat was drifting closer and closer to the Somalia coast. If it got there, the pirates could get him on shore and stash him away in a pirate lair. It would be a whole new ball game.

And so I reported all day that we were at a turning point in the story, perhaps a moment when the US Navy might have to make their move.

At 7:30 pm local we got the word they did…that US Navy Seal sharp shooter rescue which saved Phillip’s life and saved the day for the US…which was beginning to look like a helpless giant.

We had one more late live shot at the hotel. Which is where we got the news about the rescue. And for the next ten hours we reported about the ten minutes of celebration with the crew at the port. And then some!

By this time, too, cameraman Mal’s foray into the hotel’s buffet was beginning to take hold. He’s seen it all from Al Qaeda insurgents to Taliban terrorists, but the Mombasa potato salad did him in. So in between live shots on the roof, he’d lie down among the African ants to try to ease the pain.

Nevermind…Monday came, the Bainbridge was steaming our way with Captain Phillips, and it was a new day of lives, lives and more lives down at the port. The folks back in NY thought with Easter and all it was best to re-tell the story and add anything new. Mal found a perfect spot for me to stand where you’d get to see the whole port. Except I was standing in the middle of a rancid pile of garbage.  It’s a living.

Back to the hotel Monday night, and it’s my turn to trip up. A hot dog at the gas station convenience store where we usually stopped for essentials turned into a “highway to bathroom hell” for me too. That’s what Immodium is for.

Tuesday and a new wrinkle to the story. The Destroyer Bainbridge steamed to Mombasa with Phillips on board and a made-for-TV reunion port side between Phillips, his crew, and the captain and crew of the Bainbridge was on its way.

Then another bunch of wily pirates act up again and make a run on another American ship, the Liberty Sun. Luckily that crew did a good job of keeping the new set of pirates at bay as well, but the Bainbridge got diverted and messed up all of our plans.

The Maersk Alabama crew would end up leaving without seeing the Captain here in Mombasa. Oh, well, someone else’s fun.

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A brief word here about the Kenyan people. They’re really wonderful. From our driver Jack to the longshoremen at the port, to the folks that waved to us from the highway, they’re friendly and helpful and hardworking. And definitely deserving of a bit more than they have in life right now.

And a surefire way to get a smile out of any Kenyan is to mention one word….Obama. They are very proud of their local son.

So now Wednesday, we were on Captain Phillips watch. We decided to do that near his Maersk Alabama ship. There were a few considerations in picking that location. One of them was a sea tale Mal claimed he knew of. Something about the ship being the Captain’s “mistress” and when he’s separated from “her” he’s got to return to give her a” kiss” or something.

Needless to say our Brainroom worked all day trying to nail that down… to no avail.

Well, there was no sign that night of the Bainbridge or a smooching Captain, so luckily before we stayed too long and collapsed from port exhaustion, Anastasia sent us back to our hotel for the night.

Bright and early Thursday,the Bainbridge (and the Liberty Sun) arrived in port. Hoo-rah.

It was rather cool seeing the Bainbridge up-close. I know how big destroyers are, but it still is smaller than I had imagined.

You could see where those three US Navy Seal sharp-shooters stood at the stern of the ship as they targeted the three pirates holding Captain Phillips in the lifeboat.

When you estimated the 30 yard distance between the ship and the lifeboat it really didn’t seem that far. Except for a few things : This happened at dusk and at high seas. The pirates were partially obstructed. And there was a hostage that couldn’t die. Nice work.

Now we spent the day guessing whether Phillips was inside the ship. The Pentagon said he was off and at a nearby hotel. We had checked there and there was no sign of him.

Other journalists at the scene thought he was on the ship. It seems they were right. Early in the morning Mombasa time Friday, there was video of the Captain getting into a car and speeding off to the charter jet to take him home,getting in clearly portside. Next stop, Vermont.

And after a day of somewhat decompression. Back home to London for us at all. This pirate drama is over. But as I well know…..

Check out the exclusive photos:

Just saw the (purported) video of the launch of the North Korea rocket.   Release of the video coincided with our 19 course wrap dinner finishing a four-day marathon of coverage of Kim Jong-Il’s latest triumph for the Channel.

Yes, North Korea is one of my beats but also, yes, it’s ten hours away by plane from London with the right tail winds…and a 13 hour time difference from New York, so covering breaking news here is always a bit….taxing.

But Producer Tadek , Camerman Olaf  and I did it, thanks to a quick dispatch Friday by Assignment Chief Anastasia and with help from local fixer Jessica.    We were able to say at the top of Geraldo’s show at 10p Saturday night that South Korean government officials were saying the rocket would launch within the hour.    And, like Communist clockwork, at 10:30 it did.

Then, of course, came a few dozen live shots trying to figure out exactly what took place, satellite or no satellite, two or three stages, where’s Kim?, what does it mean for world peace, etc.

We do our lives from the Grand Hyatt in Seoul.   The nice PR woman Ms. Hwang and the staff give us the run of the place and it’s a huge help.  A nice big patio with a good view of the backside of Seoul and high-speed internet means the logistics of sending out our message is no worries.   Staying on top of the story is not too hard either.    Catching two or three hours of sleep in between around the clock transmissions is always the biggest challenge.

Having been to the Hermit Kingdom last year on that visit with the NY Philharmonic is a huge help in understanding the story.  It is a country like none other in the world.  Able to pull off technological feats few other nations can do while at the same time leaving its millions to scrounge for sustenance is remarkable.   In a very twisted way.

It’s too easy to make a joke of the whole thing. I half-seriously gave FOX & Friends heck for running a Team America clip in front of my live shot Monday am. “I spend months trying to get a visa into this place and you play that!” I yelled at Brian.

And then when poor Tadek and Olaf were trying to cover our story with pictures at four in the morning, I had to keep restraining them from dipping into the laughable propaganda videos of goose-stepping North Korean soldiers and choreographed rocket liftoffs.

No, in fact, it’s a deadly serious story.  50,000 Americans died trying to sort the thing out a while back.    Now half of Asia quakes, and the rest of the world worries, when Pyongyang tests a crude nuke device or sends up a rocket flare.

It’s probably the best example of the unpredictable and high stakes nature of foreign policy and why President Obama shouldn’t underestimate its importance as he grapples with our economic woes.

Because all politics, no matter how whacky and international….is local.    Especially when Dear Leader Kim takes one or two steps closer to landing a nuclear payload on a backyard in San Diego.

Thursday, the North Korean Supreme Assembly will declare Kim Jong-Il Dear Leader for a bit more time, the launch an unqualified success, and the country on its way to being a perfect state by 2012.

We’ll be on a Korean Air flight back to London.

And the story will go on.

My favorite moment of the coverage was mixing it up with a bunch of rowdy senior citizens in downtown Seoul.   Like the movie Cocoon gone agit-prop these old timers still remember when there wasn’t a north or a south Korea.  And when Kim Jong Il was just a nasty glint in the eye of father Kim.

“Obama must be strong!” screamed one South Korean AARP member into my face.  Before running off to burn a rocket effigy.  And mix it up with South Korean riot police.

Yes he can…and should be.

Check out Greg’s report  from Seoul, South Korea:

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