July 24, 1969. Cubs vs. Dodgers with Kenny Holtzman pitching. It was a magic season for the Cubs, magic that was broken before September destroyed the hopes of Cubbie fans old and new. But on that day, about an hour and a half before the first pitch, I was sitting, as I had often that season, in the grandstands with another few thousand people watching pre-game batting practice.
Some there were kids like me (I was 14) and some were veterans. And from the crackly public address system came word that the Apollo 11 astronauts were about to land safely on earth after their historic mission to the moon. Everything and everybody stopped: batting practice, the beer vendors, the frosty malt guy, even the legendary and notoriously rambunctious bums of the left field bleachers. Everyone understood as we listened to Walter Cronkite describe the splashdown, even days after the actual moon landing, that we were experiencing history.
Anti-war youth and hard-hatted construction workers put down their verbal weapons and stood together in that moment at Wrigley Field and everywhere else in this country, and across the globe, as the three astronauts, Buzz Aldrin, Neil Armstrong, and Michael Collins, splashed down safely in the ocean days after the historic lunar landing. It was the culmination of eight days while the world watched, waited, and stood in awe together.
It was something good and unifying in an era of divisiveness and conflict. The war in Vietnam continued to rage and the generation gap never seemed wider. But during those days—from blast off on July 16th through the lunar landing on the 21st and Neil Armstrong's remarkable words as he took that first step on that most foreign of soil to the crew's safe return home on the 24th – we were a global village before we knew such a thing even existed, connected by transistor radios, television images, and Walter Cronkite.
When the Eagle landed on the moon on July 24, Cronkite, that most veteran of a generation of hardened newscasters, a pioneer himself, had been rendered speechless. Emotional, and wiping tears from his eyes, Cronkite had nothing to say, and perhaps, appropriately, no words were needed. With only the astronauts' and Houston Control's exchanges, and CBS' simulated pictures, we shared the landing and the emotion of the moment.
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Article comments
1 - Glen Boyd
Great article Barbara.
-Glen
2 - Orange450
A lovely article, Barbara.
For 32 years, I've treasured the memory of a very brief personal interaction with Walter Cronkite. It was 1977, I was a college senior, and he'd come to my NYC school to deliver an open lecture to the student body on modern communications media and broadcast journalism. These were not my specific areas of interest, but I would have gone to listen to Mr. Cronkite speak about anything, so I attended.
I had made sure to arrive early, in order to get a good seat, so I was sitting towards the front. Mr. Cronkite took questions at the end of his lecture, and I was one of the lucky ones to be called on. This was before the days of wireless mikes, the large auditorium was full, and I still remember my excitement, nervousness, and the necessity to almost shout my question so that it could be heard on stage.
I don't remember my question, but I remember how graciously Mr. Cronkite answered me. Something in his response raised a laugh from the audience, and he directed a twinkle at me. His warmth and genuine interest in students were palpable.
As silly as it sounds, I've felt personally connected to him ever since.
3 - Barbara S Barnett
Glen, thanks!
Orange, thanks for sharing that memory. I think many of us have our memories of Cronkite, and yours is especially personal.
Those newsmen of the day held special places in everyone's memory book no matter how old or young. I remember when I was really young, Lowell Thomas' newscast played on the radio every night during dinner. My (much older) brother was actually named after him!
4 - Orange450
We were a loyal Huntley-Brinkley family. Probably because of the ending theme (2nd movement of Beethoven's 9th).
My Viennese father - who shared a birthplace with Beethoven - raised us on that music. And even tho' my dad was, and still is, more of a newspaper/radio person (he's 87, 'bis 120, and still doesn't have a TV!), he enjoyed H-B because of the music.
Eventually, I became a devoted Tom Lehrer fan, and discovered that he'd immortalized them in "So Long, Mom":
"While we're attacking frontally,
Watch Brink-a-ley and Hunt-a-ley
Describing contrapuntally
The cities we have lost..."
How sad is it that nothing's changed since that song was written, in 1965?
5 - roger nowosielski
A fitting video link to this memorable song.
6 - Barbara S Barnett
I was weaned on "That Was the Week That Was," where Tom morphed from a Math professor to a troubadour of the times
7 - Ruvy
Barbara,
That was an excellently written article. Far better these few pieces on a true icon of news broadcasting, Walter Cronkite, than the orgasmic outpouring of trash on an overrated singer who died from a heart attack recently.
Perhaps, the only thing you failed to mention (understandably, you were only a kid in 1963) was that Walter Cronkite was a national avatar in many events in that troubled series of years where he was an anchor for CBS News, once the best in the business.
kol hakvód - all honor to you! Full marks, Barb!
8 - Joanne Huspek
The best thing I liked among all the accolades for him this weekend? People said he was a genuinely nice man.
That beats the pants off anything else you could say.