And that's the way it's going to be

Oct. 18, 2001

Dear Leslie,

In the entryway at the huge gray Kansas City Municipal Arena, DC buzzed about giving away her extra tickets to hear Walter Cronkite's talk just minutes away. A woman with an accent enthusiastically thanked her for the ticket and pressed a piece of candy into each of our palms.

We introduced ourselves as we walked inside with the thousands of other attendees. The woman is an Egyptian dentist who lives in Washington, D.C. She said I should try to correct some of the American misunderstandings about the status of Middle Eastern women. They keep their last names and professional women earn just as much money as their male counterparts do, she said before heading off for a seat.

The flavor of the candy was indecipherable.

DC and her office staff were at the convention to attend workshops with titles like "Amalgam Versus Composite." DC took a course in which she biopsied the lips connected to a hog jaw. I was there to dine, play golf and find out what The Most Trusted Man in America had to say.

At 84, Cronkite crossed the stage slowly but his mind crackled in response to questions from the Kansas City mayor. Kay Barnes also happens to be his cousin. The legendary network newsman who wrestled with his composure as he told us JFK was dead, who exulted when the Eagle landed on the moon and whose increasing doubts about the Vietnam War signaled the beginning of its end, who for decades summed up our day with the departing words "And that's the way it is," is sure we will handle the terrorist threat.

"We've proved in other crises, and this may be the worst, that we are a united people," he said.

Actually, he wasn't as reassuring as I hoped he'd be. Like the rest of us, he has faith that we will overcome hatred and hijackings and anthrax. Like the rest of us, he doesn't yet know how.

Speaking to a convention of dentists, a profession not known for liberal attitudes, Cronkite told it like it is. Journalists need to be able to pursue the story in Afghanistan so the American people will be informed, he said.

"We not only have a right to know what the military is doing in our name, we have a duty to know," he said.

When Allied troops liberated the concentration camps at the end of World War II, tearful and red-faced German burghers stood at the gates crying that they didn't know what was going on behind the walls. They might not have known, Cronkite said, but they became responsible for the death camps because they acquiesced when Hitler squelched the freedoms of Germany's newspapers. They trusted Hitler rather than freedom.

Ironically for Cronkite, he thinks the rage being directed toward the United States now is largely due to the influence of TV. Even the poorest of households have TV sets or access to one. "They see our riches," he said, "... and they have none of this.

"... They do have the capability of feeling rage against those of us who have and they think do not share."

He said television did more to pierce the Iron Curtain than any of the Cold Warriors did.

Cronkite was born to tell stories. Anwar Sadat once asked him how Barbara was, for some reason thinking he and Barbara Walters were married.

"Quite honestly, I didn't care how Barbara was," he said, filling the hall with laughter.

He told of being aboard when Ike badly drove a jeep down Omaha Beach on the 20th anniversary of the Normandy invasion. Looking on, Mamie Eisenhower told the veteran war correspondent's wife: "Your husband has never been in greater danger."

Those who lived through the 1960s are too familiar with the sound of the word cortege in Cronkite's mouth.

"It was quite a century," he concluded in a brief film depicting his career. " ... There is reason to hope for the 21st century. And that's the way it will be."

That night as we were preparing to go out to dinner, I felt ill. I ashamedly admitted to DC that while sitting in the arena listening to Walter Cronkite, I'd questioned the wisdom of eating a piece of candy given me by a Middle Eastern stranger. DC admitted back that she'd decided not to eat her candy in case I died and evidence was needed. "Who gives candy to strangers?" she asked.

Terrorism can make you suspicious of the most kindhearted act. DC's candy is a plain old piece of coffee-flavored sugar made by Brach's.

Cronkite said he judges politicians by their courage. These days, it's a good measure of anyone.

Love, Sam

Sam Blackwell is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.