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Uncommon Sense: Back in the years B.C.

Written by Jeff Morris
Thursday, 23 July 2009 

Since it’s summertime (or what currently passes for summertime in these parts: a few warm days, followed by more drenching rains) I think I’m entitled to consider this column “on vacation” and ignore the usual need to make it relevant to Lewisboro. Yes, I know that it has sometimes had a tenuous connection to Lewisboro anyway (Star Trek, anyone?) but this week, the Lewisboro content will be limited to mentioning Lewisboro four times in the first paragraph.

What I’d like to do instead is wallow in memory and nostalgia, something that is sure to endear me to all four of this column’s younger readers. (From what I understand, young people no longer read newspapers, which is why those still in business, including The Lewisboro Ledger — that’s five mentions — have been steadily shrinking in size. The evolutionary curve suggests those that survive will eventually assume the look of a fortune cookie message, at which point content will have to be no longer than a Twitter post and media synergy will achieved.)

The trigger for this week’s musings is the death of Walter Cronkite, which occurred at a time when cultural icons of the 60s and 70s have been disappearing at an alarming rate. Indeed, Gordon Waller, half of the pop duo Peter & Gordon, died in Norwich, Conn. at the age of 64 on the same day as Mr. Cronkite — thus assuring that his passing would go by virtually unnoticed. Aficionados of pop music will recall that the other half of the duo, Peter Asher, was the brother of Paul McCartney’s then-girlfriend, Jane Asher, and that McCartney wrote Peter & Gordon’s biggest hit, 1964’s “A World Without Love.” Ironically, this took place the same week that McCartney was performing at Citi Field and appearing on The Late Show with David Letterman, his first trip back to the Ed Sullivan Theater since The Beatles debut there, also in 1964. And, to top it all off, we’ve simultaneously been experiencing the 40th anniversary of the first moon landing, and the 40th anniversary of Woodstock.

All of this has led to a perfect storm of media remembrances, with clips of The Beatles converging with clips of President John F. Kennedy announcing the goal of “landing a man on the moon and safely returning him to earth” by the end of the decade; Mr. Cronkite reporting the death of President Kennedy; and Mr. Cronkite reporting on the lunar landing. Which follows the media frenzy over the death of Michael Jackson — including reports that McCartney was unhappy that Jackson did not leave the rights to the Beatles songs he owned to McCartney in his will. Mr. Cronkite would undoubtedly regard the latter coverage with disdain.

What’s happening is that all these threads of the 1960s are becoming more visible as the people who were connected by them are disappearing. Though it appears that even being dead no longer means you will disappear from the media. One of the stranger aspects of the death of Mr. Cronkite was this announcement:

NEW YORK, Jul. 20, 2009 (AP) - CBS says the voice of Walter Cronkite will continue to be heard announcing the “CBS Evening News with Katie Couric.”

Cronkite recorded the introduction to the newscast he anchored for nearly two decades in 2006, when Couric became anchor.

Immediately following his death Friday at age 92, the network had planned to retire the recording but reconsidered. Members of Cronkite’s family gave their blessing to the decision to continue using his voice, says CBS News spokesman Jeff Ballabon.

I suppose Katie Couric shouldn’t feel any more odd being introduced by a dead person than Brian Williams feels about being introduced by Michael Douglas. But speaking of Douglas, one of the reasons all of the coverage of Mr. Cronkite’s death has made me feel particularly old is that I have begun to wonder if I am the only person left who remembers the CBS newscast before Walter Cronkite was the anchor — when it was called “Douglas Edwards with The News.” Am I truly so ancient that I was around in the world B.C. — Before Cronkite?

As for my idea that cultural icons are disappearing at “an alarming rate” ... it’s probably not true. They’re just going at the same rate as everybody else. But I fear that given the realities of demographics, we’re going to experience what seems like a constant rollout of celebrity obituaries. The generation that came of age in the 60s wasn’t just huge in numbers; it was the first in which an explosion of media made more people “famous” than ever before. And ironically, a culture that is obsessed with youth now finds its largest population block’s greatest commonalties are advancing age, illness, and death.

And that’s the way it is. Even in Lewisboro. (That’s six.)