Tim Brough's Black Leather Bookshelf

I've been doing volunteer work for Admiral Joe Sestak, who is running for Senate here in PA. He's trying to mount a come from behind win over uber-conservative Pat Toomey. I managed to get this shot at a rally in Media, last Sunday. After trailing for most of the race, Sestak has pulled it into a dead heat.

When I was a kid, my Dad opereated a BP gas staion through the early seventies. That is, until the "Gas Crisis" of the time forced him out of business. All so they could bulldoze his garage and put a mini-mart in it's place.

But this was a part of my train set and matchbox car set. I hadn't even thought of it all that much until current events made me ask myself if it was still in those boxes.

I was watching with amazement this week how we've ht the 40th anniversary of Apollo 11 and man's only steps on another celestial body. I have vivid memories of crowding around the big TV at my Nana's, watching with silent glee as Neil Armstrong dropped to the lunar surface. My godfather, Uncle Ray, worked for NASA almost all his life and I wanted nothing greater than to be an astronaut and go see Uncle Ray and Aunt Doris to see a real rocket launch.

Other kids memorized ball team rosters and stats, but not me. I knew every astronaut, every mission and any trivial detail about the space program my enthusiastic pre-teen mind could store away. I did not have rock stars or football players on my bedroom walls, I had a map of the solar system and a door sized poster of a Saturn V. Once they appeared everywhere for sale, the Apollo 11 Nasa Portrait of Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin and Michael Collins was up on my wall. Granted, 40 years later my adult mind has forgotten the bulk of these space facts, but that little nine year old that clutched the edge of Nana's hook rug and held his breath until we heard the cheers from Mission Control ring out peeped out a couple times this week.


I also had wondered if Walter Cronkite had given thought to these happenings. Uncle Ray had told me Cronkite had often visited Cape Kennedy and was an enthusiastic booster of the Space Program, so news of his passing came with a twinge. Cronkite came from the days of news that mattered instead of news that entertained, when a hard news journalist could impact the country's train of thought. There wasn't this mad race to the bottom, to see who could scoop everyone with a story about a pop singer's public antics or blow-hards massaging their egos by misrepresenting facts to suit their (or their network's) agenda.

It was famously said that President Johnson, when he heard that Walter Cronkite had claimed that the Viet Nam War was an unwinnable stalemate, commented "If I lost Cronkite, I've lost the midwest." We've lost that impact and that voice. The 24 hour round the clock news cycle, with multiple channels feeding us ratings bait but little substance, getting to news that matters has become near impossible. Like the stunning impact of seeing our first man on the moon, a voice with the integrity of Walter Cronkite's will not likely arrive to influence us again.