Cronkite by Douglas Brinkley

his broadcast with “Good Evening, Mr. and Mrs. North America and all the ships at sea,” it was clear that a global radio revolution was under way. A well-rounded knowledge of world affairs, it seemed, was a prerequisite for an aspiring broadcaster. Cronkite was too lackadaisical with his studies to rise quickly in journalism. He never learned a foreign language. The day-to-day monotony of applying himself was unappealing. If UT stood for anything to Cronkite, it was partying at the Chi Phi house. “I missed a lot of classes,” Cronkite admitted. “I should have spent a lot more time there and concentrated more on my studies.”
    When corresponding with Bit and his mother, Cronkite wrote about Hell Week, pledge hazing, tennis matches, bull sessions at the O.P.K. restaurant, and sleep deprivation. His waning grades were an embarrassment. “I still want to be a journalist and hope to specialize in political analysis,” he told his St. Joseph grandparents. “Therefore my college tendencies are toward government, economics, English, and journalism. I am experiencing great difficulty in staying on the beaten path that leads to a degree.”
    Getting to write newspaper articles now became Cronkite’s primary focus. While most of his articles for The Daily Texan were of the calendar event kind, he did score a coup with an interview of Gertrude Stein at the Driskill Hotel, located at the corner of Brazos and Sixth Street. Accompanied by Alice B. Toklas, her famous partner, Stein was in town to give a public lecture. If one were to pick a high point of Cronkite’s journalism career in the 1930s, it would be his profile “Miss Stein Not Out for Show, But Knows What She Knows.” Cronkite took a real shine to Stein, who was dressed in a “mannish blouse, a tweed skirt, a peculiar but attractive vest, and comfortable-looking shoes.” Calling Stein a “modern,” Cronkite enthused that the famed author of Three Lives was a twentieth-century-thinking woman visiting a nineteenth-century-thinking Austin. “She is genuine,” Cronkite reported after his forty-five-minute interview with Stein, “the real thing in person.”
    Using his Campus Cub and Daily Texan clippings as bait, Cronkite secured a job at The Houston Press freelancing articles. He wore a suit to work—soft fabric with a vest, a shining watch chain (set on Kansas City time) across his vest, and two-toned wingtips (never polished). Developing a keen interest in politics, Cronkite, in time, was freelancing well-crafted columns about campus life and the legislature to several other Texas newspapers. These papers paid a pittance (for one column in a local paper, he received ninety cents). Others didn’t pay at all. But college cost money, while journalism actually paid him. Writing columns on Lone Star governmental issues for two struggling newspapers was a start. It provided spending money for dating and drinking, hoots and sing-alongs.
    From then on Cronkite focused on learning the gritty trade of journalism in a hands-on, tangible way, even as he took UT courses. But it didn’t pay much. When a mysterious Mr. Fox offered him $75 a week (more than his father made as a dentist) to announce horse races at a bookie joint, he seized the opportunity. With piles of money at stake, it was a dangerous mob-related job. The sawdust-floor Texas establishment smelled of smoke and rye. Spurring horses toward the finish line out of a megaphone, he made acquaintance with shady characters—gamblers, swindlers, drunks, and con men. “Well, I’d never been in a place like this before, so I gave them the real Graham McNamee approach on this, described the running of the race and all,” Cronkite recalled. “A mean character ran this place—a guy named Fox . . . came chasing into the room and asked me, ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing? We don’t want entertainment! We just want the facts!’ ”
    As Cronkite admitted about his Chicago World’s Fair TV debut, he