I will have that feeling when Lesley Stahl dies, Karl. Even before I knew what "journalism" was, quite, I did kind of love seeing the little blonde chick that LS was at the time, make old, fat, Congressmen run away. If people could say "bitchin'" in preschool, I might have.(I guess I put that in the back of my mind, as "I'd like to do *that*, and I'm still sorry I haven't.) I know I've told this story a bunch, but since I went to the Cronkite journalism school, and Mr. Cronkite, unlike the White House's current unruly tenant, didn't just put his name on things without seeing that things were copacetic, he picked a class, like once or twice a year and sat in and such. When it was my turn, I forget what I asked about...Contract With America, maybe, and I wasn't sure that it was a great question--having, in addition, not quite learned that "Great Question!" is often a euphemism for "Aw, Christ, not *that* bullshit again,' anyway. But, anyway, that little bit of self-doubt made me retreat even further into being shy and soft-spoken than I was in college.(I'm still quieter in real life than when I talk here, but it's not a chasm anymore.) Anyway, I stated my little anti- Gingrich piece...

and Uncle Walter asked me to repeat it because he was a little deaf on one side, but I should feel in good company since he asked Jackie Kennedy to do that all the time, too.(Nobody is mixing us up, but I was crazy-flattered.) Uncle Walter knew his audience.

Oh, that's a great story. I would have liked to have met him; he certainly came across the airwaves as a fundamentally decent human being.

I'd say the best thing was that he was what you'd expect.