His obituary in the New York Times was well done, but this memory of his made me laugh.
"I have stood on a long-held principle in refusing even to entertain the idea of running for office. Should one who has achieved national fame as a presumably impartial news person ever run, the public is going to have every reason to question whether that person had been tailoring the news to build a political platform. The burden of credibility is already heavy enough without that extra load.
I tried to explain that to Bobby Kennedy, who was then a Senator from New York, in 1968. I had just returned from Vietnam and the controversial broadcast in which I stepped out of my normal role and, clearly identifying the material as editorial opinion, suggested that we should seek an honorable peace and get out.
Kennedy called me down to his Senate office to have lunch, just the two of us. He wanted to hear more about Vietnam but it turned out he had something else in mind. At that moment he was considering whether to run for the Democratic nomination against the incumbent, President Lyndon Johnson.
After hearing his strong views on Vietnam, which happened to coincide with my own, I fell into a trap which always lies there for the unwary newsman who succumbs to the heady narcotic of being on the inside. I became a player rather than observer.
"If you feel so strongly on the subject," I said, "it seems to me you certainly ought to run for the Presidency."
"Give me three reasons why I should run," he challenged, "and I'll give you three why I shouldn't." We discussed Vietnam a little longer and then he changed the subject.
"You don't vote in New York, do you?" he said. I said that I did.
"But then you are not registered as a Democrat." Apparently he had been checking the registration rolls.
I told him I was an independent both by registration and inclination.
"Well, that doesn't matter," he said. "I want you to run for the Senate in New York."
I thought my answer was very clever. "Give me three reasons why I should and I'll give you three why I shouldn't." Then I told him why I would never be a candidate.
I went back to CBS's Washington bureau to get ready for that evening's broadcast only to find that Roger Mudd, then a correspondent for the network, was preparing a story on the Kennedy clan and advisers gathering for a weekend conclave to decide whether or not Bobby should run.
Our luncheon conversations had been strictly off the record and I needed to explain to the Senator that the story had been developed independently by Roger Mudd with no input from me. But I also saw the opportunity to ask him for a comment on the report.
Kennedy was on the floor of the Senate but his assistant, Frank Mankiewicz, a little miffed, I think, because he wasn't in on the lunch, promised to take my request to him.
Frank called back a few minutes later.
"I don't know what this is about," he said, "but the Senator gave me a message to give to you and said you could use it only if you used it in full."
"The message is: 'I am thinking of running for the Presidency even as Walter Cronkite is considering running for the Senate in New York.' "
A few days later I was to learn again the dangers of a newsman trifling even ever so innocently in the complicated game of politics.
Dr. Frank Stanton, the president of CBS, called me to his office and sternly faced me down with a serious complaint from President Johnson that I was urging Kennedy to run against him. So much for our off-the-record luncheon.
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