Walter Cronkite is gone. Long live his legacy of great journalism.

I can't possibly describe what Cronkite meant to broadcasting and to American culture better than Brian Lowry has on his BLTV blog, so click right here for Brian's spot-on appreciation.

On a deeply personal level, this is one of those passings that really feels like a member of the family -- that was Cronkite's gift, after all. Another piece of the world as it was when I was a kid has died, and I cherish my idealized memories of that time enough to mourn for that reason alone.

"The CBS Evening News" was "the news" when I was growing up. To this day, my mom and dad are CBS News loyalists. They watch local KCBS-TV (KNXT to us old-timers) news in the late afternoon and on through the "CBS Evening News." Sure, they flip around to CNN and MSNBC now and then (Dad has crush on Rachel Maddow) but when it's time for them to watch "the news," they head on over to channel 2.

So that's a long-winded way of saying that Cronkite's voice was part of the soundtrack of my childhood. He came on right after dinner like clockwork. And his was the voice of the god of truth in current events as far as my family was concerned. If Cronkite reported it, it was the gospel.

When I first started working for UPI and learned that Cronkite had been a Unipresser (actually he worked for United Press, before it acquired the "I"), I was proud to be even remotely part of the same organization that schooled young Walter (that was before I'd worked there very long).

We knew his death was imminent -- last month Cronkite's family released a statement saying that he was gravely ill and unlikely to recuperate (reporting accurately and diligently to the end). But it was still a jolt when I heard the news break on the radio (a CBS-owned station) while driving with my daughter this evening.

I agree with George Clooney, who observed: "He was the most important voice in our lives for thirty years. And that voice made people reach for the stars. I hate the world without Walter Cronkite."

-30-

Here's a great vid of Walter Cronkite from his 1998 interview with the TV Acad's Archive of American Television

Sad, sad news arrived this evening. Steve Brennan, longtime reporter and editor for The Hollywood Reporter, died at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center today at 57 after a yearlong struggle with cancer. He was my friend, and I will miss him so much. (Click here for THR's obituary.)

Steve was an incredibly colorful character, a sharp wit, a fantastic and accomplished writer. He realized a longtime dream in 2007 with the release of his book, "Emeralds in Tinseltown: The Irish in Hollywood."

Steve worked for THR, in his last years as international editor, for two decades. He started out as freelancer (he liked to tell of how he managed to sell stories on every permutation of the Irish entertainment biz) and then after he moved to L.A., he charmed his way into a full-time gig covering syndication and international TV.

He was a great reporter and an even better raconteur. He added to the joviality of many a NATPE convention, that's for sure. (Let's just say there are some waiters at famed New Orleans establishments who will never forget him.)

Writer-producer Michael Ross, a name that I recognized from great "All in the Family" segs as well as "The Jeffersons" and "Three's Company," was in the obituary section of the L.A. Times this morning. He died Tuesday at the age of 89.

Being a regular reader of the Times' paid obits, I couldn't help but notice the item taken out for Ross that was written, with obvious love and appreciation, by his comedy writer pals Paul Wayne and George Burditt.

The man born Isidore Rovinsky in New York in 1919 -- a full-fledged member of the Greatest Generation who served as a B-17 bomber pilot during the WWII -- must've been a helluva good guy. It sure comes through in Wayne and Burditt's copy. (Click here for the link.)

Mick was a non-believer. But just in case there is Something, we can't help but envy the Angels for acquiring a man of talent and integrity; also, if the Bible is any true indication the occupants in Paradise are in need of a good lesson in joke construction and comedy-timing, and Mickey will be arriving not a moment too soon; and furthermore we trust that with any luck our Mick will find, regain and embrace some semblance of his original true given name.

Just heard about the passing of Forrest J (no period) Ackerman, on Thursday at the ripe vintage of 92. (This news warrants a brief detour out of Book Hell.)

The AP's lead on his obit gives a good nutshell description of this only-in-Hollywood character:

Forrest J Ackerman, the sometime actor, literary agent, magazine editor and full-time bon vivant who discovered author Ray Bradbury and was widely credited with coining the term "sci-fi," has died.

For years, Forry stored an absolutely amazing collection of memorabilia from sci-fi, horror and fantasy movies in the "Ackermanse," a spacious house in the hills off Vermont Avenue. (His phone number, back when all of these parts were 213, famously spelled out MOONFAN.)

I can't say that I'm of the generation that waited breathlessly for my copy of his semi-monthly fanzine Famous Monsters of Filmland to arrive in the mail. But thanks to my husband, I did visit his house once and got a guided tour of his collection. (Somewhere out there, in the ether devoted to long-kaput magazines printed on cheap paper stock, is a Q&A I did with him for BAM, sometime in 1993 or '94 if I remember correctly.)

When Forry showed off a few ragged bits of foam rubber that he kept under glass and proudly informed me that they were from original "King Kong" models, I thought he was going to choke up.

Here's hoping he's somewhere up above (or maybe below?) enjoying a glass of blood-red wine with Willis O'Brien and Merian C. Cooper right now.

What a life, what a voice, what a legacy. Studs Terkel, who died Friday at age 96, was known for many things in his long career as a reporter, raconteur, documentarian, radio broadcaster, activist, social commentator and everything else you'd expect from a guy called Studs.

"Working," Terkel's opus on the invisible blue-collar superheroes around us, ought to be required reading for every high school senior in America. With the exception of Aaron Copland (and maybe Jimmy Breslin at his best), nobody ever wrote such a rousing fanfare for the common man.

A lesser known chapter of Terkel's working life is the TV series "Studs' Place," which ran in various forms from November 1949 to January 1952 on NBC and later ABC. The show is described as something like "Cheers" -- set in New York with Terkel playing an affable bartender with a bunch of colorful regulars -- but apparently the show was mostly improvised by Terkel and a cast that included folk singer Win Stracke and Beverly Younger (who brings an Audrey Meadows quality to the role of waitress Grace).

Although the show was set in New York it was produced out of NBC's studio in Terkel's home turf of Chicago (as Studs tells the audience after the end credits). I learned all of this thanks to a great website documenting the history of early TV in Chi maintained by a devoted son of the Windy City TV biz, Rich Samuels.

Here's a link to a streaming vid one of the few segs of "Studs Place" that still exist. There's barely a discernible plot to the half-hour that originally aired June 6, 1950, but the barroom banter about opera, jazz, short ribs and the state of American culture is to die for. (Thanks to Rich Samuels and his efforts for this link and for the still from "Studs' Place" at the top of this post.)

Here's also a link to the first of a three-part interview that Terkel did with the Archive of American Television, talking about his early days in radio and TV, including his appearances on another famed early Chi TV production, "Kukla, Fran and Ollie."

Sad to hear of the passing on Wednesday of Edie Adams, a great lady of the small screen, legit and movies.

I had the pleasure of meeting her a few times, and interviewing her once at length at her home (thank you, Henri Bollinger). She was bubbly and funny and full of anecdotes about working in the early days of television.

Adams was, of course, the widow of TV legend Ernie Kovacs, and anyone who could go toe to toe with him in on myriad TV programs in the 1950s and early '60s had to have mega talent, and that she did. A classically trained singer who graduated from Juilliard, Adams was a founding member of the Nairobi Trio. It doesn't get much cooler than that.

Adams fiercely protected Kovacs' legacy after his untimely death in 1962, and she famously toiled for years to pay off the debts left behind by her high-life-loving Hungarian genius (the daffy duo is pictured below).

She won a Tony for playing Daisy Mae in "Lil Abner," and in addition to working with Kovacs on his shows, she did tons of TV, from her own musical-variety show to a zillion guest shots. She was also a fixture in TV and print ads with comically sexy blurbs for Muriel cigars (Kovacs was a famous consumer of stogies).

In film, the movies that jump to mind are "The Best Man" (an underrated classic, IMHO, with Henry Fonda and Cliff Robertson); "The Apartment" ("Mad Men" fanatics owe a debt of gratitude to that pic); and her brief but memorable turn in Cheech and Chong's "Up in Smoke."

Here's a great interview that the Archive of American Television did with Adams in 1998.

As a tribute to a great American, someone in TV land needs to get a hold of the kinescope of the 1956 "U.S. Steel Hour" production of "Bang the Drum Slowly" and showcase this gem starring Paul Newman, Albert Salmi and George Peppard. TCM, AMC, PBS, ESPN Classic, TV Land -- I'm talking to you.

In doing a little research, I noticed that "Bang the Drum" first aired on CBS on Sept. 26, 1956 -- 52 years to the day that Newman died of cancer at age 83. It was the first adaptation of Mark Harris' heart-tugging novel, published the same year, about a baseball player who is desperate to hide his terminal illness from his teammates.

Newman plays the team's star pitcher Henry Wiggens, narrator of the novel, who tries to help his friend Bruce Pierson (Salmi) hide his condition.

I saw this version of "Bang the Drum" once years ago -- it was either on PBS or TV Land (back when TV Land wasn't afraid of black and white programs) -- and I remember the famous opening with Newman addressing the aud on a dark stage.

The presentation had that extra bit of crackle and snap that comes with live dramatic TV, plus the retro-excitement of knowing that you're watching an important moment in the career ascent of a great actor. As an added bonus, the young twinkly-eyed Newman is breathtakingly handsome.

Befitting the man, the Bernie Brillstein memorial on Monday night ran the emotional gamut from naughty to nice, from respectful to irreverent, from silly to sweet.

When none other than Kermit the Frog closed the two-hour tribute with a heartfelt rendition of "Rainbow Connection," there wasn't a peep in Royce Hall, other than sniffling and the rustling of tissues. The crowd for the event organized by Brad Grey and Lorne Michaels was large and high-powered, with virtually every major studio, talent agency, network represented, as well as an eclectic mix of top talent.

Royce Hall seats about 1,800 people, and it was packed all but for a few rows of the balcony so I'm guessing there were at least 1,200 or so who came out to salute the man variously described as a father figure, a trusted friend, a source of sage wisdom and "Santa Claus." The outdoor reception in the quad afterward was elegant and full of conversation, including talk of pending deals and new clients and projects to pitch -- the hum of a hopping showbiz party that no doubt would have made the honoree, who died Thursday at 77, very proud.

The Blues Brothers -- Jim Belushi and Dan Aykroyd -- even reunited for the occasion, pulling out the shades and skinny ties to romp through two numbers, "Messin' with the Kid" and "Flip, Flop and Fly." "That was for you, kid," Aykroyd called out as they shimmied off the stage.

Most of the speakers noted Brillstein's fondness for "kid" as a term of endearment, or as a conversation-starter.

"For the first time, I get to say, 'Don't let 'em get you, kid," Grey said, with a catch in his voice, in closing his remarks.

Grey told an only-in-showbiz story about having to work fast over the weekend to secure a funeral and burial service at Hillside Memorial this past Sunday. When the mortuary informed the Brillstein family that they were overbooked for the day, Bernie's widow, Carrie, reached out to Brad, who reached out to Lorne Michaels for advice, who suggested that Brad simply "bump someone."

Brad's first response was "I don't think you can do that -- these people are dead." But he thought about it some more, made some calls and, amazingly, got it done.

"We apologize and thank the Cohen family of Encino, who will now be burying their beloved grandfather Sherman on Tuesday," Grey explained.

Every speaker had a great Bernie story or two, and most had a great line, or two. To wit:

"You can't trust people who haven't walked through kitchens."

That was a vintage Bernie Brillstein-ism, according to his longtime friend and client Lorne Michaels. Michaels translates the Bernie bon mot to mean that talent needs to be honed through hard work and experience, and for comics, that often means the grueling biz of working nightclubs. And in many nightclubs, you have to walk through the kitchen to get to the stage.

Having spent most of the day talking to people about Brillstein (pictured with his wife, Carrie), who died Thursday at 77, I think I can safely say that the single-most defining aspect of his character was his "love of the game," as so many of his friends put it. He enjoyed the shoe-leather work of going to see a comic, or a play, or reading a spec script, or bumping into a promising staff writer on the set of a flailing TV show.

The latter scenario is how he met Michaels, 40 years ago on a Burbank soundstage that was briefly home to "The Beautiful Phyllis Diller Show." The show was anything but beautiful, but it did mark the first U.S. job of a young Canuck scribe who was destined to meet his manager and mentor while working on that NBC show (and the two of them were destined to link arms and muscle "Saturday Night Live" on the air seven years later).

"The first night (on 'Beautiful') the taping went to 2:30 in the morning. We all spent a lot of time in the halls waiting around. And there was this guy Bernie who was both funny and profane and smart in a way that I'd never really experienced before," Michaels remembered.

Sad to learn that Ruth Engelhardt, a legend of the Morris office, died last week at the age of 86.

It would only be a bit of stretch to call WMA the house that Ruth built, because she was the one who crafted the deal points and the contracts for all of those vintage TV shows that help keep the agency's coffers flush. Ruth spent 59 years with WMA. She was the go-to person in TV business affairs back when the business of filmed entertainment series was young, anything was possible and star client Danny Thomas and his partner Sheldon Leonard were turning out hits ("The Andy Griffith Show," "The Dick Van Dyke Show," etc.) faster than Ruth could draw up the contracts.

I got a crash course in TV biz affairs 101 some years ago when I spent about two hours with Ruth in her WMA office for a column about her remarkable career. She recalled that back in the day, she and a few other WMA folks essentially were the business and administrative affairs department for Thomas and Leonard's bustling production company, along with a bunch of other top clients.

She was proud of her role in etching the templates for production, program licensing and, of course, agency packaging pacts that endured largely unchanged until the vertical integration boom of the late 1990s. When we met, she was giddy at the prospect of closing a greeting card licensing deal for one of the old Thomas-Leonard shows. "You wouldn't believe what they're going to pay us," she said with the enthusiasm of a dealmaker on the verge of victory.

Harvey Korman was one of those performers who exuded funny with every fiber of his being.

Funny and tall -- that always stood out (up) when I saw him in person. The few times I had the chance to chat with Korman, who died Thursday at 81, he was always in character, or maybe his character was just who he was. Either way, it was always a pleasure. He was friendly and easily approached.

At one cocktail party on the roof of the Paley Center for Media, I distinctly remember Korman and Tim Conway holding court in one corner, doing an impromptu bit of business (a little bluer than they were allowed on air in the "Carol Burnett Show" days), to the delight of partygoers. I believe it when "Carol Burnett Show" alumni gush about how they became a close-knit family. Korman and Conway were in the audience last October for a Q&A I did with Burnett for a promo screening of her "American Masters" special at the Paley Center. They weren't on the panel, just there to show support for their leading lady.

Korman's wild physical comedy translated very well to the big screen, as fans of "Blazing Saddles," "High Anxiety" and "History of the World, Part 1" can attest. But even more than Hedley Lamaar, I'll remember him best in movies as the drug-addled sitcom star Monty Rushmore in "Americathon." That 1979 pic, a comedic look at the future (1998) where the country is so desperate that it mounts a telethon (hosted by Rushmore) to raise cash, was a B.O. bomb in its day and mostly savaged by critics. But it makes me laugh, thanks largely to Korman, and I'm not ashamed to say so.

R.I.P., Harvey Korman.

Sad to learn this evening of the passing of a very funny fellow, Dick Martin, at the age of 86.

Martin was a multihyphenate before the slanguage term was invented. In his long career he worked as a standup comic with longtime partner Dan Rowan (Rowan and Martin were inspired by their partial namesakes, Martin and Lewis), an actor, writer and producer, and later in life, as a very sought-after helmer for shows ranging from "The Bob Newhart Show" to Showtime's groundbreaking "Brothers" to "Family Ties," "Sledge Hammer" and "In the Heat of the Night."

After 1968, of course, Martin's place in pop culture history was cemented as the co-host and co-creator of "Rowan & Martin's Laugh-In," which sought to tame the generation gap with humor for NBC. It worked. "Laugh-In" was the No. 1 show in the country in 1968-69 and 1969-70 seasons, and a top 25 show for two more seasons.

Martin had the kind of hound-dog face and a trademark zany-goofy character that just made you smile whenever he was on screen. In addition to all of that directing, in his later years he logged guest shots on everything from "3rd Rock from the Sun" to "Baywatch" to "Diagnosis Murder" to "Two Guys, a Girl and a Pizza Place."

Here's a detailed obit released this evening by the Martin family, and here's a good piece from the AP's Bob Thomas that puts into perspective the cultural impact that "Laugh-In" had in its heyday (apropos of this Time magazine cover from the era).

I'm very glad to have had the chance to see Martin in person last September as part of the Paley Center for Media's "Bob Newhart Show" reunion (that event also offered a last chance to see Suzanne Pleshette in her husky, saucy element before her death in January). He told a few good yarns about learning how to be a director by working on the show, and he sounded grateful to Newhart and the long-ago leaders of MTM Prods. (the Camelot of TV production companies) for giving him that chance.

Sock it to me, Dick Martin. If there's a comedy heaven...then he's already reconnected with Dan Rowan (who died in 1987) and they're working up some fresh material for a six-week run at the Sands Hereafter.

Rest in peace, Suzanne Pleshette. What a great actress, saucy but always kinda sweet, too. She was so good, she made anything she appeared in that much better. Pleshette, who died Saturday at the age of 70, was the only reason I watched more than 5 minutes of the forgettable NBC sitcom "Good Morning Miami" a few seasons ago. And she was a laugh riot a few months back at "The Bob Newhart Show" reunion held at the Paley Center for Media. (Click here for that post.)

Pleshette had been through a lot in the past year, with the death of her third husband, comedian-actor Tom Poston, and her own cancer treatments, but she was upbeat and funny, letting loose with that famous signature laugh of hers. They way those "Bob Newhart" cast members were gushing about one another that night in September, I know Bob Newhart, Bill Daily, Jack Riley, Marcia Wallace and probably every one else who worked on "Bob Newhart" are feeling a huge loss this ayem, as are Pleshette fans around the world.

It's hard to not feel a little melancholy when you're working on a year-end obit package.

Assembling a list of notables who died during a 12-month time span is like taking stock of how much the world you once knew is disappearing. Although I don't often admit it in the company of non-journos, I (usually) like working on obits. It's challenging work, usually against a tight deadline, and I feel a certain responsibility to do right by the person. I often hear Mrs. Loman's famous command in my head: "Attention must be paid."

In that spirit, here is an electronic chronicle of those who left their mark on the TV biz. 2007 saw the  passing of industry titans the likes of Jack Valenti, Merv Griffin, Tom Snyder  and Roger King; influential hyphenates including Sidney Sheldon, Mel Shavelson, Martin Manulis, Mel Tolkin and Bob Carroll, Jr.; and a local TV news icon in Hal Fishman.

It was a tough year for "Match Game" fans, with Charles Nelson Reilly and Brett Somers heading in to the blank hereafter. And no obit in the pages of Variety this year was more heartbreaking than that of Cartoon Network exec Jennifer Davidson, 38, who was a charter member of the cabler's staff and a mother of three.

(Here's the link to part one if you're just joining us.)

AUGUST

Hal Fishman, 75, news anchor who was a fixture of L.A.'s airwaves for 40 years, primarily on KTLA-TV. Fishman was known for his rat-tat-tat delivery style, his occasional conservative-leaning editorials and his interest in aviation. Here's the tribute to Fishman that ran on KTLA's 10 p.m. newscast on the day Fishman died, Aug. 7.

Merv Griffin, 82, multihyphenate who began as a band singer and died a billionaire real estate mogul. In between, Griffin hosted a popular syndicated talk show for more than 20 years and created two of the most successful shows in history in "Wheel of Fortune" and "Jeopardy." Merv, as he was known to all, was one of those ubiquitous entertainers who was seemingly everywhere when I was a kid, as I waxed on about in this remembrance. And here's a fun clip of Merv and Don Rickles going at it on "The Merv Griffin Show" in 1985.

Melville Shavelson, 90, prolific film and TV scribe whose credits include "The Danny Thomas Show." Also a three-time prexy of WGA West. Here's a link to part 1 of his nine-part Archive of American Television interview from 1999.

SEPTEMBER

Alice Ghostley, 81, actress, a Tony-winner best known for her nervous-housewife persona exemplified by her role as the ditsy Aunt Esmerelda on "Bewitched."

Martin Manulis, 92, producer, creative steward of CBS' "Playhouse 90" who was responsible for such landmark TV drama productions as "Requiem for a Heavyweight" and "The Miracle Worker." Manulis was a guy Rod Serling respected, and that's saying something. Here's a link to part one of his 11-part Archive of American Television interview.

Brett Somers, 83, stage actress known for her long stint on "Match Game." She played Oscar Madison's ex on "The Odd Couple" and was Mrs. Jack Klugman for a time in real-life too. Here's a representative clip featuring Somers parrying with "Match Game" host Gene Rayburn.

OCTOBER

Joey Bishop, 89, the stone-faced, cool cat comic who was the last surviving member of the Rat Pack. Bishop made a number of stabs at TV, including a domestic comedy and a bid to challenge Johnny Carson's dominance of latenight with show that ran on ABC from 1967-69. Below are two great clips, and more Nehru jackets than you can shake your love beads at, from the latenight "Joey Bishop Show."

In the first, Sammy Davis Jr. tries to teach Joey to tap dance. The second is a nice long monologue clip that also features Bishop's sidekick, Regis Philbin.

Gary Franklin, 79, L.A. TV reporter and film reviewer for KABC-TV Los Angeles and KCBS-TV Los Angeles, who was known for rating films on his "Franklin scale of 1-10, 10 being best."

NOVEMBER

Mel Tolkin, 94, writer-producer who had the formidable job as head writer on Sid Caesar's "Your Show of Shows." He was a guy who could make Caesar laugh, and corral a room that featured such wits as Mel Brooks, Neil Simon, Larry Gelbert, Lucille Kallen and Woody Allen. Here's a link to part one of his eight-party Archive of American Television interview from 1997.

Verity Lambert, 71, pioneering femme British TV exec and producer. Lambert was the first female and youngest exec to work for the BBC in the early 1960s. She also was the first producer of the worldwide cult fave "Dr. Who." Here's a fan video tribute that hits the highlights of her remarkable career.

DECEMBER

Jennifer Davidson, 38, who was one of the first 15 people hired at Cartoon Network in the early 1990w, rising to senior veep of programming and scheduling. She was part of the team that spearheaded the launch of Adult Swim in 2001. Here's a link to a story from the Atlanta Journal-Constitution featuring remembrances from family and friends.

Roger King, 63, leader of King World Prods. and one of the most successful entrepreneurs in TV history. King World prospered with enduring hits, "Wheel of Fortune," "Jeopardy" and "The Oprah Winfrey Show," that spurred the growth of the first-run syndie biz in the 1980s and '90s. As King World grew, so did Roger's reputation as a master salesman with an encyclopedic knowledge of TV stations and local markets. Here's a link to part one of his three-part Archive of American Television interview, and here are links to the remembrances posted here in the days after his death. 

Stu Nahan, 81, longtime broadcaster and sports reporter for various L.A. outlets who earned the nickname "Skipper Stu" after hosting a kidvid show of the same name early on in his career.

Floyd Red Crow Westerman, 71, actor and activist, Westerman was a passionate advocate of Native American causes and filmmakers and recognized for his work on "Dances with Wolves" and "Northern Exposure," among many other movies and TV skeins. Here's a video interview with Westerman from 2004 that illustrates the depth of his intelligence and dedication to advancing the cause of Native Americans in all fields.