Being a
newscaster is about so much more than looking good and reading a
teleprompter. We all start out as
journalists, out for the truth. It’s
easy to forget about that when they’re coating you in pancake makeup and
shining bright lights in your face. The
day the news broke that World War II was over I hadn’t even been born but I
often wonder what it was like to be a newspaper journalist at that time.
I envision reporters, photojournalists and
radio broadcasters working long hours yet finding their work too important to
tear away from for more than a few hours at a time. Days, weeks and even months were flying by
then too but families, friends and probably acquaintances came together despite
the turmoil to get the news. Much of
what they wanted to find out didn’t come over the wireless or in the daily
newspapers. The important news from the
outside world that was relevant to the individual generally arrived by mail.
When was the last time I poured my heart out
to another human being in a letter? I
can’t remember. Nor do I recall receiving
a missive in a handwriting so familiar that I know the writer before looking at
the return address. I do still receive
the occasional birthday or greeting card from dear friends who live near and
far.
Growing up I saw my grandmother write many
letters on light blue stationary that wasn’t much thicker than tissue and
stamped “Par Avion.” It was long after
the Second World War but most of Europe was still crawling out of the
devastation visited upon it by bombs and losses of life, limb and livelihood. Many of her letters were answered by the cousins,
aunts, uncles, former neighbors and classmates who were anxious to receive news
of America from someone they knew personally.
She wrote about buying eggs by the dozen in
the supermarket and how my mother took her to a store that sold women’s
undergarments. Talk about a buzz! This was good copy. She had the real scoop and wrote the tidings
the reader longed for from a very genuine and personal herald cum foreign
correspondent. To my own amazement, I still come across those
letters, written on the celestial blue writing paper, from time to time. Unfortunately, most of them are written in
old German script making it literally impossible for me to decipher. Nevertheless, they inspire me.
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