Print journalists always had an affection for David Brinkley. It wasn't only because he often said he preferred newspapers to televised news. Newspaper people liked him because he really could write. He knew when, where and how to use humor. His metaphors were always clever and enlightening. He didn't write bad sentences.
Last week, Brinkley passed away at age 82. And in the time since, many have eulogized him for his "firsts." He was the first to have a television news magazine, for instance. "David Brinkley's Journal" started in the 1960s. But print reporters will remember him for being one of the last big-time television news anchors to get his training at newspapers and with the wire services. His speaking style seemed to evolve out of his writing style. He wrote in a Hemingwayesque style, preferring short, punchy sentences. His delivery on the air was much the same. For decades, he was a favorite target of impersonators.
From 1956 to 1970, Brinkley co-anchored the "NBC Nightly News" with Chet Huntley. Their ham-and-egg approach soon overtook the venerable Walter Cronkite in the ratings and prompted a dozen innovations at other networks.
In his 50 year career, Brinkley won 10 Emmys, three George Foster Peabody Awards and a Presidential Medal of Freedom. But what mattered more was that he won the respect of his viewers. Brinkley didn't pull punches. He mocked silliness and wasn't above letting his own feelings show. When he looked bored on television, a colleague said, it meant he was probably bored.
When he looked angry, he was really angry.
When he laughed, he laughed.
He was not a product of handlers and coaches. He didn't believe in theatrics and staginess.
He was his own man.
Toward the end of his career, for example, he was called on to read a story about traumatic events in the maraschino cherry industry. As he read along, he tried to stifled a smile. By the end of the piece, as he mouthed the gloom and doom predictions of the cherry spokesman, Brinkley had tears in his eyes.
Undoubtedly, the industry called the network in a huff.
Undoubtedly, Brinkley was asked to apologize.
But just as undoubtedly, those who saw the segment knew, along with Brinkley, that in a world gone mad with war, disease and distrust, the plight of maraschino cherries hardly qualified for such hand-wringing.
That's what viewers — and print journalists — liked most about Brinkley. He didn't fake it.
It is also what they will miss most now that he's gone.