The Birth of the Cool

This is the best story to date I've seen about Ed Bradley. If you have time, check it out.

Since my parents religiously watched 60 Minutes as I was growing up, I too became addicted. As it helped feed my interest in a career in journalism, I appreciated how the program's news stories' would be discussed on Monday mornings from the office water coolers to the White House. Central to the program was a smooth brotha whose delivery was just as fluid, but still packed a punch. For me, Bradley was always a damn good journalist, but also a journalist fully aware of his life experience and insight as a Black man. He embraced this and never forgot it. He also never let it get in the way: neither by others' attempts to limit him, nor by it preventing him from uncovering truths of the stories painful to Black people (such as the referenced interview of the alleged Black accomplice in the Emmett Till murder). Along with the smooth delivery here was a brotha whose knowledge and research backed it all up. If he was ever thrown by an interview subject, I must have missed it. I liked how the earring said "rebel," like it was his own personal calling card that he had his own beat, operating within the confines of broadcast journalism with the skill and improvised deftness of the jazz music and musicians he so loved.

As a Black man in media, I hoped to evolve like Ed Bradley and Bob McGruder. I hoped to age as well as Ed Bradley and Bob McGruder too. They both symbolized what brothas like me aspire to become: intelligent, informed, prepared, insightful and cool. As they did, I wear my Blackness not on my sleeve, but on my entire body every day as an honor. Both men left us too soon, but they both have shaped countless lives, countless journalists and future journalists with their influence, dignity, strength and grace. And you know sistas loved how cool Ed was with the grey hair and beard and the hoop or stud earring and the dapper suits. When Ed would kick back in an interview with Lena Horne or with Jordan or Tiger, you just knew off camera they would all be saying "THIS is living." Likewise, Ed could smoothly bust the chops in hard-hitting interviews like Timothy McVey, Michael Jackson and countless blubbering government officials.

To me Ed Bradley symbolized a brotha who could remain true as a Black man and hold his own in an industry not necessarily keen on his outlook. As always, Ed handled the haters with style and cool. For all of these things I am grateful.

Just as the program always begins with its list of correspondents, my mind will catch itself — inserting "Ed Bradley" where I've always heard it, just as I still do when I insert "Harry Reasoner" where it belonged.

Most of all, Ed Bradley is proof you can be a Black man in media without (and forever resisting) being emasculated.

Thanks, Ed. I know jazz sounds even better up there.

We Shocked The World!

We Shocked The World. Somehow, this 83-win collection of stars, role-players, reclamation projects, grizzled veterans, upstart rookies, all led by an enigmatic manager, beat the two best teams in the National League and then dispatched the AL Champion Detroit Tigers in 5. The whole season was a wild ride. Ups. Downs. Challenges and PLENTY of haters. I was there for the very first game in New Busch. Opening Day in St. Louis is a spectacle you can only appreciate fully by being there. You are simply a Cardinals fan by birth and remain one even after you die. The sea of red. The enthusiasm for a new season in a new ballpark. The first pitch of a lifetime of youngsters with memories of "my team" and "my stadium."

Because of a good friend, I was at the last game of the season. Game 5 of the World Series. The euphoria of an immiment 10th World Series Crown. Second in my lifetime so far. Revenge against the team that delayed the 8th title the year before I was born. A sea of red. Playoff success after three futile World Series spread over 23 years. The exultation as a title arrives as in ’82, at home, on a strikeout. Grown men, strangers to each other become brothers in victory. High fives. Hugs abound. Even tears are shed. Kids dance around. Women jump and cheer. The team celebrates onfield. There are few experiences in sports like being there when your hometown team clinches a World Series title before your very eyes. As Shannon often says: Un-believable. Congratulations, Cards. You earned it. As for the national press haters? You can't take it away. 2006 St. Louis Cardinals: World Series Champions. How ya like us now?