It was while taking the #15 WTA bus to downtown Bellingham the other day that I began thinking about my good fortune to have known Bob Cromie. Perhaps it was the book I was reading during the ride that reminded me of him. A classic among journalists, Robert J. Casey's Such Interesting People is a highly perceptive look at Chicago reporters, writers and editors who, among other things, inspired Ben Hecht and Charles MacArthur to write The Front Page.
Cromie, who left us at 90 with six months and change left before the Millennium, was a carry-over from Casey's era. His book, published in 1943, did not goose me into the field of journalism; rather, it was reportorial efforts on The Heun Gazette, a for-laughs-only publication passed around study halls by restless students at Lakewood High School located in a suburb immediately west of Cleveland, Ohio. More later about The Gazette, editor Dick Heun and our decidedly bizarre approach to journalism as we created our versions of the first pages of history.
Cromie may be recalled as the host of a nationally syndicated radio show about books plus two TV programs, "Cromie Circle" on Chicago's WGN and "Book Beat," home based at WTTW, the city's public TV channel that fed the shows to PBS stations. His broadcast triumphs were an adjunct to four decades of reportorial excellence. He loved words and the people who used them--particularly those who called attention to social injustice, an attitude that characterized every aspect of his work and life.
Successful journalists owe their reputations to many things. Some dig deeper for stories than their counterparts. Others, not as persevering, may place greater emphasis on originality while some make effective use of contacts calling upon rolodexes both real and of the mind. Cromie is the only journalist I ever met who was thoroughly noble and it showed in the way people responded to him. I never heard him swear and that includes time on the golf course where people are very inclined to do so.
In a business where excessive drinking, more than any other shortcoming, has probably ended more careers, Cromie (to my knowledge) never took a drink. Whether this was a lifelong consistency or a resolve preceded by a battle with demon rum I know not. He often sat at John Fischetti's First Amendment celebratory table at Riccardo, joining in and providing hilarity while not imbibing. Fischetti, a Pulitzer winner for editorial cartooning, was my best friend first at the Chicago Daily News, then at Sun-Times after the Daily News was folded by Marshall Field V.
Like many outstanding journalists, Cromie was a messy desk person although he was on the neat side compared to sports writer/columnist Bill Gleason of the Sun-Times. I once made reference to something he had written nine years earlier prompting Gleason to dive into a filing system everyone called Mt. Gleason. Groping for a moment or two with Herman Cain-like proficiency, he extracted a published piece plus paper-clipped notes and proclaimed: "You mean this?"
The messy desk possibly continues to be a matter of pride to some contemporary journalists. I once took wife Janet on a tour of the Chicago Tribune editorial floor during which she met such print paragons as columnist Eric Zorn, critic Gene Siskal (then thumbs-upping it at the movies with TV co-host Roger Ebert) and cartoonist Jeff MacNelly, a three-time Pulitzer winner. It was in the newsroom that we came upon a remarkable example of clutter whose magnitude suggested it had to have been detritus of an Oklahoma tornado decidedly off course.
"Whose office is this?" asked Jan.
"It's Casey Bukro's," I replied knowing what was coming next.
"What does he do?" was the anticipated question.
"Why, he's the Environmental Editor" I giggled in return. Bukro, responsible for environmental entries, nearly won a Pulitzer for his "Save Our Lake" series.
Born in Detroit and educated at Oberlin College, Cromie joined the Tribunein 1936 and was the newspaper's war correspondent for four years. Wherever World War II battles raged, whether in Europe or the Pacific, Cromie was there to report--often with a local angle. His modus operandi nearly always was kicked off by asking if there were any soldiers or Marines from Chicago or Illinois. Tribune readers had the war "personalized" for them and Cromie was masterful.
Cromie was with the Marines when Guadalcanal was invaded and he put in a lot of miles traveling with Gen. George Patten including coverage of the Battle of the Bulge. Like Ernie Pyle, he wrote stories about average guys turned into everyday heroes. Typical of his work was an October 12, 1943 report telling of a raid on Rabaul located, as the dateline proclaimed, SOMEWHERE IN NEW GUINEA. The writing is rich, spare and aimed at a readership whose heightened interest in the war is in direct contrast to today's indifference.
"As we taxied on the runway," continued Cromie, "I moved into the bomb bay and stood between rows of 1,000 pound bombs. We had plenty of respect for the 1,000 pounders--Staff Sgt. Fred C. Whitney, 22, Independence, Mo., Staff Sgt. John G. Shaffer of Logan, W. VA, and I. We didn't return to our comfortable posts in the waist until Bond (Lt. John E. Bond 24 of Scarsdale, N.Y.) had plenty of time to get his plane on an even keel. Other heavy bombers were all around us. I could count more than 50 at one time. We gradually got into formation and headed for Rabaul, soon running into heavy fog which hid the wingtips and sent tiny drops of water running on the windows. Then into the sun once more. The morning was all blue and gold and blinding white. I went forward and stood behind the pilot's seat. Tech Sgt. H. V. Milarski of 3800 Diversey boulevard, Chicago, was working on the radio. As he smoked a cigarette he looked as bored as if riding down State street in a street car. Tech Sgt. Joseph A. Gosseaux, 23, of Grindstone, Pa., the engineer, was busy writing down the names of the personnel. He did this with ease from long practice, even to putting down each man's serial number from memory--some numbers containing eight digits."
Cromie's war journalism is something we don't get today because of the military's control explicit in embedding reporters resulting in spoon fed versions far short of what we should be getting. For that we can thank President George H.W. Bush, Dick Cheney (then Defense Secretary) and other members of the administration who conducted an assault on constitutional freedoms during Operation Desert Storm. Without question, a strangely passive press also was at fault.
I have two particularly fond memories of Cromie. One involved attending services for Fischetti who died two weeks after I left Field Enterprises (owner of the Sun-Times). There were people critical of my leaving for the Tribune but Fischetti was highly supportive during two months of my maneuverings with the marketing and editorial departments of the Boul Mich monolith.
Cromie's eulogy for Fischetti was perfect. In the company of all who loved the guy, Cromie offered a parting line that recalled a legion of mid-day fun: "I think it's entirely possible that John Fischetti invented the long lunch."
My other indelible memory of the journalist was the result of a question I asked him following a taping of "The Cromie Circle" at WGN. Of all the authors he had interviewed, with which one would he prefer to spend a lot of time? Cromie mentioned several but the stickout he decided was Ernest K. Gann. Gann's many lives were spent as a theatrical manager, film director, painter, writer, pilot and seaman. Both he and Cromie were man's men for whom laughter was an important ingredient of living. "He is truly one hell of a guy," was the way he put it.
"'ll tell you something interesting about Gann," observed Cromie. "His was the only interview I ever conducted in which the subject would not tell me where he lived. I asked him why and Gann replied: "If I tell you, you'll ask me what it's like and I'll tell you how wonderful it is. Members of your audience will then get interested in the place and they'll buy property and build homes and the place won't be the same. That's why."
Our conversation took place in 1985 shortly before Cromie retired. When more than four years later Jan and I moved to San Juan Island in the Pacific Northwest, we discovered that one of its better-know residents was Gann, author of 25 novels about aviation and the sea. Among the best known: Fate is the Hunter, The High and the Mighty and Blaze of Noon.
We met Ernie and spunky wife Dodie (an inductee into the National Ski Hall of Fame, she captained the 1948 Olympics team) at a party a couple of weeks after our January, 1990 arrival in Friday Harbor. He recalled the conversation with Cromie and thought our meeting indicative of pronounced prescience on Cromie's part. Among the many joys of our island life were the sensational views offered from our home including the Olympic and Cascade Mountains, the waters of Puget Sound, the Strait of Juan de Fuca and much of Ernie and Dodie's 760-acre Red Mill Farm in the San Juan Valley below.
The farm and its assured future gave further evidence of Ganns' staunch attitude regarding the heaven on earth he had referenced in his conversation with Cromie. Shortly after donating a conservation easement to the San Juan Preservation Trust thus denying development, Gann told me: "We have to do something to save this land, not only for our children but for ourselves. People need to stop thinking of money all the time, or the land won't be here."
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