When I grow up I want to be like Ed Bradley.
I haven't had the opportunity to watch Ed Bradley in motion in the past dozen years or so since I stopped watching television. But I remember a man who embodied the kind of cool that Cosby never had. I cannot remember where I saw him or in what context but he occupies my mind as an archetype of mellow sophistication, wisdom and style. He moved like a man. He spoke like a man. I hear Ed Bradley and I think red wine and jazz music, elegant clothing and a man who will look you in the eye.
There were times when Mike Wallace would try to say something to prove something, when he would seem so much the unsophisticated upstart trying to catch someone in a lie. Like he was an inquisitor or something. Ed Bradley had a different effect, which was more like what happens when you put an interviewee in front of a man that has nothing at all to prove, but just some questions about what makes you tick? I've been listening to Hugh Hewitt a bit less these days while he's still stomping about in his partisan combat boots, and the death of Ed Bradley reminds us that sometimes the best questions are not the hard questions, but the personal questions. This was Bradley's great gift to journalism.
I think in the end I may have to pay whatever it costs to get my hands on Ed's interview with Tiger Woods.
In the world of television interviewers, there are but a few greats. Brian Lamb, Bernard Shaw, Charlie Rose, Mike Douglas, Barbara Walters, Howard Cosell and Ed Bradley. Three are gone. How will we ever know without them?
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