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David Brinkley: Suppose somebody was breaking into your house at night, and you didn't have a gun. Wouldn't you wish you had one?
Sam Donaldson: No, I'd call the police immediately, I'd slam the doors, I'd cower under the bed, or in the closet...
Brinkley: George?
George Will: I'd call Carl Rowan.
--
exchange on This Week with David Brinkley, June 19, 1988.

 

Carl Rowan

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There are some things where Governor Romney is different from George Bush. You know, George Bush didn't propose turning Medicare into a voucher. George Bush embraced comprehensive immigration reform. He didn't call for self-deportation. George Bush never suggested that we eliminate funding for Planned Parenthood. So there are differences between Governor Romney and George Bush, but they're not on economic policy. In some ways he's gone to a more extreme place when it comes to social policy. I think that's a mistake.

 

Mitt Romney

 

Since he came out of the west to team with David Brinkley back in 1956, Chet Huntley has been our competitor — and what a competitor! — but he also is a colleague and a good friend. Tonight, over on that other network, as we say, he's saying good night to David for the last time on their evening newscast, returning to his native Montana to build a resort, and, I suspect, perhaps to get involved in politics. As he leaves the daily broadcast scene, a giant departs the stage. For journalism and for ourselves, we hate to see him go, but that's the way it is: Friday, July 31, 1970. Goodbye, Chet.
Chet Huntley : Goodbye, and good luck, Walter.

 

Walter Cronkite

 

Clarence Thomas is the best only at his ability to bootlick for Ronald Reagan and George Bush... They didn't pick him because he was black. They picked him because he's a black conservative. And the thing that bothers me about his appointment -- if they had put David Duke on, I wouldn't scream as much because they would look at David Duke and reject him for what he is. If you gave Clarence Thomas a little flour on his face, you'd think you had David Duke talking.

 

Carl Rowan

 

Only a few weeks ago, in the year in which I write, Carl T. Rowan died. Hearing the news, I felt the sadness one feels when a writer dies, a writer one claims as one's own — as potent a sense of implication as for the loss of a body one has known. Over the years, I had seen Rowan on TV. He was not, of course he was not, the young man who had been with me by the heater — the photograph on the book jacket, the voice that spoke through my eyes. The muscles of my body must form the words and the chemicals of my comprehension must form the words, the windows, the doors, the Saturdays, the turning pages of another life, a life simultaneous with mine.
It is a kind of possession, reading. Willing the Other to abide in your present. His voice, mixed with sunlight, mixed with Saturday, mixed with my going to bed and then getting up, with the pattern and texture of the blanket, with the envelope from a telephone bill I used as a bookmark. With going to Mass. With going to the toilet. With my mother in the kitchen, with whatever happened that day and the next; with clouds forming over the Central Valley, with the flannel shirt I wore, with what I liked for dinner, with what was playing at the Alhambra Theater. I remember Carl T. Rowan, in other words, as myself, as I was. Perhaps that is what one mourns.

 

Richard Rodriguez

 

The House being informed, that Two Quakers, (that is to say) George Fox, and Rob. Gressingham, have lately made a great Disturbance at Harwich; and that the said George Fox, who pretends to be a Preacher, did lately, in his preaching there, speak Words much reflecting on the Government and Ministry, to the near causing of a Mutiny, and is now committed by the Mayor and Magistrates there; Ordered, That the said George Fox, and Robert Gressingham, be forthwith brought up in Custody: And that the Sheriff of the County of Essex do receive them, and give his Assistance for the conveying them up accordingly, and delivering them into the Charge of the Serjeant at Arms attending this House.

 

George Fox