Resisting the pull of cynicism since 1969.

Monday, August 08, 2005


I came home last night from the final evening of the best Edmonton Folk Music Festival I've been to in years, only to find that Peter Jennings had died. It put a bit of a damper on my post-folkfest bliss, let me tell you.

When I first found out he had lung cancer, I tried to articulate just what this man meant to me, but nothing worthy came out, so I'll state the obvious. He was an American and a Canadian, and intensely loved both countries in a way that proved to others that it was possible. He was a steady, compassionate presence in the worst moments of human history in a way no other journalist has managed to be. He never did manage to write any of the books he had in him, and our understanding of the world we live in (and especially of the relationship between Canada and the United States), is immeasurably poorer for that. I want to say I loved him, but of course I never met him, so I didn't--not really. But the admiration, adoration, and gratitude I felt for him had that sort of level of intensity.

He will be missed.

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