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and maybe you'll feel a little bit better. OK?
It was back in the late seventies, and my husband and I were touring Monticello, Mr. Jefferson's lovely home, in Charlottesville, VA. It was a winter Sunday, gray, but mild, and the group we were in was small, not even a dozen of us.
Then my husband nudged me and whispered, "That's Walter Cronkite." And, sure enough, he and his wife were in our group. He didn't really look like Walter Cronkite in person, which struck me as funny. His pale red mustache was almost invisible. But he was there, all right.
The tour ended, of course, at the Gift Shop, and I was bending over a case, looking at something when a man next to me said, in a most distinctive voice, "I want to buy that silver box, but my wife won't let me."
I started to laugh, and looked at Cronkite, who was bigger than I had expected, now that he was up close. His wife was at the other end of the display cases, and she looked at me and smiled and shook her head. I said, "I think you should get it," and he said, "No, she won't let me and her word is law."
We chit-chatted about the tour and Jefferson - another redhead, Walter Cronkite pointed out to me, pointing to his thin, graying hair - and then we were all leaving, and, seizing the moment, I leaned into him and said, softly, "Will you please say it for me?"
He looked kind of confused, and then he smiled, leaned back into me, and whispered in my ear, "And that's the way it is." I just about swooned, and thanked him over and over, amidst much laughter.
Later, my husband wanted to buy that silver box so that he could tell people that he had the box that Walter Cronkite's wife wouldn't let him buy. I wouldn't let him.
But I always felt like I owned that particular day, because Walter Cronkite had given it to me...........................
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