The first time I went to the USA I was 18. I stayed with my aunt in Manhattan. She worked for a very big advertising agency, and she was able to arrange for me a tour of the CBS Building. I wasn’t part of a regular tour; I had a page, scarcely older than me, all to myself, to show me round. It was very interesting. Among other things I saw the early evening news team reading that day’s news, saw Captain Kangaroo in his blue blazer, and spent a few minutes in an editing suite.
At one point, we saw a distinguished looking gentleman in suit and tie walking along a corridor towards us. He seemed to know the page, and said hello to him.
“Good evening, Mr. [I didn’t get the name]. This is Nicholas Templesmith [he didn’t pronounce the hyphen] from England, come for the tour.”
The gentleman shook my hand and said it was nice to meet me and that he hoped I was enjoying the tour. I thanked him and said I was finding it very interesting. Then the fellow nodded a goodbye an went on his way.
Wide eyed and awestruck, the page said, “That was Walter Cronkite!”
“Oh,” I replied, “Who’s he?”
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