Passing.

Peter Jennings, rest in peace.

Peter Jennings could tell a story, calm as the eye of a hurricane, witty as John Cleese, insightful as the Buddha, while the world, and his newsroom, undulated and contorted around him. That's genius, folks, and whether you agree with his version of any narrative or no, you should at least agree that genius of his kind is a rare commodity in this world. Peter Jennings was a prodigy, witty and photogenic, eloquent and puissant, a man with natural and acquired gifts so overpowering that he ruled the air for decades, dispensing his charisma as if it were penny-candy, speaking his news as if it were the very truth of God itself.

A man, a single Canadian-born man, told me things with wit and candor for many years for ABC television. I will miss his stories. You may tell me that they're all lies, and we can debate that another day, but you can't tell me that his stories weren't polished and magnificent. He was, as the most enduring and important writer in the English language described someone like him, a man, take him for all in all--we shall not see his like again.

I am saddened by his passing.