In a business that has been embarrassed from Dan Rather to Jim Acosta and almost everyone on MSNBC, journalism lost another one of its long-timers this week when Cokie Roberts passed.

There already wasn’t a true unbiased person it seems as a top network (or cable) news anchor or reporter since probably the early 80’s. It’s come to be expected as right-wingers tune into FOX and left-wingers elsewhere. The truth probably lies somewhere in the middle, but seeing reporters such as Rachel Maddow cry over the outcome of an election just proves how unprofessional and unbalanced these outlets have become. The New York Times and Washington Post don’t need to substantiate anything as long as a rumor fits their agenda.

I was originally hired by a guy in 1980 who thought President Reagan going after Muammar Gaddafi was wrong, despite the Libyan leader’s authoritarian ways that rivaled Hitler by violating human rights, as well as encouraging terrorism.

My original boss is still a friend today. He was among the first to call after a health issue. Politics have not been mentioned at all during our few conversations over the decades. Why go there when there’s way too much more to talk about... although for the life of me I’ll never understand his like for the rebellious antics of the Barry Switzer-led Oklahoma Sooners.

I saw where Roberts recently said, “I’ve been blessed in my life with a long and happy marriage that produced two wonderful children.”

I too have produced two wonderful children. (No comment on the former.)

On a much smaller scale, I have experienced journalists from cities such as Atlanta and Dallas, to towns such as Cherokee Village and Ada. There have been some characters, some short-timers, some that left the profession on their own and some who were shown the door for various reasons.

I remember one fellow who always started each of his columns with: “Shake heads and come out thinking.” I never knew exactly what he meant, but it certainly was thought provoking.

Another columnist I knew wrote about his imaginary best friend, Cleatus Littell, whom he identified as his “good friend and close associate.” He used Cleatus, I believe, to tell embarrassing stories that were actual events from his life or perhaps saving the identity of a good friend. Like the time he mentioned when, as a college student, he was questioned by police for walking down a sidewalk with a large bowl of shrimp. “Taking it to a party,” he insisted to the inquiring officer. Truth was, he had taken it from a fraternity party when no one was looking and was headed to his apartment.

Incidentally, is eating stolen shrimp a crime? Asking for a friend.

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