Ed Bradley, The News Pioneer Who Never Lost His Cool

He often turned his interviews into gabfests, into something akin to a kitchen chat at Thanksgiving. (They took on far more intensity when he was interviewing murderers or bombers.) And there were those across black America who wondered if as many black legends -- Lena Horne, Muhammad Ali -- would have been profiled were it not for his presence.

"Ed was as comfortable talking to Lena Horne as standing out on the White House lawn," says Thornton. "What he brought to '60 Minutes' was not only the diversity of his person -- his hipness, his music -- but he extended that to the stories he covered. Thereby introducing America to those things."

Thornton never saw meanness in Bradley. But a temperamental moment does stand out: "I was at CBS when an assignment editor asked Ed to do something. Ed didn't like the story idea. He didn't think it was up to his level. Ed stood up and looked at the editor and said, 'Find. Yourself. Another. Dude.' Oh, Lord, he was funny."

Bradley's pioneering presence on the air was widely noted. Last year he received a lifetime achievement award from the National Association of Black Journalists, in a ceremony here in Washington. He seemed genuinely moved at the event, staring at a screen as snatches of his memorable interviews scrolled by.

His hair had long gone gray. He had an earring. And he had raindrops in his eyes when he accepted the award from longtime BET newscaster Ed Gordon.

"Ed's demeanor said to America: 'Not everybody comes from the same cookie cutter,' " Gordon said yesterday. " 'But here we are.' "

Gordon says many black journalists are bedeviled by the prospect of being labeled "a black journalist," convincing themselves they are shortchanging their breadth and scope. Bradley never ran away from his cultural pride, Gordon says, finding poetry where it existed. "Ed knew he was smart enough to do any story, be it on the Oklahoma City bomber or Lena Horne. That's what was great about Ed."

A bevy of friends had been gathering at Mount Sinai Hospital in New York in the waning days of Bradley's life. Among them was Charlayne Hunter-Gault, a longtime friend.

Hunter-Gault, who has had her own distinguished career in journalism, used to run into Bradley all the time. He'd be on his way someplace. Lugging bags, looking bleary-eyed, off to another time zone, just back from another time zone. She didn't understand it: All those honors, well into his 60s, running like a college intern. "I'd say, 'Ed, you've got nothing to prove.' He'd say, 'I've got a job to do.' "

She walked into his hospital room the other day and he was tussling with the covers, moving his legs, his arms. "He was fighting," says Hunter-Gault. "It made me think of that Sterling Brown poem, 'Strong Men Keep A'Comin.' "

You sang Me an' muh baby gonna shine, shine

Me an' muh baby gonna shine

The strong men keep-a-comin' on

The strong men git stronger