A Great Loss

Jean Rather (1935-2024)

A first birthday for a first child is an event destined to be fraught with meaning. As June 4, 2009, approached, my wife and I were eager to celebrate with family and friends. We wanted it to be just right, but we took some comfort in knowing that the center of attention that day, our beautiful little Eva, would have no memory of the festivities and thus no lingering disappointment if our plans weren’t perfect.

Eager to take full advantage of the season and our proximity to Central Park, we decided on a swath of grass bisected by a path with relatively little foot traffic. We got cupcakes from our favorite bakery. 

I debated whether to invite my boss and his wife, not wanting to impose any sense of obligation on them. But in the end, I figured they would most likely decline. After all, it’s not a simple decision to stand in the middle of a public space when you are an icon immediately recognizable to millions. 

I had spent enough time around Dan Rather in airports, on trains, and walking through cities around the world to see that his fame made anonymity impossible. And I knew his glamorous wife of many decades, Jean, was well known as well and had spent more than her fair share of time mingling with strangers eager for an ear. 

But as the festivities began and our 20- and 30-something friends chatted in small groups, I could see two older figures—undoubtedly a couple in their gait and manner—walking up the path. It was Dan and Jean, and they spent the next couple of hours celebrating my young family on that sparkling summer day. 

I was protective, hoping that they would not get bogged down in awkward conversations with a star-struck guest. But as I nervously flitted about, they gave me a knowing look (after all, Dan and Jean were both used to anxious producers). Their infectious smiles conveyed a clear message: Enjoy this special day; we are honored to be here.  

A snapshot from that moment rushed from the recesses of my memory when I heard the news yesterday that Jean had passed away. And then came a flood of other memories—gatherings over the years, both momentous and ordinary. If I’m honest, whenever I called their home to speak with Dan, I was always a little glad when Jean was the one who answered the phone. She was full of positive energy and always had something interesting to say.

My thoughts and prayers go to Dan, the rest of Jean’s family, and her many friends in this time of sadness. 

Jean was a remarkable woman and a talented artist. She was born in a time and place where professional opportunities for women were limited, but she had the mind and will to be capable of anything. Dan would often proclaim how lucky he had been in life, and everyone around him knew how much of that started with Jean. 

Dan often told a story about his early days as the anchor of the CBS Evening News, when he was, by his own admission, swelled with the flush of success. On a trip back to visit Jean’s family in Texas, they stopped at a service station to grab a cold soda. Dan stayed in the car while Jean went inside, and through the window, he watched her strike up a conversation with the man behind the counter. Minutes passed. The sun was hot, and Dan admitted later that he was growing annoyed—after all, a broadcast news anchor doesn’t like to be kept waiting.

When Jean finally returned, she explained she’d run into an old friend. Dan admitted that he said something to the effect of, “Just think—if things had worked out differently, you would have been married to a man who owns a gas station.” He said Jean didn’t miss a beat. “If things had been different,” she replied, “that man would have been the anchor of CBS News.”

I think it said a lot about Dan and Jean and their partnership of more than 60 years that he loved to tell this story. 

I didn’t spend as much time with Jean as I did with Dan, and in that sense, I didn’t know her as well. But to know Dan was to know Jean. Together, they seized life and worked tirelessly to help others. They believed in the power of truth and the righteousness of justice. They were patriots in the truest sense—devoted to this nation’s most noble ideals.

Our lives are shaped by events and forces over which we have little control. But they are also molded by the people we choose to have around us. We are all human and, thus, by definition, flawed. Yet, we can find resilience in community and steadfastness in love. 

No matter the privileges, challenges, or luck we encounter in life, all our journeys lead to the same destination. When the final bugle sounds, what will be the meaning of a life lived? That is the call we must all answer. Jean answered it with grace, generosity, and a heart full of love.

May more follow Jean’s inspiring lead of living life to the fullest and in service to causes bigger than oneself. May her memory be a blessing.