His death marked more than the end of a broadcast era. For me, it was the loss of a voice I trusted — and the beginning of finding my own.
Twenty years ago, I was heading into my senior year of high school. I was set to graduate a full semester early, and even though I was unsure about the next chapter of my life, I knew I was ready to move on from Tuscaloosa County High School. Then came the news that broke my heart — Peter Jennings had died. It struck my millennial core in a way I didn’t yet have words for.
Only months earlier, Jennings had announced his cancer diagnosis on air — an incredibly candid and deeply personal moment with his audience. I watched it live, and while I knew it seemed dire, my denial couldn’t let me face the reality of it. Younger generations might not remember this era — a time when three networks mostly dominated the news and, believe it or not, could be trusted. Remember, this was the ’90s.
The Silent Generation had Murrow. Boomers had Cronkite. For Gen Xers and elder Millennials, it was Jennings — or Rather or Brokaw, depending on the household. But we all had someone. A voice that steadied us and made sense of the world (back when it still sort of made sense).
Whether you watched the Challenger explode or saw the towers fall on live TV, these anchors were more than reporters. They were counselors of national grief.
Even before 9/11, I naturally gravitated to Jennings and his calm, straightforward delivery. As a curious child from the South, I felt Jennings brought the world to me. I actually learned things from him — he was part journalist, part documentarian, and he literally changed how I viewed the world. I even bought a world atlas to give me greater context for his travels. I wanted to understand the geography behind his stories — to see the places he reported on, not just hear about them.
Yes, I was that kind of nerd. And this was before I had access to the internet. In the ’90s, you had to work for this stuff.
I looked forward to his Peter Jennings Reporting specials and recorded them so I could rewatch them religiously — I still have those VHS tapes.
I remember when his Peter Jennings Reporting: The Search for Jesus special aired. Jennings didn’t approach the subject from a religious perspective, but instead looked at Jesus the man — not the savior. Naturally, religious groups had a fit, and I remember sitting in sermons where he was eviscerated: “How dare he not explicitly say that Jesus was the son of God.”
Even at 13, this didn’t make sense to me. Jennings wasn’t there to indoctrinate. He was there to inform — and to challenge us to think.
Journalism has lost sight of that. Today, parent corporations are more concerned with pandering to the powers that be than maintaining any ounce of integrity (as you can see, I have strong opinions on the matter). I’d like to think that ABC News would not have ousted Terry Moran if Jennings were still around. However, we’ll never know.
Side note, Moran now publishes his work on Substack, where he continues asking the kinds of questions that still matter.
But I can tell you this: Peter Jennings wouldn’t have caved to a tyrant and a bully — like a cheap folding chair caught in a windstorm.
So writing about him now feels harder than I expected. How do you adequately capture a voice that once helped you make sense of the world — and do it justice? Maybe you can’t. But what I can do is honor my 17-year-old self, who was brave enough to be curious. Maybe that’s how we honor someone like Peter Jennings — by carrying that sense of curiosity forward and remaining students of humanity.
And let’s face it — maybe it’s not just Peter I miss. Or journalistic integrity. It’s the version of myself who sat on the bedroom floor with a world atlas and a VCR nearby. Back when time felt slower. Simpler. But 20 years have passed in a blink, and I can’t wrap my mind around it.
I’d close with a fun clip of him on The Daily Show with Jon Stewart — to show his dry wit and their easy camaraderie — but I can’t, because Paramount Global removed Comedy Central’s archived clips from its website.
Of course they did.
I’m glad I hung on to those VHS tapes.
Thanks for everything, Peter.
Enjoyed this story? You can support my work by subscribing to Uncharted Self on Substack or following me on Medium for more reflections on travel, healing, and rediscovery.