For reasons never explained to me, my parents had me go with my grandmother on Sunday afternoon visits to some of the older relatives. One such recipient of my grandmother's company would be her sister-in-law, Tante Emma, who lived somewhere near Burke Avenue in the Bronx. I had little control over this situation, so I would just grin and bear it. Two older ladies doing nothing but sitting at the kitchen table and gossiping in German. Tante Emma did her best to keep me amused. She would sit me down in her living room easy chair and pop the TV on.
"Would you like to watch Meet The Press?"
Hello? I am eight years old.
I'm been thinking about this since last Friday when I got off a plane and read the e-mail that this show's host, Tim Russert, had died suddenly. Standing at baggage claim, I spotted what were probably some NBC News folks. The logo on the luggage tags was a dead giveaway. They were staring at the TV screens which were relaying the grim details. They were clearly straining to cope. Indeed, in a small way, so was I.
While I wanted nothing to do with Meet The Press when I was sitting on Tante Emma's plastic slipcovers, that show had become a ritual for me over the past ten years while living in Los Angeles. Because the show was on a live feed, we got it at 730AM on the West Coast and it usually started my Sunday. And, over time, it really became the only TV news show that I would bother to watch. It was balanced. It presented all sides of a political argument. It educated me. And all of the above can be directly attributed to Tim Russert.
In one of the many tributes to him, it should have been no surprise to me that Russert was a registered Independent. That makes him my hero. And perhaps even a saint. Because nowhere in TV news today does such an animal exist. Most journalists are now personalities. They're nothing more than game show hosts with political opinions. You tune to CNN and MSNBC for the Barack Obama pep rallies. You tune to Fox for the latest edition of the George W, Bush Appreciation Society. There are is no gray area anywhere. And, in reality, life as we all know it is nothing but the gray area.
Tim Russert knew that. He presented everything in the most unbiased and non-partisan way he knew how. And he did it in a way that all could understand. Who else could have boiled down the whole 2000 Presidential Election disaster into three words? "Florida! Florida! Florida!" It was concise. It was perfect.
I listened to idiots like Keith Olbermann and Chris Matthews extol Russert's virtues. At the same time, they weren't even worthy to work in the same profession that he did so splendidly. There's one more chip in the armor now. Before long, the knight will be totally unprotected.
Oddly, Tim Russert died just before Father's Day. I am thinking about that best selling book he wrote about his dad, who now has outlived his son. I hadn't read it yet. I will now. And, as only the written word can do, thoughts and ideas and feelings are preserved forever.
One last notion: They say that Tim Russert, who looked to be a bit overweight, died at the the virtually unmentionable age of 58 from coronary disease and an enlarged heart. Today, with the wonders of medicine, I wonder how that can even happen. But, then I hear that, on the day before he died, Russert had just returned from a family vacation in Rome. A long, long flight. And I think about the disclaimers in all the flight magazines about DVT. Keep walking. Keep the blood moving. And I wonder if Tim Russert had read them.
Maybe he did. Maybe he didn't. But, perhaps, this is just one thing that we can all learn from him.
Dinner last night: Salami sandwich.
Tomorrow: Ranting from LA.
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