Working as I do inside the Washington beltway, where the political news by which we're surrounded (and inundated) every day often doesn't surprise us (after all, so many crazy things have happened in this city that for those of us who work in the political world, nothing surprises us anymore), it takes big news to shock us.Just a short while ago, we got such news, and it blasted through this city like a lightning bolt: Tim Russert had died.
I loved watching Russert work. Growing up with such folks as Harry Reasoner, Walter Cronkite, Howard K. Smith, and Frank Reynolds, it always seemed that the folks best-suited to deliver the news to us were ones who would attend the high-class parties to which we never got an invitation. Russert was different; he was the grassroots guy you'd see at the bar, mingling with everyday folks (and here in Washington, lots of people had a chance to see Russert out and about) and talking football and politics. He was the guy who came across as someone you'd want to be your buddy -- not because he was famous, but because he seemed like a genuinely fun guy to spend time with.
For political junkies like me, he had a true talent for making politics even more exciting -- asking the questions we always wish we could have asked but never had a chance, sticking it to the officials that deserved it, but always treating everyone with fairness and respect. He loved his job, he loved politics (especially during election season, when he could pull out his famous dry erase board and calculate electoral votes), and he loved this city.
Above all else, though, he loved his family. If you need proof, I highly recommend you read Big Russ and Me, which is one of the best grandfather-father-son books out there.
Tim, you'll be missed. Sunday morning politics will never be the same.
