Heartbreak

At the age of 58, one of the greatest political journalists of all time, Tim Russert, has died. This Buffalo native (and graduate of John Carroll and Cleveland Marshall College of Law) was a giant in an industry full of mental midgets.

It's no secret, if you've read these pages for any length of time, that yours truly is not fond of most of those who call themselves "journalists". Tim Russert was THE exception to the rule. Even though he had strong, partisan Democrat credentials (having worked as press secretary for former NY Governor Mario Cuomo and chief of staff to former U.S. Senator from NY, Senator Daniel Patrick Moynihan) he always took great pains to do his research and ask tough, fair questions to politicians from both sides of the aisle.

I received a complimentary copy of his book (with his signature) a while back when I attended an event at which he was speaking. I read the book (Big Russ and Me)cover to cover that night after hearing him speak. An educated man, he spoke plainly. He had all the money in the world, but loved riding with his son in his pickup truck. He loved his wife. He loved his father. He adored his son.

That love and admiration was evident the first time I saw him speak. I had the fortune of sitting in the front row that day, at a table right off the stage--he was no more than 10 feet away from me. Boss was with me that day. It sounds odd, but we both really connected with him that day. He was a moving speaker, a powerful speaker--inspirational. As he spoke of his family, and specifically, as he spoke of his love for his father, he began to cry. They were tears of joy, I presume, but there, in front of a crowd of about 1,000 people, this big, strong man from Buffalo who worked his ass off to become all that he had become, began to cry as he spoke of the love of his father. He made me cry too. I cried then, and I cried today.

His book was fantastic. He had a fantastic sense of humor and he was a tremendous story teller. I can't recall ever reading a book that made me think, laugh, and cry in a matter of two pages. I shared a common love with Tim Russert--america's favorite past time--baseball.

Specifically, Russert was a big Yankee's fan. One of his favorite figures was Yogi Berra. My favorite part of the book was Chapter 7, Baseball. I'll share with you a few lines that give you a sense of why he loved Yogi, and also, it gives you some insight into the sense of humor Russert had.

"Just about everybody has heard some of Yogi's colorful and unique expressions, but they wear well, and even people who have heard them before still find them funny. This is a man who, when the waiter asked if he wanted his pizza cut into four slices or eight, replied, in all sincerity, 'Four. I'm not hungry enough to eat eight.' When his wife, Carmen, asked, "Yogi, you were born in St. Louis, you played in New York, and you live in New Jersey. When you die, where do you want to be buried?" Yogi said, "Suprise me."

And my all time favorite:

The first time I met Whitey Ford, I asked him if Yogi had really said all the things he is reported to have said. "Are you kidding?" said Ford. "It's worse than you think." He told me about a game he was pitching against the Chicago White Sox. "I had been out with Mantle the night before," Ford said, before adding, in a wonderful understatement, "so I probably wasn't at the top of my game." Leading off for Chicago was Luis Aparicio, who hit the first pitch for a single. Then Nellie Fox did exactly the same thing: two pitches, two men on. The third batter was Minnie Minoso, and Ford hit him with the first pitch. The cleanup hitter, Ted Kluszewski, promptly hit Ford's first offering over the fence for a home run. Four pitches, 4-0. At this point, Casey Stengel (yankee's manager at the time) ran out to the mound to onfer with his pitcher and catcher. "Yogi", he asked, "does Whitey have his stuff today?" "How the hell would I know?" said Yogi. "I haven't caught a pitch yet!"

As I was typing that, I was laughing my ass off. I love the humor. I laughed as hard the first time I read it. I laughed even harder when I heard him tell the story in person.

I loved Tim Russert. I'm going to miss him. Sounds corny, I know. This Sunday is father's day. One of America's greatest father's has just died. If your father is still alive, do me a favor, after you read this, give him a call--tell him you love him, tell him you're proud of the father he was to you, tell him thank you for giving you life and teaching you the things father's need to teach sons. If your dad wasn't so nice to you, you know what, give him a call anyway--and tell him you love him.

If you ARE a father, be a good one. Don't be selfish. Don't tell your daughter to move away from the T.V. if she wants you to help her dress her anatomically incorrect naked Barbie. Don't put your son off if he wants you to play catch. If they aren't that old, go change a diaper, go give a bath. Life is too short--and when it comes down to it, people, family is all we have.

God bless you, Mr. Russert.

--G