It has been one week since my world was thrown into chaos, when I learned of Tim Russert's death from a heart attack. In the days after, I sat mesmorized in front of the television, as dozens of Mr. Russert's colleagues filed through to share condolences and personal memories of this larger than life figure.
However, in the middle of our sorrow, something else became apparent that was as extraordinary as Mr. Russert's untimely death: the personal relationships that so many of you enjoyed with him. From David Gregory's discussion of his Jewish religion, Mr. Brokaw's story about the Road Kill Cafe, to your own final statement on Friday, we all came to realize the close-knit nature of the NBC family. Such a willingness to step aside from your roles as reporters was refreshing and completely unexpected. As a result, we have gained a greater respect for you and your colleagues.
But soon after MSNBC started its coverage with stories from great reporters like John Harwood, Mike Barnicle, and Tom Brokaw, two extraordinary events occurred. The first came early and was expected: They spoke about Russert the journalist, that his death was a loss to the political system which can never be replaced. I had known this truth for awhile, as I'd watched MTP since moving to California in 1997. Mr. Russert dissected political glib into discernable truth, much like a master chef on Thanksgiving uses a carving knife to deftly separate meat from bone. I always walked away from MTP with the information I needed to make informed political decisions, and I never felt that my my Sunday mornings were ever wasted.
But what I did not expect from all this was the outpouring of personal accounts that highlighted Mr. Russert the father, the friend, the mentor. Mr. Brokaw's story about The Road Kill Cafe, Mr. Barnicle's rememberances of Russert's mustard-stained shirts, and the dozens of reporters who stepped up to account for Russert's love of family and integrity brought solemn tears to my eys. Even as I write this, the tears are hard to fight back.
On a side note, it is regrettable that our society does not celebrate or account our personal sides to the general public. Reporters are at the extreme end of this view, as they never share personal stories with the public, because they don't want others to think sucjh views will taint their political ones. In dealing with Mr. Russert's death, it is clear that such honesty should in fact become more widespread. We should never have to wait for a senseless death like this one to learn about someone's personal life, especially one as rich and fullfilling as Mr. Russert's.
We have lost much more than a fabulous reporter or a dedicated employee of NBC, we have lost our political and cultural voice. May we all strive to bring a little of Tim Russert into our daily lives. Only then will the chaos of the past week be laid to rest.
However, in the middle of our sorrow, something else became apparent that was as extraordinary as Mr. Russert's untimely death: the personal relationships that so many of you enjoyed with him. From David Gregory's discussion of his Jewish religion, Mr. Brokaw's story about the Road Kill Cafe, to your own final statement on Friday, we all came to realize the close-knit nature of the NBC family. Such a willingness to step aside from your roles as reporters was refreshing and completely unexpected. As a result, we have gained a greater respect for you and your colleagues.
But soon after MSNBC started its coverage with stories from great reporters like John Harwood, Mike Barnicle, and Tom Brokaw, two extraordinary events occurred. The first came early and was expected: They spoke about Russert the journalist, that his death was a loss to the political system which can never be replaced. I had known this truth for awhile, as I'd watched MTP since moving to California in 1997. Mr. Russert dissected political glib into discernable truth, much like a master chef on Thanksgiving uses a carving knife to deftly separate meat from bone. I always walked away from MTP with the information I needed to make informed political decisions, and I never felt that my my Sunday mornings were ever wasted.
But what I did not expect from all this was the outpouring of personal accounts that highlighted Mr. Russert the father, the friend, the mentor. Mr. Brokaw's story about The Road Kill Cafe, Mr. Barnicle's rememberances of Russert's mustard-stained shirts, and the dozens of reporters who stepped up to account for Russert's love of family and integrity brought solemn tears to my eys. Even as I write this, the tears are hard to fight back.
On a side note, it is regrettable that our society does not celebrate or account our personal sides to the general public. Reporters are at the extreme end of this view, as they never share personal stories with the public, because they don't want others to think sucjh views will taint their political ones. In dealing with Mr. Russert's death, it is clear that such honesty should in fact become more widespread. We should never have to wait for a senseless death like this one to learn about someone's personal life, especially one as rich and fullfilling as Mr. Russert's.
We have lost much more than a fabulous reporter or a dedicated employee of NBC, we have lost our political and cultural voice. May we all strive to bring a little of Tim Russert into our daily lives. Only then will the chaos of the past week be laid to rest.
Comments