The city of Buffalo is short on homegrown celebrities. So when one of them dies be it Rick "Cocaine is a helluva drug" James or Tim "everything tastes better when its fried in bleu cheese OM NOM NOM" Russert the city mourns in a manner thats usually reserved for heads of state, not Superfreaks. Russert was an alum of my high school and, of course, an inspiration for super-serious journalists such as myself everywhere. I was in Seattle when I received news of his death, but I could picture the scene in Buffalo vividly- flags at half-mast, elderly immigrant women rending their clothes in an oddly sexy display of grief, drunk South Buffalo Irishmen out-mourning one another, pretending they'd ever sat through an entire installment of "Meet the Press" and generally using the whole thing as an excuse to have that eleventh beer at lunch. Naturally, I was upset to be missing out on the fun.
What surprised me was that even on the West Coast, the response to the Russert tragedy was significant. One couldn't turn on cable news without seeing some talking head reminisce fondly about Russert and what a stand-up guy he was. The whole circus peaked with the Russert funeral which was, of course aired in its entirety, affording all of us the opportunity to watch the Brokaw-bot short circuit as it tried to come to grips with what we humans call "emotion." For those who didn't see it, Brokaw kept with Buffalo tradition by cracking out a beer in the middle of his eulogy. It was truly, the greatest carbonation.**
Don't get me wrong, it was a great loss for the country to lose such an important media figure in the heart of such an intense political season and the Russert family...blah, blah, blah, but I can't help identifying with a quote from another former Buffalo resident, Rolling Stone columnist Matt Taibbi, who, when questioned about the tragedy had the balls to say, "He was a fat guy from Buffalo who did his job okay...People die!"
Harsh words even by Blueneck standards, but the Hunter S. Wannabe had a point. Russert was one on the last bastions of old school journalism, a throwback to the days when the news was more important than the guy reporting it and he would no doubt be mortified to see his own life and death being used to distract from the important issues of the day and sell ad time on CNN. More grave-spinnery would no doubt ensue if he witnessed the rise in celebrity status enjoyed by everyone close to the tragedy including his wife, Maureen Orth who figured out right quick that she's more noteworthy as the wife of a famous dead guy than as a columnist for that glossy roll of celeb-embossed Charmin known as Vanity Fair.
In saying all this, I in no way intend to ridicule Tim Russert or diminish what he achieved in his lifetime. Despite what Mr. Taibbi said, Russert did his job more than "okay." He was an eloquent, ethical and objective journalist working in a field where political bias and sensationalism reign supreme. He was a credit to his profession and his city and he will no doubt be sorely missed by those who knew him personally and those such as myself who looked forward to watching him politely stir the turd with the most powerful people in the world every Sunday morning. Despite the level of class and decorum that he displayed publicly, he loved beer and his friends nicknamed him "Wild." In his own way, he was a blueneck to the end. My beef is not with Tim Russert's life, but with his death and the way it was handled. We could've used someone like Tim Russert to bring a little dignity to the proceedings.
*Tim Russert wrote a book called "Big Russ & Me". Its a pun. Is this thing on?
**Tom Brokaw wrote a book called "The Greatest Generation". These are the jokes, people. I can't hold your hand through this whole thing.
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