A ‘Meet the Press’ Producer Remembers Russert

This eulogy of former “Meet the Press” host Tim Russert is being sent around Washington this week.

It was written by “Meet the Press” producer Michelle Jaconi.

“Feel free to send my note to anyone,” Jaconi said, according to the e-mail with the eulogy. “I want as many people as possible to know that Tim was worthy of all this attention.”

My Tim

I thank you so much for your condolences and your thoughts. It is hard to explain the agony of the past three days but since I have yet to find the peace necessary for sleep, I thought I should clear my head and my heart.

I am embarrassed at how long this letter has turned out to be, but I share it with you as I know that reading is soothing to a grieving heart. And that television gives you a piece of emotion without the closure of action.

So many of you have asked what it has been like and how I have been coping. So, here is my best attempt at an explanation.

Imagine for a moment your beloved boss giving you an assignment and by the time you got to your office to complete it, he was dead.

Imagine your hero, in the prime of his career, being driven away from the playing field in an ambulance — motionless.

Imagine a man — who treated you like the daughter he never had — dying without having had the chance to say goodbye.

Imagine losing your favorite teacher, coach, and friend, without ever being able to say “thank you.”

Now imagine all of that happening at once.

The rest is after the jump.

And then think about minutes later your phone ringing with your heart hopeful for news of some miraculous recovery – only to hear a person asking you for the name of his favorite song as they were rushing to prepare his obituary.

That was my Friday.

Fridays are always frenetic at “Meet the Press.” This one especially. Tim had just come back from a trip and was in full “Tim Tornado” mode as I lovingly referred to the whirlwind he would create in our tiny office as we tried to catch up to his hyperactive intellect.

There are only six of us on the production staff at “Meet the Press.” (To give you a comparison, the Daily Show has more interns than we have employees). Four out of the six of us started as interns. One of the others started in the mailroom. For me, Tim was my first boss. He has also been my only boss. I still remember the nerves in my stomach as a young intern 11 years ago, being sent to his office because “he wanted to talk to me.”

I wasn’t told it was a job interview. I am glad, as I don’t think I could have been any more nervous. Tim was my idol. I thought he was everything a man should be. Throughout my internship I had been in his office briefly, occasionally being assigned the coveted task of delivering Tim his edition of the political “Hotline” … but sitting down in that big leather chair across from him that morning and letting my eyes wander over the paraphernalia was enough to make me shake. I saw his picture with the Pope. I thought that was a good sign. Maybe a prayer would get me through.

He asked me what I wanted to do for the show. And I told him, “Anything you want me to.” And he laughed. He asked me what my favorite part of the internship was and I said getting to read so many newspapers every morning. He asked me who my favorite columnist was and I said, “Maureen Dowd – but I actually like it best when she writes about her family instead of politics.” And he looked surprised, “why?” And I said, “because sometime when she writes about politics she is so sarcastic you forget if she believes in anything. Then she writes about her family, and you see that she is a gifted writer with an incredibly grounded heart.”

Gulp. He was silent. Had I offended him? Why am I speaking of hearts in a job interview? Why didn’t I think before I spoke? That is why I am not in politics I thought. He asked what my favorite edition of “Meet the Press” was and I said, “I actually love the shows you do with the NBA All-Stars.” He almost fell off his chair. As soon as I said it, I wish I had taken it back as I realized it was so impolitic to tell this interviewer of presidents and this leader of the greatest public affairs show in the world that I liked his fluff. He said, “my producers hate that I do those shows.” And I said, “well perhaps you should get new producers because they show a strength of yours that makes it more fun to watch your political interviews. I love when you have Bob Dole on for example, because he has been on so often that you two almost have this ballet of dancing around each other’s swords. But, when you have these sports stars on, you throw them off their game by showing them so much respect. They aren’t used to an interviewer who treats them with such dignity and approaches them as cultural figures instead of athletes. They always seem shocked by your preparation and research and they end up giving you so much more insight.”

Silence again. I realized then I had not told him anything about myself that would make me an attractive hire. I blurted out quickly, “You know, I went to Georgetown with Allen Iverson, and I think he would be fascinating to interview. You know, he, like you and me, was Jesuit educated. Isn’t that something?”

Finally, I got a smile. His eyes twinkled. I relaxed. We talked for nearly an hour, and by the time I made it back upstairs to my workspace, I was hired.

That was more than a decade ago, and I have never left.

(Tim did end up interviewing Allen Iverson by the way, and the interview was so good that I believe it inspired Mr. Iverson to ratchet up his athleticism in the All-Star game. He ended up getting the MVP title that game. I always thought Tim should get the trophy.)

Tim The Ironic TV Pioneer

Tim was not made for television.

First of all, he hated hairspray.

Secondly, he would rather pull teeth than buy a new suit.

Yet, Tim changed television and political interviewing forever.

And not just in America. Traveling abroad, you can see the Russert stamp on all of the world’s public affairs shows. The most famous, and most dreaded for our guests, was the Meet the Press graphic. I always thought it would be fun to have a blood pressure monitor on our guests for every time Tim uttered the words, “Let me show our viewers at home on the screen ….”

I remember being in Iowa at Dean rally and midway through his speech, Dean saw me and said, “Oh no, I see ‘Meet the Press’ is here. I better be more careful what I say.”

Tim hated when television taught you nothing; when politicians would simply say, “you are taking that out of context” or “I never said that.” So he came up with the brilliantly simplistic solution of showing the context. The network bosses were not thrilled. They told him that putting words on the screen for the viewers to read was “1950s television.” Tim told them that maybe there were some smart people in television in the 1950s.

He, like always, won the argument.

Tim’s preparation is rightly legendary. He was the model Boy Scout: he was always prepared. But, more than that, when it was show time, he also listened.

It is hard to explain to a non-television person how rare it is for an interviewer to actually, actively listen to his or her guest. Most interviewers are thinking about what the next question is or when they have to hit the next commercial. Tim ignored commercial cues and just trusted his well-honed instincts to guide him. We once went 45 minutes without taking a break when Vice President Cheney was on the show, simply because everything he said prompted a follow up.

Additionally, one of Tim’s other television legacies is the amazing number of women he brought and guided into television journalism stardom: Katie Couric, Andrea Mitchell, Maria Shriver, Gwen Ifill, Lisa Myers and Campbell Brown. And, if you are ever fortunate enough to meet Tim’s elegant wife, Maureen Orth, you will see that Tim chose to spend every day by a woman who challenged his intellect and raised his game. (I just loved that without even thinking about it, our panel on Sunday of those who knew Tim best was composed of 5 women. And yes, all Tim’s producers and his director are women.)

The Russert Brain

Working for Tim was like going to law school — for free. Well, actually, now that I think about it, it was like getting paid to go to law school. The work expected of you would crush most people. The lack of sleep and early mornings would doom many more. The amount of reading? Insurmountable.

But, the education … priceless.

Tim loved and inspired many but trusted few. For those lucky enough to be in that circle he made us better on a daily basis. He had the most incredible gut, the most amazing instincts, and the most respectful way of letting you follow your own leads.

He was so demanding. He never accepted shades of grey. “How much would we get if we rolled back the Bush tax cuts for those in the top income bracket?” He would ask. “It would depend on…” I would start to say and he would say, “No. I need one figure.”

“Prove it.” “What’s the source?” “Let me read that.” “Make it more concise.” “I think there is a better example out there.” “Do you trust this guy?” “Big Russ wouldn’t get that.” “What does that really mean?”

The days were filled with being challenged with every request – of having your best instinct and best writing be made even better by his keen editorial judgment.

Tim was the most voracious reader I have ever seen. He also was an equal opportunity audience – you would be shocked at the number of publications he poured through. He has handed me over the years tattered & highlighted AARP newsletters, rare Catholic weeklies, university magazines from schools he never attended. He got a kick out of his reading habits. Once, I showed him one of my women’s magazines that had a fun interview with Condoleezza Rice. Tim took it from me and spent the afternoon laughing. But sure enough, you should have seen the smile on his face the next time we had Rice on our program as he said the seemingly inconceivable words, “Dr. Rice, I was reading Glamour magazine the other day ….”

I actually think Tim’s greatest skill was his ability to separate the wheat from the chaff. The ability to synthesize complex issues into a digestible, understandable sentence or two. It was a skill that allowed him – a man without artifice and overflowing with principles – to navigate to the top of a town that prides itself on spin.

In 2000, It was Florida, Florida, Florida. In 2004: Ohio, Ohio, Ohio. And very early in 2008 he called it: It is a choice of Change vs. Experience. Those quick hits on the Today show where he would synthesize the meaning behind the complex world of politics was the best national civics lesson this nation could ever have.

It is for the loss of that skill alone that I mourn for our country. In these times as the term “journalist” becomes diluted, as the number of media sources proliferate, as the amount of sound that comes from your television increases in a reverse proportion to the amount of sense, the country has lost its greatest steward.

My Tim

For me, the memories I will cherish most are Tim as a father figure. Cardinal McCarrick told me on Friday that Tim was one of the people he has met that was most prepared for death. He was right. Tim lived life with a wisdom that usually only came with a great personal tragedy or intense grief. Tim lived a blessed life yet had an amount of empathy that was rich with experience.

When my mom was diagnosed with cancer, most people around me were tongue-tied. Not Tim. He called daily to ask about her treatment and her prognosis.

On the morning of my 30th birthday, as I awoke with my head on the metal railing of my mother’s hospital bed, one of the nurses in the intensive care unit came to tell me I had a phone call. My heart sank. Phone calls at that stage of my life scared me. I answered the phone – and rather than have it be news of some other tragedy, it was Tim’s voice that greeted me. He said, “I know it is your birthday and I wanted to tell you to hang in there and be tough, and know that I am thinking of you. And I wanted to tell you to really try and be strong, because your mom will want to see your beautiful smile today.” …

The day I came back to work after my mom’s funeral, I shut my door and wanted to pretend I didn’t exist. Tim called me constantly that day. He asked for me to print my eulogy for him so he could tell me what his favorite passage was. He called to give me assignments to keep me busy. He called to ask why I thought so many people were at her funeral. And then, at the end of the day, he called to give me his baseball tickets. I said, “You know, Tim, I don’t know if I am ready.” And he said, “Take them. Go. I want you to remember what life sounds like.”

He always knew what to say. I always thought it might have had something to do with his childhood hero, Yogi Berra. How Tim is that? At a time when his friends worshiped the glamorous athletes of his generation, Tim loved good-old big-eared Yogi. A sage. Just like Tim.

…

Three years later, I was in another hospital – this time for the most joyous occasion, the birth of my daughter Kylie. Again, the phone call from Tim. But, this time, there were no words when I picked up the phone. Instead, I could just hear Tim smiling. After a while his bombastic voice just boomed through the room, “What did I tell you??? Isn’t it amazing!! Could you ever imagine you could love someone that much??”

I know no one who was more hopeful for youth nor who respected the elderly more than Tim. He would jump up from his moderator chair to help the infirm get off our set. He would rush to his coveted secret swag closet at the mere glimpse of a child in the NBC corridors. He was the ideal son and the year-round Santa.

His generosity was as deep as his mind was profound.

But probably the thing I will cherish most, because it was so recent and so quintessentially Tim, was the conversation I had with him just a short time before his death. It was a conversation I dreaded as an employee in an intense political year. “Tim, I’ve got some news for you. I’m pregnant again.” I said with a little trepidation in my voice.

His face lit up like a kid on a snow day and he gave me one of the biggest bear hugs I have ever received. He yelled outside the newsroom, “MICHELLE’s PREGNANT!” He took off his glasses, he shook his head smiling. “I told you to pop them out! I told you that when you got married, didn’t I?”

I said, “No actually, you told me that when I got engaged, and my Catholic mother was a little horrified you didn’t wait to give me that advice.”

He laughed. “Come, tell me everything! When are you due?” He asked, still beaming.

“Not till after the election … and well before State of the Union,” I said.

That stopped him in his tracks. He grabbed my wrist and showed his anger like I had not seen it ever before. “Have I taught you nothing? You never think about that. That is not important.” He then motioned to the ceiling and to the newsroom and everything around him and then went on, “This is not important. This goes on and on. … But that,” he said, pointing to my stomach, “That is what it is all about.”

I thought of those words as I wept at my desk on Friday afternoon. I followed my tears as they fell on the papers on my lap, which had the graphics for what was supposed to be our show on Sunday with Senators Joe Biden and Lindsey Graham. I thought how ridiculous it was to be looking at the NBC/Wall Street Journal poll at a time like that. …

The calls for help with the networks various tributes to Tim continued to pour in. On one call, I broke down, and said, “I am sorry. I can’t do this.” And then the producer, a colleague, in a tone so forceful it jolted me, said, “Michelle, I know this is hard. But I need your help to make this good.”

And I knew she was right. To do honor to his memory I should make sure they knew of how to find the best moments from the more than nearly 860 editions of “Meet the Press” that he moderated, to tell them which were his favorite photos, and who were his real friends. It was quite similar to that organizational onslaught that comes with having to plan a loved one’s funeral before you have time to grieve.

That pull and that feeling became even more intense Friday night, when we realized we had one day to put together “Meet the Press.” Our show. Tim’s show. The show Luke Russert called “Tim’s second son.”

We had to do him proud.

We worked around the clock. We didn’t sleep. We went home to shower and weep as the country silently waited to see what we would do. Tim’s moderator chair was lit and left empty.

We had 17 years worth of “Meet the Press” under Tim’s leadership to represent and honor. We had 58 years of love and friendship to pay respect to. We had an hour to do it in.

We were aided by former colleagues who didn’t even ask … but just showed up.

The show was a labor of love. It was simultaneous agony and catharsis.

I was holding it together pretty well – even having fun finding all of Tim’s best moments – until Sunday morning, when I rounded the corner into the greenroom before the show. I usually rounded that corner with Tim. I loved to watch his walk change into a bounce as he got close to the door. And to see his smile turn devilish and that twinkle in his eye alight as he prepared to greet our guests with some perfectly complimentary salutation, “The Brain Trust!” “The Dream Team” “Mr. President!” “Master Chairmen!” “Ladies and Gentlemen, We’ve Got A quorum!” … He was like the energizer bunny every Sunday. The only time I would see him happier would be on Election Days. He was so contagiously alive the morning of big elections that I always thought political consultants wasted so much money on trying to figure out how to get out the vote, when all they had to do was make sure their targets watched Tim Russert.

He was high on civic adrenaline.

But not this Sunday. The greenroom was fuller than ever with NBC executives visiting from New York and Washington colleagues there just to support us. But, at the same time, it was emptier than ever. I couldn’t look any of the guests in the eye. They were too close. I was too raw. I even turned down a hug from another of the civic enthusiasts, Doris Kearns Goodwin. I just put up my hand and she understood. I had to get through the next hour and I didn’t know if I could.

Miraculously, we did it. Tim was our control room angel. The show was a homerun.

Luke, America’s Son

Luke Russert came to our show on Sunday to buck us up. Read that sentence one more time. Let it sink in, and you will see how safe the Russert legacy is. Tim’s name is in good hands.

The amazing thing about Luke is he is the only person I can think of today who is famous for being loved.

And, boy, was he loved. Tim was so broken hearted when his only child and best buddy left home to go to Boston College that Tim seriously started researching becoming a foster parent.

Tim’s creativity became apparent when you saw how many excuses he found to go to Boston in the next four years. I always laughed that if the Boston City Council had asked Tim to moderate a debate he would have jumped at the chance.

Luke has so many of his dad’s qualities it is heart-warming – right down to the messy hair.

I still remember one flight back from New Hampshire when Maureen had called Tim to tell him that Luke had broken his curfew. The call that ensued was such an intense interrogation that I thought that the politicians had it easy.

Root, Root, Root for the Home Team.

It was 7 am on a Saturday morning at National Airport. I was half asleep, so I nearly jumped when a bombastic voice snuck up behind me, “Have you ever been to God’s Country before Michelle?” And there was Tim and his Cheshire cat grin. I was confused for a second before the meaning had hit me: We were headed to Buffalo.

Going to Buffalo with Tim Russert is like going to Graceland with Elvis.

The difference between traveling with Tim and someone like Elvis is that with famous people they stop and stare, with Tim, everyone approached him. There was none of that separation that fame usually brings. On the contrary, people greeted him as if they knew him. And Tim rewarded them. He was fluent in the language of the common man: Sports. And sure enough, 9 out of 10 people stopped him to talk about the Bills, or the Sabres, or more recently, the Boston College Eagles.

Tim loved talking sports. They were an accessible metaphor, a way to root for the underdog and a way to lift up the working class.

Cal Ripken was a hero of his. And for NBC, Tim was our Mr. Dependable.

He was also the hardest working man in television. How many people do you know who have reached the very top of their profession who still work harder than the day they started?

And that is why, for the past decade, I set my alarm for 3:45 am so I could put on a suit and show up for work on Sunday with a smile. I was lucky enough to work for a man who defined excellence. How could I give anything less?

I think of Tim now and smile, for it is true, that he has surely arrived in God’s country.

A homecoming of sorts.