Osler's Razor

Tim Russert died this Friday. He was many things-- a lawyer, a journalist, the host of Meet The Press for 17 years, a guy who went to Woodstock in a Buffalo Bills jersey and carrying a case of beer, and an author who humbly portrayed himself as a son to a hard-working father.

In the summer of 2007, I was working on my book in New York City. I hoped that I could be an author, that I could write a book and someone would publish it (dreams that are now coming true), but I had no idea what being an author involved. I would write or research all day, and in the evening I would go to hear authors discuss their work. There were usually four or five events to choose from, and I heard some fascinating presentations.

One night, I went to hear Tim Russert talk about the book he wrote about his father. I didn't know much about Tim Russert, but I walked in the rain from 44th St. to Union Square to see him. It wasn't a drizzle, either, but one of those drenching rains where people in New York run at full pace with newspapers over their heads. Stepping into a bookstore on a day like that is like stepping into a wonderful refuge for thought, a sanctuary not only from the weather but the background noise of our lives that drowns out any single, beautiful note.

Russert gave a wonderful talk. His dad, Big Russ, was a lot like my dad. Russert was kind to his audience, too-- to the person who really couldn't remember their question, or the guy who said that Russert was too mean to a certain Democrat. Listening to him made me want to do two things, both of which I did. First, it made me want to call up my dad. Second, it made me want to put more of myself in the book I was writing, to make it more real and human and personal, and I did that, too.

Tim Russert was many things, and one of them was guy whose thoughts could be worth a long walk in the rain.