REMEMBERING RUSSERT THIS FOURTH
Last year, I missed one of my favorite holidays in IRB. I spent 4th of July 2007 in Nantucket vacationing on some friends’ yacht. The plan was to sail to Martha’s Vineyard that weekend, but bad weather changed our plans. Instead, my husband Gordon and I and another friend braved the light drizzle and walked up Nantucket’s main drag.
As we wound our way through the cobblestone corridor of gray-sided shops that all looked alike, we happened into a small piano bar. I was immediately drawn to an old, broken-down spinet holding up the back wall. Having been a music major in a former life, I almost never pass up an opportunity to embarrass myself. So, naturally, I joined the choir of folks gathered ‘round the piano.
The singers were a rather happy group of people who all obviously knew one another—mother, father, young adult son and his friends. The son’s name was Luke; but I still didn’t catch on.
Gordon grabbed me by the arm and tried to yank me into reality as he so often does: “Do you realize who you’re singing next to? That’s Tim Russert!” Having devoured every word in Russert’s books and watched “Meet the Press” on Sunday mornings many more times than I ever attended church, my first reaction was NO WAY. As this hulk of a man carrying a newspaper turned more in my direction, I could see that Gordon was right; it was none other than Russert himself.
As we sang Billy Joel’s “My Life,” I remember chuckling at his comment: “Like anyone would have any idea what my life is like!” They would if they’d read your books, I thought sotto voce. (If you’ve not read Big Russ and Me, do yourself a favor—go get it and do so ASAP. You can thank me later.)
There has been much criticism of NBC’s extensive coverage of Tim Russert’s sudden and untimely death. (Even our good buddy Leo took issue with it!) I must excuse those critics (even Leo) for they didn’t have the benefit of seeing what I saw firsthand that misty Nantucket night: A humble and understated guy who loved life and his family, who worked hard, produced a son even more fantastic than himself, made friends and kept them close. To my way of thinking, there can never be too much coverage of an individual like that.
This year, as I “oo” and “ah” at the sight of the rockets red glare over the Gulf from my perch on Beach Trail, I’ll think back to the cramped piano bar in Nantucket where one voice, in particular, will never be heard again and realize—what a difference a year makes.
Nancy Obarski
Beach Trail/Indian Rocks Beach
Last year, I missed one of my favorite holidays in IRB. I spent 4th of July 2007 in Nantucket vacationing on some friends’ yacht. The plan was to sail to Martha’s Vineyard that weekend, but bad weather changed our plans. Instead, my husband Gordon and I and another friend braved the light drizzle and walked up Nantucket’s main drag.
As we wound our way through the cobblestone corridor of gray-sided shops that all looked alike, we happened into a small piano bar. I was immediately drawn to an old, broken-down spinet holding up the back wall. Having been a music major in a former life, I almost never pass up an opportunity to embarrass myself. So, naturally, I joined the choir of folks gathered ‘round the piano.
The singers were a rather happy group of people who all obviously knew one another—mother, father, young adult son and his friends. The son’s name was Luke; but I still didn’t catch on.
Gordon grabbed me by the arm and tried to yank me into reality as he so often does: “Do you realize who you’re singing next to? That’s Tim Russert!” Having devoured every word in Russert’s books and watched “Meet the Press” on Sunday mornings many more times than I ever attended church, my first reaction was NO WAY. As this hulk of a man carrying a newspaper turned more in my direction, I could see that Gordon was right; it was none other than Russert himself.
As we sang Billy Joel’s “My Life,” I remember chuckling at his comment: “Like anyone would have any idea what my life is like!” They would if they’d read your books, I thought sotto voce. (If you’ve not read Big Russ and Me, do yourself a favor—go get it and do so ASAP. You can thank me later.)
There has been much criticism of NBC’s extensive coverage of Tim Russert’s sudden and untimely death. (Even our good buddy Leo took issue with it!) I must excuse those critics (even Leo) for they didn’t have the benefit of seeing what I saw firsthand that misty Nantucket night: A humble and understated guy who loved life and his family, who worked hard, produced a son even more fantastic than himself, made friends and kept them close. To my way of thinking, there can never be too much coverage of an individual like that.
This year, as I “oo” and “ah” at the sight of the rockets red glare over the Gulf from my perch on Beach Trail, I’ll think back to the cramped piano bar in Nantucket where one voice, in particular, will never be heard again and realize—what a difference a year makes.
Nancy Obarski
Beach Trail/Indian Rocks Beach
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