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Tim Russert Memorial Coverage for Wednesday, June 18

Read the transcript from the Tim Russert Memorial

TOM BROKAW, NBC NIGHTLY NEWS: Good afternoon, everyone, I'm Tom Brokaw-or as Tim called me in our half dozen telephone calls everyday: "Hey, Tommy B., what's happening?" I want you to know at the outset that this is a celebration. And we're going to do it Irish style. There'll be some tears, some laughs, and the occasional truth.

(LAUGHTER)

And as Tim would look out on this gathering, he would say, "It's wild! Wild!" My family, my closest friends from near and far, the powerful, the ordinary, and the largest contingent of all in this room, those who think that they should be his successor on "Meet the Press."

(LAUGHTER)

Our friend, Timothy J. Russert, was a man who awoke every morning as if he had just won the lottery the day before. He was determined to take full advantage of his good fortune that he couldn't quite believe and share it with everyone around him. As everyone knows by knows by now, Tim grew up in a working class neighborhood in South Buffalo.

Where I like to tease him, everyone sent their children to St. Albans and then had a summer home in Nantucket.

(LAUGHTER)

We have been hearing a great deal about Tim since we lost him on Friday and so at this stage, it is tempting to invoke that familiar line, everything has been said, but not everyone has said it. However, in the book of Tim, not everything has been said. For the imprint is so broad and so bold. What's more, in the great tradition of his ancestry, the good stories are worth retelling. Besides, that same ancestry brings with it a license to embellish or to fine-tune.

Tim was absolutely meticulous in his factual presentations on "Meet the Press" and in his reporting on election night. His personal stories, however, could be more accurately described as variations on a theme.

(LAUGHTER)

Luke, I have never been absolutely clear just how you got your name. Before some audiences, Tim would piously explain, "I was inspired by St. Luke," but he also told Paul Newman, that you got your name because of "Cool Hand Luke."

(LAUGHTER)

Now my guess is, right about now: "St. Luke, no, no, you really were the inspiration. I only told that to Paul Newman because I was trying to book him on 'Meet the Press.'"

(LAUGHTER)

Tim had a thing about names. Tim started calling his son "Baby Luke," and then he very quickly involved (ph) into "The Lukeman."

Maureen, of course, was known as "Miss Coco." As I told you the other day, Lukeman, I've known you since you were a faint image on a sonogram. I remember the day your father called me and shouted into the telephone, "A son, I'm going to have a son." However powerful and influential he became, whatever his fame and acclamations, nothing, nothing was as important to him as being your father. And in your life and especially in these past five trying days, you have demonstrated to all of us that you understood his legacy and his influence.

Maureen, "Miss Coco," the Berkley baby boomer, the Peace Corps volunteer, the very smart, classy and sassy magazine journalist, you're one of the few people that I know who could go toe-to-toe with Tim on politics, gossip, social life and journalism and emerge a victor-some of the time. We have all been strengthened by your great sense of grace, your sense of loss, in your courage and strength that you have transmitted to us since last Friday.

Since Friday, all of us have been swamped with e-mails and phone calls, strangers on the street, tears in their eyes, sharing their grief and sense of loss. A friend e-mailed me the other day that he was in the Salt Lake City air terminal when the news broke and he said the entire terminal came to a stop and people just stared at the screen in disbelief.

A postal worker with a heavy Spanish accent stopped me on the streets of New York sobbing, saying that he was sick, sick when he heard the news of Mr. Russert. A construction foreman stopped me and said he was so, so smart and he seemed to be one of us. Men, women, young and old, many colored fibers of the fabric of this country, they felt our loss because they saw Tim as their BP Irish cop on a corner in a neighborhood called America-the guy with the pocket full of Tootsie Rolls for the kids, the wise cracks for the regulars, the walking sports page, the storyteller who knew everything that was going on in and out of sight. It looked like he was...

(AUDIO GAP)

...from a distinguished university, cheering on the Bills, the Yankees, or the Mets (ph), going up to a sports bar, hanging out with Yogi or Bruce Springsteen, he was the same Tim. He was an unmade bed of a man with an armful of newspaper and a cell phone to his ear. He had a very certain sense of right and wrong. He had a keen eye for power, how to get it, how to use it, and who abuses it.

This morning, Meredith and I took a ride along the Washington Mall. We rode past the Vietnam Memorial and the World War II Memorial.

We saluted Mr. Lincoln, Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Roosevelt. We peddled back past the Washington Monument. And I thought to myself how Tim loved all of this because he came here to the nerve center of this precious republic to make a contribution in his own way. His role was to be the citizen journalist, to speak for those with no voice and no lobbyist on K Street, to hold public official accountable, to fulfill the role that I have always thought as the highest calling of a citizen in this country, to be a patriot-which mean that you can always improve your country.

He didn't take any of this for granted. He got up every morning and rushed to too many places and too many commitments because he had been raised by "Big Russ," as we all know, who worked two jobs and didn't believe in idle time. That is the curse and the blessing for those of us who grew with fathers conditioned by the Depression, hardened by war and uncertainty. We grew up not having to do the heavy lifting, but by God, we'd better put in the hours.

"Big Russ" is not with us here in this hall today. He's watching, however, I am assured from Buffalo. And I want to take just a moment to talk to him.

"Big Russ," you may remember about a dozen years ago, you sent me this. This is a mug from the American Legion Post 721 in South Buffalo. And for every morning since that time, it has been my first companion as I brush my teeth. But now, I'm going to set this mug aside. I'm going to save it for election night. I'm going to fill it with this Rolling Rock that I pilfered just today from Tim's cooler, here in Washington. I'll fill the mug with the Rolling Rock and I hope that a call will come: "Tommy B., what's happening? This is wild!"

But, I know that that call won't come. The voice will linger only in my heart and in my memory. And so on election night, "Big Russ," I will raise this glass to you. For your gift to us of Tim and to your favorite saying, it was his and mine as well, "What a country." Thank you.

(APPLAUSE)

BETSY FISCHER, EXEC PRODUCER, MEET THE PRESS: Hi. I'm Betsy Fischer and I'm the executive producer for "Meet the Press" and I've work with Tim for the past 17 years. Almost every morning for the last 10 years, Tim would call at exactly 9:00 a.m. and say, "Hey, Beth, what do you know?" His voice always beaming with excitement, ready to start the day preparing for the show. What I wouldn't give for that phone call tomorrow morning. I'd happily suspend all talk of news, politics, and Washington gossip and I'd tell him some thing that I've come to know since last Friday afternoon.

I'd say there is a nation mourning the loss of a great man and an extraordinary journalist. I'd say there are millions who feel they've lost a trusted friend. I'd say there is a news division that feels like we've lost our soul, our moral compass, our glue. I'd say there is a son, your son, that has comforted us and lifted us up with his strength. He is your true legacy and you'd be so proud of him as you always, always are.

And after you heard my morning rundown, you'd say this is all part of life. We have to move forward, lean on each other, and cherish all the good times and live every day to its fullest. But, live it with honor and integrity, and always reach down to help someone else up.

You'd say take these incredible lessons of life that I leave with each of you and live them as you remember me. And I believe every word because in the 17 years that I've had the great honor to work with you and learn from you, you have never once steered me wrong.

(APPLAUSE)

SISTER LUCILLE SOCCIARELLI, BUFFALO, NEW YORK: Good afternoon.

Sister Lucille Socciarelli, a Sister of Mercy from Buffalo, New York.

Timothy John Russert, in all of my 55 years as a Sister of Mercy, Tim Russert stands head and shoulders above all the many students that I have been blessed to have taught. In 1963, this 13-year-old entered my seventh grade classroom at St. Bonaventure Elementary School. I knew from day one that Tim was especially gifted in many ways. As the days progressed, I realized that Tim was intelligent, sharp, witty, a math whiz, how well we know that. I tried zealously to convince him that diagramming English sentences would benefit him one day, but to no avail. "How," he asked? "How would that happen? Who and why would anyone ever ask me about a subject, predicate and direct object?"

Tim possessed the ability to combine his love of learning with the love of sports making him a wild integrated student-every teacher's dream. Each morning, following a little three basketball game, you have to be from basketball to know this, Bonaventure, Fanitous (ph), and Niagara. Tim was a Bona fan. I was a Niagara fan. Every morning after one of these games, Tim and I called it a terrific game if our team won. And I was no match for him when he rattled off all the stats right from his own head. No notes in front of him.

Oftentimes before classes began, in the morning, and sometime during the lunch hour, and even after school, the field or the empty lot, right next to St. Bonaventure school, was the official basketball, baseball, and hockey field. "Go sister," held say, "Run!" Tim would shout urging me on. Rosary beads flying, veil flying, in those days, we had the complete habit. Not only did Tim choose me for his team, he always picked the kids that he thought might not be chosen at all.

Come the Buffalo winters, Tim Russert's snow balls flew the highest and went the farthest. Assigning Tim the editor of the school newspaper, The Bonnette," not only gave him mean to channel his excessive energy, it also gave him the opportunity to develop his leadership skills as he organized his staff and worked with them to produce the best elementary school paper in the diocese of Buffalo.

Tim also introduced the CYO, the Catholic Youth Organization, into the parish of St. Bonaventure. He went on to become president of the Diocesan chapter. Because of his actions and service on behalf of others, Tim received the Monis Christi (ph), the Hands of Christ Award.

It is the highest award in the CYO.

This Irish kid from South Buffalo and I, a Mother Terenian (ph) Irish daughter of Dubliner, Catherine McAuley, the founders of the Sisters of Mercy, shared a common bond. Our love of President John F.

Kennedy and Senator Robert Kennedy. We rang doorbells, made signs, stuffed envelopes. Those were the days when it felt that anything was possible. We worked hard and we loved every single minute of it. In my mind and heart, ever since Friday, June 13, I hear God, "Here's little Timmy Russert. You're in heaven now, Tim, where every day is 'Meet the Press.' welcome home."

(APPLAUSE)

AL HUNT, WALL STREET JOURNAL: I am Al Hunt, and I was so lucky to have Tim Russert as a dear friend for 28 years. Tim knew there was a heaven, as Sister Lucille just said. He is watching all of this with a little awe, a lot of pleasure, and some rye amusement. If I had asked him for advice, as I did in any important decision I had to make, about being the house Episcopalian, speaking after Sister Lucille, and before Mario Cuomo, he would have shaken his head, smiled, and said, "Dress well".

(LAUGHTER)

He would view this as another payback for Henry VIII.

(LAUGHTER)

(AUDIO GAP)

JANSING: We're having a little audio difficulty here. You are listening to Al Hunt. We're listening to Al Hunt, the "Wall Street Journal" and long-time friend of Tim Russert, as we are at his memorial service in Washington, D.C. And as we wait to restore audio, I think it's appropriate that in this time of people remembering Tim, there were so many thousands of people who wrote to us, here at NBC News, to say what Tim had meant to them in their life. And I'd like to read to you a few of them.

From Helen in Colorado, she said, "In my heart I thank him for the hours he spent gutting out the truth from every corner so that his intelligence and stick-to-itiveness could light our way."

We have audio again, let's go back to Al Hunt.

HUNT: And the three of us listened to Tim give a speech. It was one of the most memorable gridiron speeches ever and I heard it twice.

But the other reason he came over was he wanted to show off his new girlfriend-Northern California, Berkeley, stylish, gorgeous, the perfect counter programming for the kid from Buffalo. He was smitten.

To be as great as Tim was, you need a healthy ego, a good sense of self. But he always marveled that he had gotten Maureen Orth to fall in love with him. Four years later, Judy and I went to New York to see the most memorable baby in almost 2,000 years.

(LAUGHTER)

(APPLAUSE)

Luke was two days old and Tim would stand outside the nursery and beam and say, "Look at those hands. Did you notice how much more active he is than all the other kids." Luke was going to be the Daryl Talley to those uneducated-that was the Buffalo Bill star linebacker in 1985 -- or president or pope, maybe all three.

Luke, that pride only swelled over the last 22 years, and he was never prouder of you than at Holy Trinity, this morning.

When Tim went into journalism, it was a career choice. He never saw it as a revolving door. As Michael Gartner wrote in that beautiful piece this week, however, he did have to be talked into going on the air. I was enlisted in that effort. And after all the perfunctory, "I have a race for radio" stuff, what it really came down to was that Tim knew that in short order, he had become a management star. On the track

the fast track to be president of NBC News. He wasn't sure if he would be the best on-air, anything less was unacceptable to him. In short order, of course, he was the best.

AL HUNT, JOURNALIST: He wasn't sure if he would be the best on air.

Anything less was unacceptable to him. In short order, of course, he was the best.

That Tim was the preeminent political journalist in America is all the more remarkable, considering the context. At a time when our news business, newspapers and television, is struggling, trying to discover new formulas, panaceas, more edge, techno glitz, Tim turned to the oldest virtues and verities in the profession: preparation, integrity, fairness, accountability, chalkboards, tough but civil, and an enormous respect for his viewers and the noble calling of politics. He made it informative, interesting, compelling.

Now, it didn't hurt that he also possessed the instincts of Ted Williams and the competitiveness of Michael Jordan. More than a few flunked the Russert test, the political bar exam, but not because of a gotcha question or a cheap shot. That was alien to him. If a politician was serious, substantive, prepared, and candid, he or she passed the Russert test, and they in America were better off for it.

And oh, did he sparkle and shine in his favorite election: this one. Our last conversation two weeks ago, he exclaimed, "Albert, can you believe they pay us to cover this election?"

On a personal note, none of us had a more devoted friend than Timothy J. Russert. Whenever you needed help, he was there.

Our oldest son is disabled. An essential figure in his life for ten years has been Tim. Sending him hats and notes, calling him when he got back from school last month, periodically bringing a welcome exuberance to Jeffrey's (ph) life.

Maureen and Luke, your loss is profound. But I hope it provides comfort in knowing that million and millions around the world, from the most powerful to all those whose Sunday mornings revolved around Tim Russert's "MEET THE PRESS," to the many children and those in need who he was always there for, that they love him, they'll miss him, and always will remember him. And we shall not see his like again.

MARIO CUOMO, FORMER MAYOR OF NEW YORK: My name is Mario Cuomo. I'm here as a kind of change of pace. They said that "there would be a lot of intelligent humor before you get up and what we expect of you is your typical somber seriousness." And I'll give you as much of that as I can.

They also asked me to try to inject into my own comments about Timothy, something that suggested imperfection. Not accuse him of any imperfection-that would be too much-but suggested it, hinted at it because there is this kind of relentless instinct for praise. All of which that he deserves.

I tried very hard to think of a true imperfection. A lie, perhaps.

What the heck? He was a lawyer. He ought to be able to do that. And I couldn't quite get there because of his Jesuit background. Because the Jesuits, as you probably understand-and I'm sure there are many in the audience-are very good at defense, even better than they are at condemning people to hell. So the-and he had-he had the Jesuit education to-to a perfection.

And here's what happened. A true story. I've never told it before. But I'm too old to run again, and so I can afford to tell it now.

The-the seatbelt law was perhaps the most unpopular thing I did.

It was the first seatbelt law in the United States of America, and it was followed by everybody except New Hampshire, "Live Free or Die."

They chose to-whatever.

And-and I got it passed, and it was a wonderful thing in 1985.

But the very next day, we were on a mission to Buffalo, which of course, Tim was delighted by. And we went in a K car, which the state police were then experimenting with. Small K cars, in a great caravan, because one thing Buffalo could do is turn out troopers and police and give you a real parade.

(AUDIO GAP)

JANSING: We are again experiencing some audio problems as we listen to the former governor of New York who Tim worked for, for several years in the mid '80s. Governor Mario Cuomo, of course. Tim cutting his political teeth, both with Mario Cuomo. Before that, as a very young Moynihan-Pat-Senator Daniel Moynihan's chief of staff.

Let go back to Governor Cuomo.

CUOMO: Timothy jumps out of the car. The press jumps up out of the press's car. They've run over. They said to Timothy, "How is the governor?" And here's what Timothy said. He didn't have practice. He had instinct. He had that great Jesuit education. He wasn't about to lie. He said, "Thank God for the seatbelt."

I've known-I've known Tim since he served as a counselor to me in my first years as governor. He was already a very skilled lawyer and had been tutored in politics by a legendary master politician and statesman, Pat Moynihan. There wasn't much I could teach him there.

But he thought that he might enjoy experiencing the more hands-on political work that comes with the executive responsibilities of the governor. And he did, in fact, enjoy it, although those first few years of the governorship were very difficult ones in New York at that time because of the onset of AIDS, which we had not even heard about before the election was concluded in '82. And crack. Crack cocaine, which was also something new.

And homelessness like nothing we had experienced since the Depression. And a 51-hour hostage negotiation with a homicidal inmate in Sing-Sing Prison. That happened in the first week of our governorship.

And for all those things, Timothy was with me. And then went to the convention in 1984 when I gave a speech, and then to Notre Dame when I gave another speech on abortion. All of which were chock full of all kinds of interesting issues. And he-he enjoyed it. He did enjoy it.

And he told me once that he believed politics could be a noble profession. Even a saintly one. And he meant it. If you did it right. He said it can be beautiful. He truly believed that.

But gradually, it became clear to me that he was even more intrigued by the...

(AUDIO GAP)

JANSING: Tim, of course, who grew up in Buffalo, used to love to talk about his time both on the staff of Mario Cuomo and Daniel Patrick Moynihan. Some of the years that he recalled most fondly.

Let's go back to Governor Cuomo.

CUOMO: The most discerning and respected pursuers of political truth in the nation's history. You've heard Al, another great journalist, and Tom Brokaw and so many in recent days talk about his mastery of the art of journalism.

For most people, that would be more than enough to deliver as a eulogy. You could stop there and make him a great journalist. And have said enough-for more people than others.

But that's not enough for Tim Russert. And I've been thinking about that for days. It's not enough to think of him as a great journalist.

Because how would that explain the tremendous outburst of anguished sadness, the deep sense of personal loss that we're hearing from all over America? The tears shed by million of people who knew him or felt that they knew him.

And over and over, you hear people saying, "All I saw was Tim on Sunday mornings on television. I never saw him in person, but I felt that I knew him." How do you explain that? It's not because he was a great journalist. His success as a journalist was enough to win him respect, but it was not enough to win him love. And that's what million of people feel for him. They loved his genuineness, his integrity.

When he said he was working to make politics a truly noble profession, they believed him. They loved his profound devotion to his beautiful, talented wife, Maureen. To Luke, who already in his early manhood has begun to reflect his father's wondrous gifts. And his reverential respect for, and affection for his father, Big Russ.

And they knew that his genuineness did not end there. They knew that he never forgot where he came from. As a matter of fact, he reminded us every Sunday morning, and we loved it. We loved to hear the stories about Big Russ and the Bills and the parades and all the things that made him what he was and that he loved to the very end.

And he did-but there's one other thing about him, I think, that is the most important thing of all. He was much more than a great lawyer, inquisitor, analyst, journalist, or political prognosticator.

All of these characteristics are mentioned over and over. But there is one dominant reality in his life that charged all that he did. His work, his role as a son, husband, father, brother, and friend. And he did it all with a great joie de vivre. We hear that over and over. And I think that's the key.

He regarded a day spent without real enthusiasm as a sadly lost opportunity. And enthusiasm-enthusiasm is exactly the right word for it. The Jesuits, who did such a good job teaching him, probably taught him that the English word "enthusiasm" is from the ancient Greek word meaning a divine appreciation of the gift of life. And oh, how he loved life and how that has helped million and million of others to love all that he represents.

We have lost the benefit of Tim's political wisdom at a time when we need it most: a time when we're beset with wars, economic failures and confoundedly complicated social issues. It will be difficult, if not impossible to replace that wisdom. But the inspiration he provided, as an example of the life well led, will be with us all until memory fails.

Thank you.

MIKE BARNACLE, JOURNALIST: I'm Mike Barnacle. I'm the head of Luke Russert's security detail. And I'm here today for Eaton, Tierney and Quilty (ph). And to all the Episcopalians in the audience, Al, don't get worried. It's not a heating and plumbing outfit.

They, Dennis Quilty, Bob and Doc Tierney, along with Judge Dick Eaton and so many more are only a few of the many friends who knew and loved Tim across all the years, apart from politics and outside the media. Knew him through christenings and ballgames, weddings and wakes. Laugh-out-loud funny e-mails, phone conversations, sometimes about nothing. And they are here today, sitting silently like you, carrying a cargo of grief.

We know Timmy at 12 and 13 from sister Lucille. The parochial school lad with fine power method penmanship. And a mischief in his eye. Laying out his clothes on Saturday night for children's mass on Sunday at 8 a.m.

We know him as the young man, shaped by the twin poets of Empire state politics, Daniel Patrick Moynihan and Governor Mario Cuomo. And we know him as someone who can give ill advice to Al Hunt saying, "Dress well," as well.

Taking that-taking that advice from Tim.

I mean, I'm not one to speak but-from Betsy we know him in his glory at NBC and "MEET THE PRESS." With the MRI machine that is television today, provided millions of Americans with a soul-deep scan of a man they grew to love and admire for his authenticity and credibility.

And we know him now and always as the friend, the husband, the father, the son, the brother. The mentor to so many. A guy who was uniquely without envy. Tim enjoyed your success, took pride in your accomplishments. But we know that, don't we?

So let me tell you about Tim in the summers of his life. His favorite season, I think, even more perhaps than the political parade of fall. When I shut my eyes, I see him at dusk on the grand porch of the Otesaga Hotel in Cooperstown, home of the Baseball Hall of Fame. He has a Rolling Rock in one hand and a newspaper in the other, and Luke has at least $1,000 worth of hats, representing every major and minor league team in existence.

I see him and Maureen taking Luke to summer hockey camp in Boston.

Maureen, baffled at the idea of ice skating in August. Tim, a Rolling Rock in one hand and a newspaper in the other, looking at Luke and seeing Wayne Gretzky.

I see him on a fishing boat in Nantucket, the great fly caster from Holy Family Parish, Tom, in South Buffalo. A man who would need hand grenades to get fish out of the ocean.

I see him in Connecticut with Maureen, the love of his life, running Luke's third birthday party the way he ran the Washington bureau.

Efficiently, kindly, generously, listening to everyone, with a Rolling Rock in one hand and helium balloons in the other.

I see him at baseball all-star games in Denver and Philadelphia and Boston with his boy and my boys, and I see him wearing his constant summer uniform: the T-shirt or double X golf shirt. The ones with the ketchup and mustard stains all over them. The pants, drooping from the BlackBerry and the cell phone coupled to his belt, a Diet Coke in one hand. He was doing "MEET THE PRESS" by now. And a couple of hotdogs in the other.

And always wearing the huge smile that invited complete strangers to approach him, as if they all grew up together in the same parish. And in a very real sense, they did. Tim and his nation of admirers who recognize authenticity and found him contagious and without guile.

I see him crying after helping Luke move into a freshman dorm at Boston College.

I see him grabbing my son Timmy on a memorable night-I'm sorry, governor-in October, 2004 when the Red Sox came all the way back to beat the Yankees in their own house, Yankee Stadium, winning the American League pennant. Big Tim and little Tim, both excited beyond belief. Big Tim and little Tim, both acting their age: 12.

I see him in the summer of 1991 when the Barnacles and the Russerts decided to visit the Brokaws in Montana. Tim is from a cement sidewalk, as am I. Two guys who never mowed a lawn, never rode a horse, and rarely saw a river without a paper mill or a steel plant built at its edge.

In Montana, Lewis and Clark had an easier time navigating than we did. Two families, two cars. Chevy Chase and John Candy on vacation.

Tim had a great idea. Get the kids walky-talkies so they can communicate car to car. Luke was 6. He rode with Tim and Maureen. Our two boys, 6 and 7, drove with us.

Tim's other big idea occurred about five mile outside Jackson Hole, Wyoming, on the way to Livingston. We would race to see who could be first to get to the Brokaws.

Well, we sped along this flat ribbon of road for miles. Neither of us had ever seen anything like it. Just flat as a ribbon. No traffic, none at all. Cloudless blue sky. And we must have gone for 15, 20 miles, at about 80 or 90 miles per hour, until we noticed the blue light in the rearview mirror.

We pulled over. Montana state trooper gets out, comes up to the cars, takes our licenses and registrations. By now, the kids had retrieved the walky-talkies from us, because Tim and I were using them more than they were, and they were talking real loud and real fast, and it was very quiet by the side of the road. And the quiet, the peace of the Montana landscape, was pierced by this shriek of one of the

walky-talkies: "Dad's getting busted."

The trooper went to his car to get his ticket book, and he came back with a puzzled look on his face. He told us he had a problem. We were both speeding, but he only had one ticket left in his book. It's a true story. It's Montana. One ticket.

Tim looked at him, he looked at me. He looked at the rental cars.

He looked back at the trooper. And said, only as Tim could say, "Well, I was following him. Is that helpful, sir?"

So I see our friend in summer. I see his face. I hear his laugh, I feel his joy, his absolute delight in the life God gave him. Timothy J.

Russert, noble, honorable, intensely loyal. He loved and was loved by his wife, his son, his family, his friends, and a huge slice of this great country of ours.

He was a boy of summer. He met his wife on a summer day. His son was born in summer. And so it is that we blow him a kiss goodbye on a soft summer evening, this sweetheart of a man who always, always left us smiling.

MARIA SHRIVER, FORMER COLLEAGUE OF TIM RUSSERT: Hi, I'm Maria Shriver, and I'm a friend of Tim's.

I've always wanted to go to a love fest. This isn't exactly hat I had in mind, but the truth is I wouldn't want to be anywhere else at this moment, which just shows you how important it is to get out of your mind and into your heart. My heart led me here today, as I know it's the same for all of you.

You see, I lost my heart to Timmy Russert the day I met him. And the entire time I knew him, he took care of it. He protected my heart when it needed protection. He nurtured it when it needed care. And he helped it grow. And he never, ever broke it. A rare man indeed.

I remember so well the day I showed up to work at NBC News. I had been fired two months earlier by CBS News. That's another story. But I walked in these doors of 30 Rock, and I have to admit, I was wounded and quite scared. And Tim came up to me, put a big arm around me and said, took me to the side and he whispered, "Look, I was also educated by the nuns. I was educated by the Jesuits. I'm Irish Catholic, too. There aren't that many of us here in this building." He said, "But if we stick together, we'll be just fine."

I looked at him, and there was a little twinkle in his eye, but I knew he wasn't kidding. And I knew then and there that I had just gotten the last thing that I wanted in the world, but the thing I really

needed: another brother.

You see, I have four brothers already, so I know a little bit from what I speak. Brothers have an uncanny ability to make you think that you're nothing without them. Somehow brothers make you believe that you need them to make every decision in your life, large and small. That you can't go anywhere without their protection or make any decision without their input. I'll bet Tim's sisters would agree that Tim was exactly this kind of brother.

I remember back when I scored an interview with Fidel Castro and I was going to Cuba. Tim came down from his vice president's office. He wasn't on the air at the time. And he came down to congratulate me. He sat down in the chair and started to talk to me. And by the time he was finished, he had convinced me that I couldn't go to Cuba without him, this despite the fact that I had traveled all over the world interviewing people before I ever met Tim Russert. But he somehow convinced me that I couldn't make the trip without him.

He went on to convince me that I couldn't even do the interview without him. That I didn't know how to interview, even though I had just come from anchoring the live morning show and interviewed scores of newsmakers on my own.

By the time he left my office, he had convinced me that it was he, not I, who had booked the interview and that it was he who had actually sweated through all 13 days of the Cuban missile crisis alongside my uncles in the White House.

The truth is, Tim prepared for that interview as though he were on the air. He studied all the briefing books that were made. He called up all the experts to the point when I would actually get them on the phone. They would say, "I don't have to talk to you. We've already briefed Tim Russert. Go talk to him."

I marveled. I thought to myself, "Isn't that so sweet of Timmy? He wants to help me. He wants to make me shine." I didn't get it. He just wanted to go to Cuba and meet Castro. He didn't care at all about me.

In fact when we actually got to Cuba and Castro summoned us to his office in the middle of the night, Tim was the first one out of the door and the last one to leave the office. And when Castro actually said to me, "OK, now I'm ready to do the interview" Tim was sitting in the chair. And I said, "Tim, I'm doing the interview. Could you get up?"

He goes, "Oh, just checking the lighting for you. I wasn't planning on sitting here."

But he so loved being in the middle of the action. He so loved seeing history up close. And he loved to have stories to come back and share with everybody, to make you laugh, to make you feel as though you were there. Tim loved his life, and he loved life.

I'm sure every single person in this auditorium today has an extraordinary story about Tim. A story that would make us all laugh and a story that would touch us and probably make us cry. That's because Tim got into our lives. Deep into our lives. He knew about our troubles. He knew about our struggles. He knew about our triumphs. He knew about our families.

Not too long ago, he called me when he heard that my daughter was interested in applying to Boston College. And he said, "Look, Maria, it's competitive at Boston College. You need to know people in Boston.

You need to know people"-yes, yes. He said, "You need to know people in the Catholic Church. You need me if you want your daughter to get into BC."

I thanked him profusely and said, "Oh, my God. You're so right. I grew up on the Cape. I don't know a person in Boston. And I've been educated in Catholic schools, and I don't know anybody in the church.

Thank you, Tim. Please, make sure my daughter gets into Boston College." She didn't.

Anyway-she's going to kill me for saying that. She got wait-listed. OK. Anyway, she's going to USC. Anyway, but Tim liked to help. That's a true story. I'm sorry, Katherine.

But he loved helping people. He loved helping people who worked for him. He loved helping strangers. He loved anybody who he thought he could help. And with that same Russert radar, he just knew who among us needed his help.

When my uncle had a seizure a few weeks ago, the first phone call I got after my other brother Timmy was from Tim. He called me up and said, "How's Teddy doing?" And I talked to him. And then he said, "Now talk to me about you. Who's with you? How are you? What can I do for you? Are you all right?"

When my mother was going in and out of intensive care this past year, Tim kept tabs on her and on me. He talked with me about losing his own mother. He talked to me about what he felt, how hard it was for him. He talked to me about where he found support, about the role of his faith in that struggle. He shared his struggle with me so that mine would be a little bit easier.

And because he was so devoted to his dad, he always called to check on mine.

MARIA SHRIVER, FMR. COLLEAGUE OF TIM RUSSERT: He loved helping people.

He loved helping people who worked for him. He loved helping strangers. He loved anybody who he thought he could help. And with that famous Russert radar, he just knew who among us needed his help.

When my uncle had a seizure a few weeks ago, the first phone call I got after my other brother, Timmy, was from Tim. He called me up and said, How's Teddy doing? And I talked to him. And then he said, Now, talk to me about you. Who's with you? How are you? What can I do for you? Are you all right?

When my mother was going in and out of intensive care this past year, Tim kept tabs on her and on me. He talked with me about losing his own mother. He talked to me about what it felt, how hard it was for him. He talked to me about where he found support, about the role of his faith in that struggle. He shared his struggle with me so that mine would be a little bit easier.

And because he was so devoted to his dad, he always called to check on mine. Tim and Maureen have a special place in my dad, Sarge's, life. And they would always call to find out how he was. And even when I would come into town and it was a Saturday night and invite them to come over, they always did. And my dad was always, and is always, so proud of Maureen, that she was one of the first women in this country to enlist in the Peace Corps, that she was so brave.

And every time she would come over, he'd marvel at her and the school that was named after her and the legacy that she created. And he'd always say, I like that guy she married, as well. And every time Tim would come over, my mother would say when he left, Now, that's the kind of jolly Irish Catholic boy I always thought you would marry. What happened?

(LAUGHTER)

SHRIVER: That's true. But that's another story, too.

(LAUGHTER)

SHRIVER: Tim was family. And his family is our family. And it really touched me that after I left NBC News, Tim always made sure that I felt as though I were still a part of the NBC family. At the last presidential conventions, which were the first ones that I didn't work at, he called me on my cell phone and he said, Look, I know you're here at the Republican convention, and I'm thinking you might be feeling a little out of sorts in this new role of yours. So come on up here to the booth and hang with Tom and I and we'll just kind of kibbitz. And bring your kids, and you'll be comfortable up here until you have to go down and hear Arnold's speech, where you'll sit with all the Republicans. But sit up here with us because you'll be comfortable here. And he was right.

He always made me feel comfortable, and I know every single person in this room can identify with that because he always wanted all of us to feel comfortable with what we were doing, with the stories that we were sharing with him. That's what he wanted us to feel.

And so here we are, feeling anything but comfortable, feeling lost, feeling sad, not understanding why we're here and Tim isn't.

You know, every morning, I begin my day reading a prayer from St.

Teresa, and it begins like this. It says, May today there be peace within. May you trust God that you are exactly where you are meant to be.

Still, it is hard for to us comprehend why we are meant to be here and Tim is not. Having lived through more than a few losses that defy understanding, I've learned that asking why doesn't help. The only thing that does help is leaning on your friends and leaning on your family, opening your heart, crying, and keeping your loved one alive in your heart and alive in your stories. And it helps to have faith, like Tim.

All of us here were meant to witness Tim's life. We were meant to be touched by it. We were meant to be touched by his humor, by his love, by his faith, by his idealism, by his passion, and most of all, by his compassion. Tim Russert had a larger than normal heart. Maybe it's because we were all occupying so much space in it, with the biggest part reserved for his family, Maureen and Luke, his incredible sisters, his mom, and of course, Big Russ.

Maureen and Luke, I'd like to thank you for sharing Tim with everybody in this room, with everybody in this country. You were the light of his life. For me, as a woman, it was a beautiful thing to behold the love he had for you, for your family, and the love that he had, the extraordinary capacity he had to love all of us and to make us feel loved.

Tim, I want to thank you up there in heaven for making room in your heart for me. I will be forever grateful.

A few years ago, when my cousin died, John, in an unexpected way, I was given a poem by a friend that helped me through some pretty dark days. It gave me some peace within whenever I thought about him in a faraway place, that I would be unable to see him or talk to him again.

I read it many, many times and I thought I could share it with all of you today with the hope that it might also give you some peace within.

It goes like this. I stood watching as the little ship sailed out to sea. The setting sun tinted its white sails with a golden light.

And as it disappeared from view, a voice at my side whispered, He is gone. But the sea was a narrow one, and on the furthest shore, a little band of friends had gathered to watch in happy expectation. Suddenly, they caught sight of the tiny sail. And at the very moment when my companion had whispered, He is gone, a glad shout went up in joyous welcome with the words, yes, here he comes!

God bless you. God bless you, Tim. Thank you.

(APPLAUSE)

BRIAN WILLIAMS, ANCHOR, "NBC NIGHTLY NEWS": I'm Brian Williams, and until today, I thought his full name was Washington bureau chief, moderator, "Meet the Press," Tim Russert.

(LAUGHTER)

WILLIAMS: Let's be honest. How many of us hoped this would be the other way around, that someday, somehow, Tim could eulogize us? I, too, am going to quote Daniel Patrick Moynihan, the fourth mention on this stage today, probably all the proof we need that Timmy's former boss was the last true public intellectual in American public life. This quote came from November 24, 1963. Of the young president we had just lost, Mr. Moynihan, then a young assistant secretary of labor, famously said, I don't think there's any point in being Irish if you don't know that the world is going to break your heart eventually. I guess we thought we had a little more time.

For those of you not married to a dark, brooding Irishman, let me assure you, we are a blast to live with.

(LAUGHTER)

WILLIAMS: I should quickly add, Tim didn't inherit that dark corner of the Irish tradition, the Irish condition. As Maria correctly pointed out, he was a jolly Irish Catholic kid. He had the original sunny disposition. He was an optimist, always choosing to dwell on the positive.

I can also officially report here today for the first time Tim's last words. His last words happened to be, What's happening? He was greeting our Washington bureau editing supervisor, Candice Harrington (ph). He had gone downstairs from his office to record his voice in a sound-proof narration booth. He greeted Candice, having turned the corner with his customary, What's happening? And he never made another sound. Fitting probably because Tim was all about what's happening, what's happening with everybody and everything, especially along his power corridor, Buffalo to the Beltway.

Two nights ago, Larry King did an hour on Tim's heart, all kinds of doctors and experts. They had graphics. They had plastic models. I now know Tim's HDL and LDL better than my own. I have committed his triglycerides to memory. Watching all the experts, I couldn't help but think, Why didn't they just ask any one of us? We were all experts, after all, on Tim's heart. We were all recipients of its might, the generosity and compassion that flowed from it. I felt qualified to conduct a guided tour of Tim's heart. All of us did.

But how is that it that that heart that sustained so many of us through its good will stopped beating for the one man who depended on it for life? As hearts go, when you think about it, it was more of a shooting star, as it was a vessel for our friend Tim, brilliant, shining brightly, passing before us for just a short time, too short a time, and then gone.

Candidly, I'm not much for this talk, but Tim's death is the end of what he stood for, his brand of objective journalism or all that he built up. I don't think Tim, candidly, would believe that either. Just as the spectacularly impressive Luke Russert has his father's DNA in him and has displayed that so brilliantly over these past several days, I'm telling our co-workers, so do we. We breathed in that air that Tim breathed out among us. He touched all of us, if not with that big "made in Buffalo" right paw of his that would come down on your shoulder, through his friendship, through his friendship, through his mentoring, he was our partner.

And one more Irish thing, a quote from Yates (ph) as paraphrased by Senator Kennedy on that day, eulogizing his nephew John F. Kennedy, Jr., and as paraphrased here in Tim's name. We dared to think he would live to comb gray hair. He had every gift but length of years.

This brings us to a perfect note to end on, at least for me. Let's talk about Tim's hair.

(LAUGHTER)

WILLIAMS: Tim spent a fortune on his hair.

(LAUGHTER)

WILLIAMS: Everyone up here who knows him knows the truth. He sent a sizable amount of money on his hair. He went to a very fashionable salon not far from here in Georgetown for years. Not his only nod to vanity, but his only attempt at vanity.

(LAUGHTER)

WILLIAMS: And on the day when he got it done, he looked outstanding for 60 to 90 minutes afterwards.

(LAUGHTER)

WILLIAMS: And then just gradually, after exiting that salon and going about his day, in the course of the day, something happened. And the truth is, he just went back to being Tim. It is perhaps best put this way. Have you ever raked leaves on a sunny day in October, and you get them into what you think is a perfect pile, and then a gust of wind comes along? Well, that's nature taking the pile of leaves and returning it to nature. Same thing happened with Tim's hair.

(LAUGHTER)

WILLIAMS: The metaphor, of course, is this. What's happened here is our maker has taken our partner and brought him back home.

(APPLAUSE)

DORIS KEARNS GOODWIN, HISTORIAN, AUTHOR: Hello. I'm Doris Kearns Goodwin, or as Tim would remind me, the Irish daughter of Michael Francis Aloysius (ph) Kearns. History at its best is about telling stories, stories about people who lived before, about events in the past that create the contours of the present. By studying the lives of others, we hope that, we the living, can learn from their struggles and their triumphs.

Today, as we who were lucky enough to have been Tim Russert's friends, recount our stories about this remarkable man with the booming voice and the radiant smile, it becomes increasingly clear that while his professional achievements will long be remembered, the lasting legacy he leaves behind is the truly honorable life that he led. For it is in the elements of that life so exquisitely balanced between a profound commit two work and an equally profound commitment to his family and his friends that we have the most to learn.

Now, to be sure, his professional success will long be remembered.

Indeed, for future historians attempting to tell the political story of the last two decades, there will be no more valuable resource than the transcripts and the tapes of "Meet the Press." We have lost the art of letter writing, the discipline of keeping a diary. But as Tim showed, we have not lost the capacity for talking, for sitting around a simple table and conversing in a civil and illuminating fashion about the most important issues of the day.

Everyone has a purpose on earth, Tim once said. His, he believed, was to understand public policies, interpret political events, and inform the public. And how magnificently he practiced that chosen vocation, providing us week after week with a consistently intelligent public discourse which is the heartbeat of democracy.

Moreover, years from now, historians will not only be able to read what our leading figures said but observe how they responded to Tim's penetrating questions. And these observations will provide the key to unlocking both character and temperament. Those who flinched with discomfort, who stubbornly resisted honest answers, they will not fare so well over time, while those who were willing to acknowledge errors, to laugh at themselves, to admit that, yes, those statements on the screen do seem contradictory, they will emerge in a far better light.

Tim once said to me that he could never understand why a politician could not say, You're right, I've changed my mind on that issue.

There is only one politician who could have consistently given Tim the answer he craved, but that would mean bringing Abraham Lincoln back as Tim's guest on "Meet the Press." Just imagine it. On the screen, Tim would have put up several contradictory statements that Lincoln said about slavery in 1832, 1842, and 1852. This would not fluster Lincoln, however. For as history records, whenever he had to say that he had changed his position, he had a simple answer: Yes, you're right. I have changed my position. I'd like to believe I'm smarter today than I was yesterday.

And yet while the core of Tim's work will live on for generations, it is the character of the man that tells the bigger story, the warmth, sensitivity, integrity, fairness and fundamental decency. His capacity to transmit his cheerful strength to others, reach out to people, pick up their emotions, put himself in their shoes, inspire their trust, the character of a gentle man who retained all his life his boyish sense of wonder, the character of a beloved figure whose death has produced an outpouring of emotion across our land.

It has been said that, over time, friendship turns to love. You look back and you remember the experiences you shared, the joy at one another's achievements, the comfort provided in time of sorrow, and you know these memories will last forever. Though you've heard each other's favorite stories, you take pleasure in hearing them again and again.

I cannot tell you how many times in the presence of others, Tim would spur me to tell a story I had long since told him, so that the people sitting with us could enjoy it. Tell me about Lincoln and the critic, he would prompt. And I would tell the story of the man who shouted at Lincoln, You're two-faced, Mr. Lincoln. To which Lincoln responded, If I had two faces, do you think I'd be wearing this face?

(LAUGHTER)

GOODWIN: And on and on it went. Tell me about FDR and the poker game. Tell me about LBJ and the Alamo. And Tim would sit there with this huge grin on his face, as if he were a proud parent, though, I of course was the older of the two. And so through these and a hundred other shared experiences, friendship turned to love.

A few weeks ago, in the aftermath of the sad news about Senator Kennedy's brain tumor, I told Tim of a conversation I had had with Rose Kennedy decades ago as she remarked on the shortened lives of her children, most notably, Jack and Bobby. She said she found solace in the thought that if they could come back, they would still choose the lives they'd been given to lead, for they'd been blessed with so much achievement and so much fulfillment.

Tim said he understood what she was saying, for he, too, had already been blessed with all that he could want, with work he adored and a family he loved, blessed beyond his wildest imagination. But if his length of years were denied to him, the hardest part, he said, would not be sharing with Maureen in the limitless future of their son, not seeing Luke get married and become a father of his own.

While Tim's shortened life means that the children of Luke will never meet their paternal grandfather on this earth, they will surely come to know him. They'll know his heart and his soul through the memories of all who loved him, through the countless stories filled with love and laughter, stories that will be told and retold for generations.

I am honored to be one of those story tellers tonight. Thank you.

(APPLAUSE)

LUKE RUSSERT, TIM RUSSERT'S SON: Good afternoon. I'm Luke Russert, proud son of Tim and Maureen. Just before I begin, my mother and I would just like to extend our deepest thanks for the tremendous outpouring of love and support we've received from all of you and everyone all over the country. Yesterday at the wake, we were very touched. People of all races and religions and creeds came to the door to St. Alban's to pay respects to my father. We had even one woman who drove from South Dakota, two old ladies who flew in from Lubbock, Texas, dozens who flew in from California, a son and a father who drove from South Carolina, just a guy from Vermont, a guy from Minnesota. And I think the entire city of Buffalo managed to find their way down to Washington.

(LAUGHTER)

L. RUSSERT: But, you know, earlier today, I delivered my father's eulogy. And I would like to share a few excerpts.

I'm sorry to break the news to every charity group and university and club that he spoke to, but he had the same speech for all of you.

(LAUGHTER)

L. RUSSERT: He would just tinker with it a little bit depending on who exactly he was talking to.

So, I would like to do the same thing from what I said earlier.

(LAUGHTER)

(APPLAUSE)

L. RUSSERT: And that's-that's what I will do.

(LAUGHTER)

L. RUSSERT: If there was one philosopher that my father couldn't quote enough, it was the great Yogi Berra.

(LAUGHTER)

L. RUSSERT: One of his favorite Yogiisms was, always go to other people's funerals. Otherwise, they won't go to yours.

(LAUGHTER)

L. RUSSERT: Well...

(LAUGHTER)

L. RUSSERT: ... everyone in this audience can rest assured, because, please know, Tim Russert will be at your funeral.

And all throughout high school and college, I was taught to avoid cliches like the plague.

But...

(LAUGHTER)

L. RUSSERT: But there is really one besides my father and the prism through which he saw life.

When I hold this up, some of you see a glass half-empty, and some of you see a glass half-full. For Tim Russert, his glass was always half-full.

In my 22 years, I have never met anybody filled with so much optimism, who not only loved the good parts of life, but also its challenges. The ability of the human spirit to withstand tragedy always interested my father. And he firmly believed that, with faith, friends, and a little folly, anybody could withstand anything.

Well, that philosophy has certainly been put to the test this past week, but I believe that it is working.

This past week has definitely been a whirlwind of emotion. In preparing for this speech, I looked to Yeats, James Joyce, and even Mark Twain, to try and find the perfect words to capture Tim Russert's life and death in a way more eloquently and poignantly than I could ever hope to do so.

But the other night, a friend of mine reminded me to look at chapter 20 of "Big Russ and Me" in a chapter that's called "Loss." It was about Michael Gartner, my dad's friend, who lost his 17-year-old son to acute juvenile diabetes some years ago.

After his passing, my dad phoned Michael. And he said to him, Michael, think of it this way. What if God had come to you and said, I'm going to make you an offer. I will give you a beautiful, a wonderful, happy, and lovable son for 17 years, but then it will be time for him to come home? You would make that deal in a second, right?

Well, I only had-I had 22 years, but I, too, would make that deal in a heartbeat.

Later in the chapter, my dad goes on to say, "The importance of faith and of accepting and even celebrating death was something I continue to believe as a Catholic and a Christian. To accept faith, we have to resign ourselves as mortals to the fact that we are just a small part of a grand design."

Well, my dad may have been a small part of God's grand design, oh, but he was such a big presence here on this Earth.

In the sad times this week, all of you were such a source of comfort and support for my family. And I have received hundreds and hundred of e-mail and messages and phone calls, more than I would ever have imagined, and I think that he would ever have imagined as well.

But one of my dad's fans wrote something to me that I think really captures him.

They wrote-she wrote: "If your dad could ask of one thing of all of us, it would be to ask if our actions today yielded respect for our families, been a credit to our faith, and a benefit to our fellow men."

Great men often lead with their egos. Tim Russert led with his heart, his compassion, and, most importantly, his honor. He had a great time living, and is no doubt having the time of his life now in heaven.

So, I ask you, this Sunday, in your hearts and in your mind, to imagine a "Meet the Press" special edition, live from inside St. Peter's gate. Maybe Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr will be on for the full hour debating.

(LAUGHTER)

L. RUSSERT: Perhaps JFK and Barry Goldwater will give their two cents about the 2008 election. And we could even have Teddy Roosevelt for the full hour talking about the need for a third party.

(LAUGHTER)

L. RUSSERT: George Bernard Shaw said, this is the true joy in life, being used for a purpose, recognized by yourself as a muddy one, being thoroughly worn out before you are thrown on the scrap heap, being a force of nature, instead of a feverish, selfish little clod of ailments and grievances.

Well, my dad was a force of nature. And now his own cycle in nature is complete. But his spirit lives on in everybody who loves their country, loves their family, loves their faith, and loves those Buffalo Bills.

(LAUGHTER)

L. RUSSERT: I love you, dad.

And, in his words, let us all go get' em.

(APPLAUSE)

L. RUSSERT: One last thing. Phil Griffin mentioned it to me before I came on, but I forgot.

I'm supposed to throw it to my uncle, Tony Scozzaro, a musical tribute from the Buffalo Music Hall of Fame, my uncle, my dad's brother-in-law, Tony Scozzaro.

(APPLAUSE)

(MUSIC)

(APPLAUSE)

TOM BROKAW, NBC SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT: Give it up for uncle Tony.

(APPLAUSE)

BROKAW: Been a remarkable afternoon so far. And we have a little surprise. Luke and I have been talking about this for the last...

L. RUSSERT: Yes.

BROKAW: ... 24 hours or so.

It turns out that uncle Tony is not the only musical member of the extended Russert family. In fact, our next guest is so inspired by uncle Tony that he insisted that he have a place in all of this as well.

L. RUSSERT: He did.

Might learn a few thing from uncle Tony.

BROKAW: Yes, I think so.

(CROSSTALK)

L. RUSSERT: Yes.

BROKAW: We are going to send him a tape of uncle Tony and hope that maybe he can work out his own career.

The only sad part about this appearance is, this is the one guest that Tim was never able to persuade to appear on "Meet the Press." But they were great friends. And Tim went wherever he had to, to hear him.

Ladies and gentlemen, from Europe, where he is on tour, the Boss.

(APPLAUSE)

BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN, MUSICIAN: Good morning, Big Russ and the Russert family.

We want to send all our love and prayers from the E Street Band and share with you a memory I had of Tim.

It was early in the morning. We were playing on "The Today Show,"

which is a little early for rock musicians. And we went into "Promised Land." And I did I what I usually do. I was looking in the faces along the front row to see who was-I always look for that face that being alive and they're filled with the music that we're playing.

And as I scanned the front row, I got to the left side of the stage, and there was a guy in a crisp white shirt and a tie. And I looked, and it was Tim. And he had on that big Irish smile that hid absolutely nothing. And he was beaming like the rising sun.

And I remember thinking, oh, my God, that's-that's Tim Russert at this hour of the morning. And I knew that, given his day job, he had more important things to do. So, we were always flattered and honored to have Tim as a part of our E Street Band community.

And it's funny that we were playing that song. I think Tim had a real belief in that promised land and in the American idea. And that was the passion that you heard behind all those tough questions on Sunday morning and-and in that big smile.

He also believed, I think, in the honesty of service, the joyful duty of honesty of service. That's his legacy for politicians, journalists, and rock musicians, too.

So, I want to send this out to Tim.

Luke, this is for your pop.

(BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN PERFORMS "THUNDER ROAD")

BROKAW: We're very grateful to you for being here today. We must always keep Tim not only in our hearts, but in our lives as well, and try every day to be better citizens. Thank you all very much for being here. Thanks.