Remembering Tim Russert

I asked Moynihan where I could call him back. He seemed to be taken somewhat aback, not only at the idea I’d push off a call from a senator, but probably because he couldn’t figure out why I had to ask him for a number when he was in his office.

I called him back five minutes later and when he came to the phone, I said, “Sorry, Senator. I just needed to make sure it was you and not Russert.”

I think Moynihan thought it was funny. Maybe. Well, maybe not.

There was an upside to Tim’s inability to resist doing his Moynihan. Had it not been for his re-enactment, I would never have learned of Moynihan’s technique for pretending to remember constituents and others whose names he had forgotten.

Tim described how such a person would approach Moynihan and say, “Senator, you probably don’t remember me, but I’m Joe Smith . . . ”

At which point, Tim morphed into full Moynihan posture, drew himself up to his full height, pointed the forefingers of both hands at the imaginary constituent’s chest, and said with trademark Moynihanian diction: “ You  . . .  ARE  . . .  Joe Smith.”

It was also the way I found out about a less than well-received Moynihan appearance at an annual dinner of the Friendly Sons of St. Patrick. The Friendly Sons were getting into the proper spirit of the evening, perhaps here and there with the help of a toast, when Moynihan, the keynote speaker, launched into a weighty and professorial speech on a subject that I have long since forgotten.

As the speech rolled on, some Friendly Sons began voicing unfriendly remarks, at which point, according to Tim, Moynihan suggested that anyone not profiting from his talk might want to step outside.

“So, did they?” I asked Russert.

Tim again assumed his Moynihan pose and answered, “Op  . . .  up  . . .  uh  . . .  I was THERE,” a line he delighted in rolling out whenever the occasion gave an opening for it.

But Tim always had a way with his bosses. I don’t know 100 percent for sure that the following story is true, it sounds kind of apocryphal. But, still, it sounds like Tim.

Tim had gone on to work for New York Gov. Mario Cuomo and was with him around the time that Cuomo electrified audiences with his keynote speech at the 1984 Democratic Convention in San Francisco, which was probably the high point of Cuomo’s career as far as the national stage.

The story goes this way: Bishop Desmond Tutu of South Africa was visiting New York, and was riding in a limousine with Cuomo.

Remembering Tim Russert

As the two chatted, Tutu was said to have told Cuomo, “I met that delightful young man who works for you, the one who wrote your San Francisco speech.”

I never really knew Cuomo. I did know of his ego. I don’t think Cuomo thought it was funny.

So, maybe Tim liked to claim credit for some stuff. But he was never full of himself, and always open and outgoing whether you were a VIP or just someone standing next to him at the bar.

Speaking of standing next to him at the bar, I got a little taste of Tim’s liking to make sure that credit was paid where it was due.

Tim had been one of my references back in 1991 when National Public Radio hired me as senior Washington editor.

After I had moved up to be vice president of news at NPR in 2000, I bumped into Tim at Billy Martin’s Tavern in Georgetown.

He congratulated me on the promotion and said, “You know, I GOT you that job at NPR.”

So, I bought the next round over his weak protests.