Tim Russert died Friday. Three days later it still seems impossible to believe that the host of "Meet the Press" and chief of NBC's Washington Bureau is gone. Forces of nature--and Russert surely was one--go on forever, right?

I heard the news of his completely unexpected death at age 58 as I was driving back to the office from the printer's. No sooner had I walked in the door than people began commiserating about the death of the largest figure (by a mile) in contemporary journalism.

Was Russert pro-life? Don't know. What I do know is that he gave us, like everybody else, a fair shake. Can't ask much more from an interviewer than that he knows what he's talking about (and Russert's preparedness was the stuff of legend) and that when he skewers you he skewers the other guy just as thoroughly.

Is that damning with faint praise? No! If you're a pro-lifer, you really, really appreciate it when a reporter or news program host deals off the top of the deck. Russert did just that.

As it happens Russert attended the same parish as my assistant. He proudly wore his love for his family and his faith on his sleeve. He rarely said no to any request to help. Kids, beginning with his own son, Luke, meant everything to him.

One illustration of the nexus of family and faith (of countless examples that could be cited) is the famous picture of Pope John Pope II kissing baby Luke's forehead, as his beaming parents--Russert and his wife, fellow journalist Maureen Orth--looked on. At his passing the Catholic News Service reported that "an active Catholic he apparently kept a promise to God to never miss Sunday Mass."

My wife and I watched probably eight to nine hours of the massive coverage of Russert's death over the weekend. Some have already griped that this was too much. That's up to us to decide individually. I thoroughly disagree. Why?

Journalists who not only voice a commitment to even-handedness but also practice it are as rare as hen's teeth. Journalists who do not apologize for their faith but joyfully revel in it are as welcomed as they are unusual. Journalists whose humanity shines through (as opposed to a preening arrogance) are almost an extinct breed.

There was a lot of unintentional irony is some of the commentary. Absolute partisan hacks whose commitment to one-sided coverage is surpassed only by their sheer meanness (think Keith Olbermann and Chris Matthews) would observe that Russert was tough on everybody but fair--he chose balance over bias, so to speak.

It was as if just for a moment the better angels of their own journalistic nature--long ignored--got through to them. In Russert they saw all the qualities they had long since pitched over the side.

Russert's absence would be conspicous at any time, more so in an election year, and most of all in an election cycle when almost the entire news corps is in the tank for pro-abortion Sen. Barack Obama.

Obama is not particularly good at hiding his many weaknesses, and relies heavily on reporters choosing to overlook those areas or to explain them away. Russert didn't play that game. Russert would have grilled pro-life Sen. John McCain, but he would also have made Obama answer for what he has said and done.

One last thought about a great reporter. You'd expect wall-to-wall coverage (on television in particular) of a man who seems not to have made a single enemy and who was blessed with tens of thousands of friends.

But what's amazed me over the last 72 hours is how much grief Russert's death has evoked in just regular folks. People at my printer's, NRLC colleagues, my brother, my Sunday School class, my pastor, the repairman who fixed the air conditioning unit in my daughter's car, my son--all these and many other acquaintances expressed their sadness at Russert's death.

Part of it, of course, is familiarity. Russert was almost omnipresent on television. Part of it was his irrepressible good nature--the famous twinkle in his eyes.

Part of it is an almost sublimal gratitude on our part for a reporter who played it straight.

Part of it was that "Meet the Press" never degenerated into a screaming match, and that Russert treated even the most unlovely guests with respect.

But probably the biggest reason Russert was so beloved was his unapologetic way of asking, oh-by-the-way-have-I-told-you-lately-about-my-dad-Big Russ-and-my-son-Luke?

I don't know if it is more poignant or more painful that the author of "Big Russ and Me" should die two days before Father's Day. I do know that, judging by the response to that 2004 best-seller, his celebration of his love for his dad encouraged many sons and daughters to bind up wounds with their own dads before it was too late.

Our profession has lost its best practictioner. Our world has lost an even better father, son, and husband.