Goodnight and farewell

There are better things in the world to do on weekends than watch television. But if you found yourself in front of the idiot box on Sunday mornings or Saturday afternoons, Tim Russert and Jim McKay made sure that you weren't wasting your time. In a profession overpopulated with talking heads, white noise, agenda journalism and baa blah blog sheep, both broadcasters, who died within days of one another, brought civility, fairness and just the right touch of poetry or storytelling to their reporting.

Russert was one of the best interviewers in the business, tough and tenacious, but nonpartisan and never malicious. He did what so many journalists don't: held people accountable for their words by digging up past quotes and pointing out contradictions and hypocrisy in their statements. The fact that he was an unabashed blue-collar Buffalo guy made Americans everywhere, including here in perpetually irrelevant Rhode Island, feel that their voices mattered as much as the power elite in Washington.

McKay, wearing that horrid trademark ABC yellow jacket, elevated sports journalism to the level of news, making it a vital part of our daily cultural discussion. As host of ABC's Wide World of Sports, and the network's coverage of the Olympics, he guided Americans through our growing pains with sports not named baseball, football, basketball and hockey. I was a 10-year-old when Munich happened, and was riveted to McKay throughout those Games. His remarkable ability to convey humanity yet maintain dignity and professionalism while describing horrifying acts of terrorism left an indelible impression, and had a calming influence, in the same way that Walter Cronkite's teary reporting of the JFK assassination is recalled by a slightly older generation.

With the passing of Russert and McKay, Americans have lost more than a couple of great journalists and good men. We've lost a reason to tune in on Sunday mornings and Saturday afternoons.