Sign in with Facebook
Luke Russert’s Followers (79)
Luke Russert
Goodreads Author
Born
in New York, The United States
Website
Twitter
Genre
Member Since
March 2023
Welcome in!
Excited to be on Goodreads and have the chance to interact with fellow readers.
Read about "Look For Me There" and see the cover here:
https://people.com/books/luke-russert...
Read about "Look For Me There" and see the cover here:
https://people.com/books/luke-russert...
|
Big Russ & Me: Father & Son: Lessons of Life
by
—
published
2004
—
41 editions
|
|
|
Look for Me There: Grieving My Father, Finding Myself
—
published
2023
—
4 editions
|
|
|
Look for Me There: Grieving My Father, Finding Myself
|
|
* Note: these are all the books on Goodreads for this author. To add more, click here.
Luke’s Recent Updates
|
Luke Russert
and
4 other people
liked
Sarah's review
of
Look for Me There: Grieving My Father, Finding Myself:
"Overall, this was an entertaining and thoughtful read. I agree with others who said that the author became insufferable in Sri Lanka. Actually, I became frustrated with him quite a bit earlier in the book (I won't say when because of spoilers). I am "
Read more of this review »
|
|
|
Luke Russert
and
2 other people
liked
Julie Roach's review
of
Look for Me There: Grieving My Father, Finding Myself:
"I loved this book! I may be a bit biased as I loved Tim Russert’s books in addition to his tv reporting. I was sad when he passed. This story told by Luke felt very real and transparent. He didn’t try to put any spin to always make himself reflected "
Read more of this review »
|
|
|
Luke Russert
and
1 other person
liked
Zibby Owens's review
of
Look for Me There: Grieving My Father, Finding Myself:
"This book is about how the author moved through grief after he lost his father, Tim. After Tim died unexpectedly, Luke kept looking for his father, following in his footsteps and carving out a highly successful career at NBC News. After eight years, "
Read more of this review »
|
|
|
"An honest, thoughtful and vulnerable memoir. I appreciate Luke Russert sharing his journey--travelwise and emotionally. Parts are laugh out loud funny and others are very touching. A great read, highly recommend!"
|
|
|
Luke Russert
made a comment on
Sandra Gittlen’s review
of
Look for Me There: Grieving My Father, Finding Myself
"
Me too! But editors come with a knife not a scalpel 🤣 thanks for reading
"
|
|
|
Luke Russert
made a comment on
Linda Keating’s review
of
Look for Me There: Grieving My Father, Finding Myself
"
Thank you Linda for seeing it through. Best wishes.
"
|
|
|
Luke Russert
made a comment on
Michael Holtz’s review
of
Look for Me There: Grieving My Father, Finding Myself
"
Thanks for listening Michael. Sri Lanka was written for that effect. The book is a journey and that’s a low point, I portrayed myself the way I felt a
...more
"
|
|
|
Luke Russert
shared
a
quote
“We work our way back through the
crowd. A few steps behind, holding Dad’s hand, I keep my eyes affixed to the back of his white polo shirt. The outline of his wallet is visible through his back pants pocket, stained into the old khakis. A hanky to wipe his brow creeps out of the other pocket. He clips his beeper tightly to his belt—it’s his post-work Sunday casual uniform. As we move faster through the horde, the sweat on our palms intensifies on the humid mid-Atlantic summer day. For a second, his grip slips and we become disconnected. I fall back a few feet as people aggressively pass by. I never lose sight of the man in the white shirt. Immediately Dad turns around, his face concerned but focused. He jogs back and grabs my hand tight, locking his big thumb and fingers around my wrist. He pulls me in. His other hand now sits across my shoulder, a protective hold. “Buddy, if we’re ever separated, just look for me there,” he says, pointing at a hot dog stand with a big, memorable Oriole ...more Luke Russert |
|
|
Luke Russert
rated a book it was amazing
|
|
|
Luke Russert
rated a book it was amazing
|
|
“We work our way back through the
crowd. A few steps behind, holding Dad’s hand, I keep my eyes affixed to the back of his white polo shirt. The outline of his wallet is visible through his back pants pocket, stained into the old khakis. A hanky to wipe his brow creeps out of the other pocket. He clips his beeper tightly to his belt—it’s his
post-work Sunday casual uniform. As we move faster through the horde, the sweat on our palms intensifies on the humid mid-Atlantic summer day. For a second, his grip slips and we become disconnected. I fall back a few feet as people aggressively pass by.
I never lose sight of the man in the white shirt. Immediately Dad turns around, his face concerned but focused. He jogs back and grabs my hand tight, locking his big thumb and fingers around my wrist. He pulls me in. His other hand now sits across my shoulder, a protective hold.
“Buddy, if we’re ever separated, just look for me there,” he says, pointing at a hot dog stand with a big, memorable Oriole bird logo.
He pauses and looks me up and down. “But we won’t ever be separated.”
― Look for Me There: Grieving My Father, Finding Myself
crowd. A few steps behind, holding Dad’s hand, I keep my eyes affixed to the back of his white polo shirt. The outline of his wallet is visible through his back pants pocket, stained into the old khakis. A hanky to wipe his brow creeps out of the other pocket. He clips his beeper tightly to his belt—it’s his
post-work Sunday casual uniform. As we move faster through the horde, the sweat on our palms intensifies on the humid mid-Atlantic summer day. For a second, his grip slips and we become disconnected. I fall back a few feet as people aggressively pass by.
I never lose sight of the man in the white shirt. Immediately Dad turns around, his face concerned but focused. He jogs back and grabs my hand tight, locking his big thumb and fingers around my wrist. He pulls me in. His other hand now sits across my shoulder, a protective hold.
“Buddy, if we’re ever separated, just look for me there,” he says, pointing at a hot dog stand with a big, memorable Oriole bird logo.
He pauses and looks me up and down. “But we won’t ever be separated.”
― Look for Me There: Grieving My Father, Finding Myself
“The news business never stops. Through tragedy, death, despair, or dysfunction—the news goes on. Even when an autocrat tries to censor it, somehow, some way, the news gets out. Those in the business know this truth, how it’s not just part of the game, it is the game.”
― Look for Me There: Grieving My Father, Finding Myself
― Look for Me There: Grieving My Father, Finding Myself
“I have been using journalism as an altruistic shield, but it is not enough to protect me from thinking I’m letting my life slip away.”
― Look for Me There: Grieving My Father, Finding Myself
― Look for Me There: Grieving My Father, Finding Myself
Topics Mentioning This Author
| topics | posts | views | last activity | |
|---|---|---|---|---|
The Seasonal Read...:
*
Completed Tasks: PLEASE DO NOT DELETE ANY POST IN THIS THREAD!
|
2495 | 282 | Sep 01, 2023 05:10AM | |
| Around the Year i...: Summer Challenge 23: Raffle Entries | 165 | 202 | Sep 04, 2023 01:39AM | |
| A Million More Pages: Reading the Zodiac | 51 | 92 | Oct 02, 2023 04:45PM | |
| A Million More Pages: Star Trek Missions: U.S.S. Galaxy | 128 | 46 | Nov 01, 2023 07:29AM | |
| The Challenge Fac...: Genre Pyramid Roulette | 127 | 222 | Nov 09, 2024 04:37AM |
“We work our way back through the
crowd. A few steps behind, holding Dad’s hand, I keep my eyes affixed to the back of his white polo shirt. The outline of his wallet is visible through his back pants pocket, stained into the old khakis. A hanky to wipe his brow creeps out of the other pocket. He clips his beeper tightly to his belt—it’s his
post-work Sunday casual uniform. As we move faster through the horde, the sweat on our palms intensifies on the humid mid-Atlantic summer day. For a second, his grip slips and we become disconnected. I fall back a few feet as people aggressively pass by.
I never lose sight of the man in the white shirt. Immediately Dad turns around, his face concerned but focused. He jogs back and grabs my hand tight, locking his big thumb and fingers around my wrist. He pulls me in. His other hand now sits across my shoulder, a protective hold.
“Buddy, if we’re ever separated, just look for me there,” he says, pointing at a hot dog stand with a big, memorable Oriole bird logo.
He pauses and looks me up and down. “But we won’t ever be separated.”
― Look for Me There: Grieving My Father, Finding Myself
crowd. A few steps behind, holding Dad’s hand, I keep my eyes affixed to the back of his white polo shirt. The outline of his wallet is visible through his back pants pocket, stained into the old khakis. A hanky to wipe his brow creeps out of the other pocket. He clips his beeper tightly to his belt—it’s his
post-work Sunday casual uniform. As we move faster through the horde, the sweat on our palms intensifies on the humid mid-Atlantic summer day. For a second, his grip slips and we become disconnected. I fall back a few feet as people aggressively pass by.
I never lose sight of the man in the white shirt. Immediately Dad turns around, his face concerned but focused. He jogs back and grabs my hand tight, locking his big thumb and fingers around my wrist. He pulls me in. His other hand now sits across my shoulder, a protective hold.
“Buddy, if we’re ever separated, just look for me there,” he says, pointing at a hot dog stand with a big, memorable Oriole bird logo.
He pauses and looks me up and down. “But we won’t ever be separated.”
― Look for Me There: Grieving My Father, Finding Myself
