Russert and his Sunday morning grilling

Public figures brought their talking points to "Meet the Press." Tim Russert brought his laser intensity, a skeptical gaze and facts they'd rather forget.

"Let's watch," Russert would say week after week, the Sunday morning chef about to make the powerful eat their words. "Let's listen."

Out would come the videotape, the audiotape, the old quotes.

You could almost feel the guest squirm.

For the political class, perhaps nothing was more challenging - yet unavoidable - than a Sunday morning in the "Meet the Press" hot seat facing its tenacious host, who died Friday.

John McCain, the Republican presidential candidate, came on the program last month, and left perhaps a little worse for wear.

"You have said repeatedly, 'I know a lot less about economics than I do about military and foreign policy issues,'" Russert began.

"Actually, I don't know where you got that quote from," McCain protested.

"I got it from John McCain and here it is," Russert shot back, evidence at the ready.

Point made. "OK," McCain said. "Let me tell you what I was trying to say and what I meant."

There are other programs where public figures, including presidential candidates, can go to get a soft question or a laugh, and they use them.

They beat a path to "Saturday Night Live," the late-night talk shows, the morning talk shows and Comedy Central.

But sooner or later, and usually more than once, they've had to deal with Russert's quizzical stare, his mountain of research and a style of questioning that most saw as persistent and some saw as badgering.

When Democratic chairman Howard Dean came on to talk about unity in the thick of his party's smackdown primary fight, Russert asked him umpteen probing questions about the mess the Democrats were in.

The host came at the party boss with a battery of "Buts."

"But if, in fact, the nomination was denied to Obama, who won the most elected delegates, could you unite the party?" Russert demanded.

Dean wanted to talk about the bad Republicans.

"But the Democrats are very worried about who's going to be the nominee," Russert probed.

More spin.

"But you yourself have said unless the Democratic Party's united they will have a very difficult time in the fall," Russert pressed.

And more.

"But it could become very difficult," Russert shot back.

"Everything can be very difficult in life," Dean said, seeming to give up trying to convey intraparty sweetness and light.

Host of the program since 1991, Russert was known as the hardest-working journalist in Washington. He collapsed Friday at the office, while preparing for the next show, and efforts to revive him at the hospital failed, his internist said.

He became such a fixture that, at one point in the 2000 presidential campaign, candidate George W. Bush insisted he would only accept Russert to moderate a presidential debate.

"The one thing I'm determined to do on the show is not to let the powerbrokers leave without giving an answer," Russert said in 1995.

"I have the sense when I'm out there on 'Meet the Press' that I'm a surrogate for people who get up, go to work, raise a family and don't have the time to read six newspapers a day, read all the books and know all the questions to ask. I want to cut through the fog."

Still, Russert's show took a hit early in the trial of Vice President Dick Cheney's top aide, Scooter Libby.

As the Bush administration assessed how to respond to criticism of how the U.S. went to war in Iraq, Cheney's then-chief press aide, Cathie Martin, listed their best option as putting Cheney on "Meet the Press."

Martin wrote in a memo that the show "is our best format" because "we control the message a little bit more."

Americans came to know a softer side to the hard-edged journalist in what turned out to his later years.

Russert's "Big Russ & Me" was a best-selling memoir of his dad, a sanitation worker and newspaper delivery man, and an account of a happy childhood in Buffalo, N.Y.

Russert sought Big Russ' counsel before he made his first appearance on "Meet the Press," as a panelist, on Sept. 16, 1990.

"Pretend you're talking to me," his dad said. "Don't get too fancy. Don't talk that Washington talk. You've got to talk so people can understand you."