BUFFALO'S PALACE BURLESQUE THEATER entertained the men of that town for 60 years, and tempted the teenagers for just as long. A young Tim Russert and some of his pals from Canisius High School summoned the courage to try and bluff their way in one day in the mid-'60s, only to be asked their age and whether Father Sturm, the Prefect of Discipline at Canisius, knew they were there.

"None of us could think of an answer to that one," Russert admits in his new book, Big Russ & Me, "and we skulked away in defeat."

That's the sort of anecdote that powers Russert's wonderful memoir of both a South Buffalo and a Catholic community which no longer exist, even though Big Russ, Russert's father, whose own life provides the springboard for what is part autobiography, part sociological study, part political history, is still very much with us.

Listeners to my radio show know that I spend a good portion of most Mondays blasting Russert's interviews on the program I branded Meet the Cuomo Aide from the first day I was on the air. Though he has a reputation for being a fierce interview, I find that Russert always brings his "A" game for the Republicans, and almost always brings at best a "B" game for the Democratic guests, who are usually allowed off the floor before the questions get too tough. John Kerry's recent hour made little if any news, for instance, because the host didn't force the key issues beyond a question

After reading Big Russ & Me, you will know why Russert couldn't change if he wanted to. He's an Irish-Catholic lad who grew up with great nuns and strong priests and a very hard-working dad who served in the big war, got busted up, never complained or talked about it, and came back to Buffalo to raise four kids on the salaries from two jobs while mom stayed home. Russert and Sister Lucille worshipped Jack Kennedy and were devastated by his murder, and the future fixture of Sunday mornings literally worked his way through Canisius, John Carroll University, and Cleveland-Marshall College of Law on the accumulated traditions of a traditional Democratic stronghold--the Catholic, blue-collar industrial town. A nun insisted Russert aim for the prestige high school; after-school jobs were made available that allowed the tuition to get paid; a local city employee came up with the $2,000 Russert needed to head off to law school--these are the hallmarks of the old Democratic party. Russert's book is a wonderful tribute to his father, but it is also an eloquent reminder of why the Democratic party dominated American politics from 1932 until 1994, and did so partly on the strength of the Catholics within its ranks.

Big Russ & Me is going to work for anyone who is a product of the 1960s parochial school system in the industrial Midwest, whether they're from Buffalo, or Sharon, Pennsylvania, or Niles, Michigan, or, like me, Warren, Ohio. Change the names of the nuns or the priests and you'll still have the same arc of the story, with the same sorts of communities, and the same received wisdom on working hard and stretching to achieve in school. The American Legion hall, the attachment to the local colleges and of course the home-state professional sports franchises--Russert's fabled love for the Bills was inherited, and his dad even drove him to Cleveland's Muny to root, heretically for the Yankees-- are all dying out as the national culture homogenizes us. The rust belt near Lake Erie and its sister Great Lakes was unique for its winters and for its close-knit Catholic enclaves, but what's left of that era is almost beyond recognition.