(Page 5 of 9)

Matthews is also aware that little brother Keith Olbermann has become the signature talent of MSNBC. Matthews seems less than thrilled with ''co-anchoring'' MSNBC's election coverage with him, as he has done on many nights during this campaign. When Olbermann is on the same set, Matthews appears different -- restrained, even shrinking at times. According to people at NBC, Matthews has not been shy in voicing his resentment of Olbermann. Nor, according to network sources, has Olbermann bothered to hide his low regard for Matthews, although when I spoke to him, Olbermann denied any personal animosity toward Matthews and told me that he appreciates his ''John Madden-like enthusiasm for politics.''

But Olbermann does acknowledge that their on-air marriage has been rocky. Stylistically, Olbermann is scripted and disciplined while Matthews is free-form. While Olbermann is a natural anchor, Matthews struggles with its basic mechanics -- staying on time, not talking into breaks. ''There is a sense at times that we are always joining Chris Matthews already in progress,'' Olbermann told me. Matthews has been on 10 years, he went on to say, ''and he has no idea when it stops and starts. My responsibility sometimes is to grab the wheel when he doesn't hold it.'' Matthews has also called their joint appearances ''Hardball,'' which annoys Olbermann and which he has not been shy about correcting on the air. ''No, this is not 'Hardball,' I will say, and in those instances, a correction is appropriate.''

Sometimes during commercial breaks, Matthews will boast to Olbermann of having restrained himself during the prior segment. ''And I reward him with a grape,'' Olbermann says.

Chris Matthews loved politics from a young age -- starting at around 5, his brothers say. He spent a lot of time with his grandfather Charles Patrick Shields, a Democratic committeeman from the working class North Philadelphia neighborhood of Nicetown. Shields's ''office'' was a neighborhood newsstand. ''He was a good man of the parish,'' Chris's younger brother Jim told me. Chris revered him. ''I think Tip O'Neill reminded Chris a little of Grandpa,'' Jim added, meaning they both fit the urban-ethnic prototype of the backslapping operator from the neighborhood.

Matthews's father, Herb, was a court reporter and worked all the time. Chris spent his early childhood in a row house, before the family moved to Somerton, a leafy neighborhood at Philadelphia's northeast tip. The boys went to Catholic schools and took family trips to a summer house on the Jersey shore. The family generally voted Republican. Chris loved John F. Kennedy in 1960, but wound up falling harder for Nixon by the end and cried when he lost. ''We weren't a huggy family -- we had our fracases -- but we basically got along,'' Jim Matthews, now the Republican chairman of the board of commissioners in Montgomery County, Pa., told me.

Matthews attended Holy Cross in Worcester, Mass. He studied hard and engaged in long, loud political debates in the cafeteria. His political allegiance evolved from Barry Goldwater to Eugene McCarthy (''just like Hillary,'' he says). He also nurtured a passionate affair with television. He loved Johnny Carson, particularly his persona as a wide-eyed Nebraskan, awed that movie stars were actually talking to him. ''Carson was great company,'' Matthews says. ''He was big company. Best company in the world.'' He identifies with this. ''Now, I am people's company,'' he told me. ''Do you know that women come up to me all the time and say, 'My husband watched you until the end, until he died'?'' (Also, Matthews added, Carson ''had babes on the show.'')

After graduating from college in 1967, Matthews went on to the University of North Carolina to pursue a doctorate in economics, but he left in 1968 to join the Peace Corps. The following year, he was posted in Swaziland, in southeast Africa, where he taught business skills to villagers and rode around on a little Suzuki motorcycle. ''He often wore a necktie,'' recalls Fred O'Regan, a fellow volunteer.

''I remember we were out hitchhiking once,'' O'Regan told me. Matthews started arguing about Nixon and Vietnam. ''It was just like watching his show today. Chris would ask a question, then he would answer it himself and then the person was invited to comment on Chris's answer to his own question.''

Matthews returned after two years and in 1974 ran for Congress in northeast Philadelphia. He lost in the Democratic primary, but it started what became an exhaustive job search that landed him on Capitol Hill and then in the White House as a speech writer for President Carter. He parlayed the White House job into a series of positions on Capitol Hill that would culminate at the side of Speaker Tip O'Neill during the 1980s. Matthews was essentially his media and message guru, such as they were in those days. He would help the lumbering, untelegenic speaker do battle with Ronald Reagan. ''Chris was an important bridge for my father between the old and the new media world,'' said Rosemary O'Neill, the daughter of the late speaker. ''You always knew Chris was there. He was a big personality, even then. He was never hiding behind the ficus trees.''