Final Deadline

Across my span of 20-plus years in publishing, I have worked with countless people -- reporters, editors, publishers, advertising sales personnel, designers, clerks, you name it. Naturally, the ones I remember best are the ones who bonded with me (over many tight deadlines), who mentored me, learned from me, befriended me, entertained me or, yes, even irked me.

They are all memorable characters in my book of life.

Due to the stress and teamwork demands, newsrooms are tight communities. We get to know every little quirk and quality of our co-workers. It's like one big dysfunctional family and, underneath it all, we somehow love each other -- whether that's in the form of friendship or just old-fashioned respect.

It is always sad to lose one of the family. Especially unexpectedly.

I couldn't have been more shocked today to learn of the death of one of "my reporters" who I worked with in Rapids for the 7-plus years I was at the daily newspaper. Just 53 years old, he passed away yesterday of either a heart attack or respiratory infection (a reporter hasn't confirmed the facts just yet).

Mark was no longer living in the area, but we kept in touch via Facebook. What I remember most about Mark was his love for the written word. I mean he really loved words. I mean he loved them so much, he'd put as many of them as possible in each story. (Thus the cartoon above.)

As news editor, it was my job to cut it down to a precise, informational story. He posed a challenge. Not because it was written poorly but because each story -- even coverage of a boring school board meeting -- was written like poetic prose. He was hard to edit. But I really got a kick out of some of his word usage. A lot of it was the kind of stuff you'd read in books. Really old books. Definitely a reflection of his love for history.

Secondly, I remember he had the messiest desk I'd seen in all the newsrooms I'd worked in previously and since then. But he knew where everything was. Eventually.

Thirdly, and probably most importantly, he had a big heart. He was good to me and adored little Carter. Just very generous and considerate.

Today, though, I sense a conflict must be brewing in heaven.

Ten years ago, Bob, my favorite copy editor in the whole wide world, died unexpectedly just a few months after retirement. Now Bob's idea of heaven is undoubtedly editing, chopping, condensing to his heart's content. On the other hand, heaven for Mark is undoubtedly writing as many words as humanly (or non-humanly) possible.

Bob, I'm just asking you to be nice, put the red pen down and welcome him for all of us. If you feel the sudden urge to edit Mark, you and our sports-writing hero Davey can light your pipes and sit a spell until the feeling passes.

Mark, for your part, please give those crusty old newsroom boys love from Jimmy and me.

Then write as much as you want...