He had an uncharacteristic way about him. He revealed it in the first few minutes we met. He was so accidentally lost, but then he knew exactly where he wanted to be.

He found us.

His formal title was reporter. In reality, he was a friend.

His nature was anything but standard practice. But it sure was lovely.

He had courage. It exuded from him.

A career fair in August was our first encounter. He didn’t want to work for us — he wanted to work with us. That’s all he knew. That’s all he needed to know.

“What do you have for me?” he asked, without introduction.

He had persistence. It takes a strong man to ask for an application. It takes an even stronger one to admit he lost his copy after walking no more than 15 feet.

It’s almost as if he planned it that way.

Strange? That was just his nature.

Loving to experiment, he jumped around. His intent was to switch to a communications degree. He loved being a journalist.

On paper, he didn’t have loads of experience, but he was more qualified than anyone we knew.

He was a communicator; and to everyone he met, a friend.

That was just it. He learned the secret of a journalist all too quickly — the power of building relationships. He loved the craft a lot, and the people a lot more.

His style was different. He jumbled the spelling of names and took 70 pages of notes for any story he did. Through the foggy, smudged lenses of his glasses it was hard to understand how he could observe as well as he did. He understood more than we would ever know.

Everything about him was unique. He was so focused on learning our stories he rarely shared his own.

He’s irreplaceable.

His story brought us the lesson only he could teach — relationships.

We’re thankful you made us a part of your story.

Rest well, friend.