As I entered Foreman Field a week ago Friday for the Fairmont/Alter game, the first thing I heard was the familiar voice of DerekAli. He was, as usual, drawing a crowd. Manning an information boothfor the Dayton Daily News, he offered prizes for people who correctlyanswered newspaper trivia questions. `Who was Dayton Daily Newssports editor for more than 50 years? Easy question, man, easyquestion!' (Answer: Si Burick). I smiled and waved as I passed thebooth, not wanting to interfere with Derek doing his thing, but hewasn't about to let me off so easy. `You'll win a prize if you cantell me the name of that lady right there,' he called out, pointingto me and flashing his broad, irrepressible smile.
`Who's that?' my sisters asked. `Mr. Ambassador. The newspaper'ssecret weapon.' I explained how the veteran Dayton Daily Newsreporter knew everyone, went everywhere, waged a one-man circulationcrusade on the force of his charm and personality.
When I reached the stands I soon noticed another colleague, JeffAdams, marching up and down the field filming the game for the DaytonDaily News' Web site. `That's the guy who did such a good job puttingtogether the video about my Haiti trip,' I told my sisters.
Only nine days later, when both of these friends and co-workershad died so so tragically, it occurred to me that only recently I hadtold other people how much I appreciated them. That comforted me, alittle, until I stopped to consider, `Did I ever take the time totell them?'
I took it for granted that I could stop down on the third floor,any time I wanted, to chat with Derek or Jeff. It's only now thatwe've lost them that I think about the missed opportunities.
Why hadn't I told Derek, the times I spoke with his journalismclasses, what a great teacher I thought he was? What a great rolemodel and mentor? The students who dozed through my talk sat in raptattention when Derek spoke.
A few months ago, I walked across town with Derek - always a time-consuming experience, as he stopped every few seconds to talk tosomebody he knew. This time beat all, though, as an RTA bus driverstopped his bus, idled it and jumped onto the pavement so he couldtalk to Derek. At last I had met someone who literally stoppedtraffic.
`Derek is so indispensable,' I told everyone as I recounted thestory. I never told Derek.
Only recently Jeff Adams had produced a video for the newspaper'sWeb page, interviewing photographer Bill Reinke and myself about ourtrip to Haiti. Both of us were reluctant subjects, to put it mildly,but Jeff's questions were so thought-provoking, so engaging - `Isthis the kind of story for which you went into journalism?' - that wesoon forgot ourselves.
I told many people how amazed I was with the results, and with theway Jeff had gotten two camera-shy people to open up on camera. Inever told Jeff.
Monday morning at Jeff's funeral his son, Nathan, 18, gave themost moving eulogy I have ever heard, as he spoke about how hisfather had guided him throughout his life and would continue to doso. `I know this sounds corny,' he addressed the newspaper staff,`but you guys are family.'
So this week in the newsroom we are squeezing each others' hands alittle tighter, realizing how much we value each other.
And saying it out loud, even at the risk of sounding corny.
