He Showed Us the Way to Write

I had filed my story from Toronto’s SkyDome after a World Series game and called the office to be sure it had arrived, only to be told no one had heard from Jim Murray and it was past deadline, so could I please check to see if he was OK.

I found Murray, squinting at his computer, dictating his column because he was baffled by a quirk of the phone system and couldn’t get his computer to work.

I told him the office was frantic and the presses were literally being held for him; I pulled the computer out of his hands, made an adjustment and transmitted the column to the office. I feared he would think me rude, but instead he thanked me and asked me to show him how I had fixed the problem, so he could do it himself if it happened again.

I didn’t see him often, mostly at major events. But almost every time I did see him, he would tell the crowd that inevitably gathered around him how I had saved him that day and how grateful he was.

No, Jim, we’re the ones who are grateful for having read you, worked with you and known you even a little bit.