Four or five times a year, for the last decade or so, fellow journalist Terry Fiedler and I would gather at a local watering hole for 'a couple of pops.' Both born and raised in Wisconsin, we'd typically begin our evenings worrying over the next Green Bay Packers game (even if it was months away), trade gossip about peers and local politicos, and then, having greased our conversational wheels, get down to the news business.

An award-winning magazine editor, feature writer, and investigative reporter, Terry went to work in 1996 for the Minneapolis Star Tribune, where he solidified his reputation as an 'old school' journalist who always made the extra phone call, always considered both sides, and never believed a story was finished. A voracious reader (I can't remember ever seeing Terry without a half-read novel), he also taught journalism at his alma mater, where he insisted that undergraduate students read literary classics before they tried to write hard news, so they would have an appreciation for the power of words.

Terry loved the pace of a daily newsroom, but he missed magazines, where there is often more time and freedom to pursue the sorts of dense, character-driven stories he loved-and that regional newspapers tend to shy away from these days. The last time we got together he talked excitedly about pursuing more freelance work, maybe even going part time at the paper, and we talked about assignments he might do for Utne Reader in 2007-including an in-depth piece about the future of organized labor. Remembering the clear-eyed critique of socially responsible investing Terry turned out for the magazine in March 2005 ('Making Change'), I was thrilled at the prospect.

The weekend after our last visit, Terry, an avid golfer and runner, died of natural causes at the age of 47 (the exact cause of his death has not been determined as I write). The details of that tragic Saturday morning are as hard to accept as they are heart wrenching. Just engaged, Terry and his fiancée were planning to go shopping for a ring. He had washed his car for the journey and was chilling a bottle of champagne to commemorate the occasion. The soon-to-be newlyweds never made it out the door. Terry passed away lying in bed, a pair of reading glasses and a Cormac McCarthy novel on the nightstand.