Dear Andrea,

It’s hard to believe that you’ve laid down your editorial pen and moved on to life south of retirement. I suppose that one of the final jobs you undertook was editing this morning’s column.

I say “edit.” I don’t know all the technical things you had to do to get our weekly piece ready to go, but I figured it was more about setting my picture at such an angle as not to startle our readers than it was to fix the silly words I wrote. You told me a long time ago that you didn’t feel exactly right tampering too much with the words. You treated me like a Rembrandt. We’d not dare add the extra stroke to his work. We’d just hang him on the wall as it is. Of course, I’m sure you would have rather hung me up on the wall more often than not. But you never did.

I’m thankful for that. Because of some good, old-fashioned Southern values, you let our work stand on its own, speak for itself. I trust the work did both well these past 12 years.

I remember a time or two when you needed to make a slight change to the content for the sake of expediency. You always wrote - almost apologetically - and explained the slight adjustment you needed to make. Your patience, too, has been unsurpassed. I have no doubt that it was that patience and your sweet grace that allowed us to get this far. Early on I seemed to have the silly notion that a deadline meant to send the column as soon as inspiration got off the bus. You taught me gently that the newspaper has to leave the station on time, regardless if the bus has made it in or not.

I finally had a talk with inspiration. I explained to her that it’s best that she take the early bus just in case there’s a blow-out or the bus gets high-jacked to Hogansville.

I guess the thing I’m most thankful to you for is that your decision to try something different way back in 1997 provided an opportunity of a lifetime. Maybe one day we’ll get picked up by a hundred newspapers and write our way deep into retirement. But that’s not the point. The mere ability to write and perhaps to explore some spark of genius down deep inside: ah, there lies the privilege. Never mind that what I thought to be genius long ago turned out to be little more than the exceptional ability to make fun of the likes of Co-cola Mike and others whose behavior is deserving of primetime exposure.

Because of you we’ve been able to set the story right for all of these people. Oh, I know, they sometimes think I’ve exaggerated a bit, but as I tell them: “It’s got to be true. Ms. Andrea Lovejoy printed it right in the middle of the paper!”

Because of you, we’ve had the rare opportunity to build a thousand relationships, maybe 10,000 or more, not to mention our own.

As you wrote to me when you delivered the retirement news, you would look forward to reading me now, not as an editor, but as a fan.

Now, I don’t know about the “fan,” thing. I appreciate the thought, but I couldn’t ask you to be that at all. You’d better just read every Saturday morning to make sure I’m behaving myself, which I won’t be, I’m sure.

And read to remind yourself that you made a big difference for many Southern friends and for our little town that July day in 1997 when you said to me in your kind Georgia twang:

“Let’s give it a shot.”

And we did. I think it was a pretty good shot, too.

God bless you, Ms. Andrea. I owe you a great deal.

With love,

Steven