I’ll observe a few moments of silence today to remember George Steele, who was a big part of the spirit of the old Star-Bulletin newsroom prior to the 2001 sale of the company to its present owner. George’s death on this day in 2003 came as a shock to all who enjoyed his company and his special brand of humor.

The “official” obituary that appeared in the Star-Bulletin didn’t really capture all that was special about George.

I remember the day he died all too well. Here’s what I wrote here the following day:

I received the first message at 3:42 p.m. yesterday that my friend George Steele was dead. It came in the form of an email to all Star-Bulletin staff and forwarded over to me from another friend in the newsroom.

It was like a punch. I was scheduled to have lunch with George in the next few days. We had been friends in the old Star-Bulletin newsroom and he was one of the select few who didn’t have any problem remaining a good friend after the Star-Bulletin and I parted company.

I sat in silence for several minutes. Then I dug through my addresses and sent off an email to his former wife in West Virginia, who George had remained very close to. Then I sat a while longer.

George grew up poor in Appalachia, became a reporter. Probably a very good one, I think. He had a way with words. When I knew him, George was working as a copy editor, cleaning up other people’s words.

On March 7, 2000, three years before he died, George sent me an email in which he spoke of his grandfather.

I mention this hesitantly.

My grandfather was in great part, Cherokee, strong with the energy of that culture. So much so, that by comparison, I am reluctant to lay claim to the label myself.

He learned the Old Ways.

Made his own medicine from herbs. Had his own view of the cosmos. He carried a gun all of his life, a 45 semiautomatic in the waistband of his trousers. He never left home without it. Didn’t believe in banks or other institutions.

Did believe in omens.

He tried to teach me, but I was very young and he was very old, and I missed a lot of what he said. And he was the kind of man you didn’t ask second questions of.

But I came away from my experience with him with a definite belief in “signs,” as he called them.

Sometimes I am accurate in emulating him.

It’s just a feeling, not something that can be put into words.

Anyway, George, we still miss seeing you and feeling your spirit cheering up the newsroom.

By the way, the photo was taken in November 2000.