Farewell to a co-worker and a friend

The first minute of the first hour of the first morning I spent working for the Deseret News I met the guy in the desk next to mine by not meeting him.

This was in the B.C. days of newspapering — before carrels and before computers — and the sports department back then consisted of seven desks all connected together.

An eighth desk belonged to Hack Miller, the longtime columnist, who was given a position of some honor around the corner.

I remember Hack saying something semi-cordial when I walked into the office at the 6 a.m. starting time — this was pre-Internet, keep in mind, and everyone came in at 6 a.m. to write their copy for that evening's paper.

But from the guy sitting next to me, nothing.

About half an hour later, he managed to mumble, "Here. Write this headline."

That was followed an hour or so later by, "We're going out for breakfast. Answer the phones."

It wasn't until about a week had gone by that he introduced himself.

"I'm Ray Grass," he said.

Kinda weird the way you meet your best friends in journalism.

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They were breaking the new guy in properly, is what they were doing. Messing with me. In basketball, the rookie carries the bags; in baseball, they send him to get the key to the pitcher's mound. On the sports desk, circa 1973, it involved writing everyone else's headlines and answering everyone else's phone calls while they went to the Pine Cone for breakfast.

They all took enjoyment in the ritual, but none more than Ray, who had added incentive because he was a graduate of the University of Utah and I came from Brigham Young University. At the time there were no other Cougars on the staff. I waded into a sea of Utes, and on a sports desk such things matter. I took more crap than a feedlot. Grass was relentless with his smack talk. I always knew it came from a double inferiority complex — from first attending South High (now defunct) and then the U. because he couldn't get into BYU.

Anyway, that's how we met, and bonded, you might say. In the world of sportswriters, there is no better way to form a lifelong friendship.