I always imagined when this day came that something profound would take shape on the screen as I sat before the keyboard to convey some parting thoughts. Now that it’s here, I’m discovering how wrong I was.

I’d thought that surely if a guy spent nearly 50 years practicing the profession of journalism, the career would have left him uniquely qualified when leaving the office that final time to converse in the realm of “higher truths.”

I must confess to being somewhat surprised that in looking back over the years, the only “truths” I’m sure about hover not at some level of lofty dialogue, but right here at our fingertips in the sphere we call “down to earth.”

They are simple and easily recognized.

The first that came to mind as I tried to sort through an amalgam of experiences was that after all this time, the sum of what I don’t know far exceeds the sum of what I know, and that with the passing of years, that gap has widened.

The second was that no amount of awards or plaques can match the happiness or sense of satisfaction that are always there at times when the task at hand turns out well and the job becomes its own reward.

The third was that among all the rewards you might anticipate experiencing, there is none greater than the enrichment of your life that traces directly to the people you work with and those you encounter out in the world.

All simple, easily recognized truths.

I guess I’ve been taking stock over the last few months since deciding that today would be my “hanging it up” day, and I must say that of all the thoughts that go through one’s mind at a time like this, the most dominant among them for me is that I’ve been truly blessed.

I’ve had an opportunity to work at a craft I love. I’ve had the encouragement of management that always advocated the highest of journalistic standards. And I’ve worked with colleagues whose talent and dedication were an inspiration.

I was 16 years old that day in 1959 when I reported for my first day on my first job — my first job in the newspaper business — at The Ironton Tribune, still located then at Fourth and Railroad streets.

My first boss was the circulation manager, at that time a dapper, tobacco-chewing Irishman named Malone Gorman who ran a tight ship and demanded attention to detail. Gorman seemed to like me, a sentiment for which I was deeply grateful, and I had a deep respect for him.

A few years at The Tribune were followed by a stint at The Herald-Dispatch in Huntington, but since 1964 — for a period of nearly 45 years — home has been The Independent.

I’ve loved working here, of being part of the many changes down through the years that altered the way we produce our newspaper in the same way the entire industry was being changed — from the old era of hot lead and Linotypes to the new age of computer technology.

It has been a long time since this old Buckeye crossed the Ohio River, but the warmth of the way I was embraced both at The Independent and by the wonderful people of northeastern Kentucky is still there today.

I’ve had a good, long run, but in all things there is an ending and I’ve come to one of those endings today. My heartfelt appreciation goes out to all of you who have enriched my life beyond anything I could have imagined, as I mark this ending in the newspaper tradition of closing a story:

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