Published April 16, 2008

Once a legislator told me that because I write, I'd never die. I understand his point, but I don't especially agree. Anyone can write. In fact, writing is something most people have to do on most days. So being able to write doesn't make you immortal; it's what you do with those words that can make you everlasting.

This is why I can never call Andrew Harris, the former news editor of The Shreveport Sun, simply a writer. Yes, it's true, writing is what he did — incredibly well — but he was much more than a writer.
His words — and actions — will forever have a lasting impact on us. Mr. Harris died recently. And although he won't be around to tell me that he paved the way for me to write columns in The Times, it's only fitting that I take advantage of one of the opportunities he left for me to sing his praise.

Mr. Harris wasn't perfect and though not everyone loved him, I did. As my editor, he taught me a number of things; as my friend and mentor, he taught me so much more. He'd tell me things about himself; some of those things were flattering, others not so much. But at the end of every story, I learned even more about the power and value of will and determination.

Of course, unless he was telling me how he was such a wonderful singer, he taught me about delusion of grandeur too.

To say that he'll be missed is a gross understatement. To say that he left us with a void isn't correct either. It is my belief that it is impossible to leave a void when you've left his kind of legacy. He made a difference, a positive difference, in the lives of countless people.

Because of him, the world is a better place.

He left us with treasures of life lessons, endearing stories, opened doors, inside jokes and memories of his infectious body-shaking laugh.

He left us with enough to fill any void, eventually.