Almost exactly one week ago, one of my favorite people in the media business was murdered. He was shot repeatedly in front of his three-year-old child.
His name is Steven McIntosh, and I posted a blog about him on Jan. 28th. If you scroll down, you'll find his photo and why I find the work that he was doing on behalf of the whole television industry so important.
The account of Steve's death is disturbing even if you never met him. But part of the shock for me has to do with how deeply his death hit me, because I'd grown so fond of him in such a short span of time. How many phone conversations did we have? Maybe five. How many e-mails did we exchange? Around 20. How many times did I meet him face to face? Zero.
So how did he do it? Why is it that my heart is so shattered when I never even spoke with the bloke until late last year -- less than six months ago?