Remembering the man who created my career.

On the last days of my sophomore year at Missouri, the job situation was bleak. As a freshman, I had defied expectations and landed a fantastic yet grueling internship at the Birmingham Post-Herald. Unfortunately, this left me cocky in my internship hunt for the next summer. I only applied at larger daily newspapers, none of which seemed to be biting. Time was running out.

So I called New Directions for News, a think tank based at the Missouri School of Journalism. The man who answered was Rich Somerville, who invited me to come by "and see if we like each other." Instead of talking about my anemic resume or my qualifications to be a research assistant, we simply chatted about where journalism was headed. I was struck that such a veteran of the industry was treating a long-haired 19-year-old as a peer and truly listening to what I had to say.

It was the first of countless conversations I had with Rich, who hired me on the spot and soon became not only my summer employer but also my professional mentor and close friend. We would work together at four very different places over the next decade, and each time, Rich would be a constant source of inspiration and guidance.

Rich died of a heart attack a week ago at his home in Eureka, Calif. He was only 61.

I've always had a hard time explaining Rich's role in my life, because it surely must have been a rare relationship. In college, I lacked the initiative or obsequiousness to cultivate a professor as a mentor. In fact, I doubt more than one or two professors would even remember me by name. But Rich was always up for getting a cup of coffee and talking about the industry's future, along with more practical issues like my quest for employment.

Senior year, I was managing editor of The Maneater student paper when we decided to depose our longtime faculty adviser. I convinced Rich to step in, and he quickly proved a perfect example of what an adviser for the independent newspaper could be -- hands-off, but motivational and accessible.

Finishing his doctoral work (but, sadly, never his dissertation), Rich moved on after that year. So did I, becoming a reporter at The Journal Gazette in Fort Wayne, Ind. Three years later, as I was considering my next career move, Rich persuaded me to move all the way to Northern California and become city editor at The Union newspaper, where he was editor.

What followed were several rewarding, often-challenging years of working with Rich to grow readership at an established community paper. While innovative and passionate, Rich would be the first to admit he had his weak spots. His emotional connection to the work was known to spark a few outbursts and create friction with some longtime staffers. But those of us who stuck with Rich learned a great deal about where journalism was headed -- and what obstacles might keep the newspaper industry from getting there.

After a few more years, Rich left the paper. He was frustrated with the industry but also hopeful, so he started a newspaper consulting firm called Media Foresight Associates. For a while, Rich was the sole employee and had good success with his first round of clients. In fact, the consulting proved so fruitful, he hired me to join the firm in late 2005. I had moved back to Alabama and was trying to decide on my next career move.

Consulting alongside Rich was enjoyable and rewarding, mainly because his stress level was so much lower than during his years in newspapers. But before I could work with him for very long, I was hired to my current job as a copywriter. (I feared calling Rich to tell him I was going into advertising. His response, one of my favorite Rich moments, was: "At least it's not PR.")

Soon after, Rich was convinced by media mogul Dean Singleton to take the helm of the Times-Standard newspaper in Eureka, Calif. A bit hesitant to give up the relative ease of his consulting gig, Rich was finally won over by his own competitive spirit and love for community journalism. He had simply missed it too much to say no.

We kept up, of course, exchanging e-mails and having occasional phone conversations about his progress. A few weeks ago, we even talked by e-mail about his hopes of hiring a photographer friend of mine. So it was obviously a sudden blow to find out about his death on Monday of last week. It's painful on levels that I think will only be shown over time, as I find myself wishing I could call him to ask for advice or gossip about media infighting.

Working with Rich's brother, I'm excited to say that we've created The Richard Somerville Memorial Scholarship at the Missouri School of Journalism. We've set a daunting goal -- a $25,000 minimum is required to make it an endowed scholarship -- but even that ambitious of a task is less than I owe Rich for his time, his support and his friendship. The world is a poorer place without Rich in it, and although he boosted my confidence and skills to new levels, his death still leaves me with a void that no one else could ever fill.