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The thing I liked most about being a newspaper reporter was the interaction with people the job required. In many ways, I can be a shy and sometimes timid person in the presence of strangers, but with a notebook in hand and a reason for approaching someone to speak with them, I found myself more confident. It was easier to break the ice when I had a job to do.

As a news reporter in the local community, naturally, I met local folks, town officials, everyday citizens. When I became a sports writer, I met many of the same people, only they were high school students on the varsity or their parents or siblings. While standing in the cold on a high school football sideline charting the progress of a game, I'd imagine the day I sat in the press box at the Meadowlands, or perhaps Shea Stadium. I've been to both places -- on a one-time basis for different stories -- and I continued to meet local folks around the Jersey Shore.

Then minor-league baseball came to Lakewood and I found myself stopping the general manager of the Phillies as he walked out of the team's clubhouse. I met the governor of New Jersey and Davy Jones and various baseball figures, some legendary and some impressive to me because I had their baseball cards when I was in seventh grade. With few exceptions, I've kept my work separate from my admiration. I might slip a little smalltalk into the interview or compliment the celebrity on his or her style or career. I've asked for autographs only twice -- once with CBS sports reporter, New Jersey native and Mets fan Bonnie Bernstein and once with 1997 World Series hero and Notre Dame graduate Craig Counsell. At first, I regretted not having a tangible signature to walk away with to validate the encounter and display on the wall of my then-nonexistent study to provide fodder for conversation for years to come. But then I became happy with the experience in itself. Why did I need an illegible scrawl on a lined piece of notebook paper or a signed page from Sports Illustrated to prove that I'd actually shook hands with someone who's been on national TV and, in the right circles, would need no further introduction than a first and last name? I had quotes, comments, one-liners said only to me (in many cases) and jotted hastily in my notebook. I had a published article with my name beneath the headline proving -- he, I was no Jayson Blair -- that I was there.

In some cases, however, I have more than just the mental image and a memory of the meeting, particularly when I was covering the BlueClaws in Lakewood. Thanks to the team's ever-present team photographer (and now a good friend who loves baseball as much as I do), I have photographs.

So when I heard the news this morning that former Mets and Phillies pitcher Tug McGraw died last night from brain cancer at 59, I thought of when I talked with him in the press box at Lakewood. It was the team's second home game, I believe, on a cold April night. He had spent several innings at a table on the concourse signing autographs for all the Phillies and Mets fans who remembered him from the 1969 Mets World Championship time, or the 1973 National League champs -- for which he coined the rally cry "Ya Gotta Believe!" -- or the 1980 Phillies World Champions. There were probably a few country music fans there too, excited at meeting the father to Tim McGraw, father-in-law to Faith Hill.

After signing autographs, Tug was led up to the press box on his tour of the stadium. Wearing a blue Lakewood BlueClaws cap, he graciously chatted baseball with me and another reporter. When Dave stepped back to take a picture, Tug obliged, then turned to me while speaking to the half-dozen people in the room.

"Do you know why photographers are like hookers?" he asked. "Because they get paid by the roll."

In listening to former Mets outfielder Ron Swoboda on WFAN in New York this morning, and in reading the various articles in newspapers and on websites today, I thought back to that joke several times. I met Tug McGraw for no more than 15 minutes, yet in that quarter-hour, I truly met Tug McGraw. I got to see the fun-loving, baseball-loving, life-loving guy that his teammates and family remember him as today.