As I cleaned out Alvin Taylor's desk in the newsroom this week, I took one of his old business cards from a box I found there. I taped it to my computer stand. Some times are so deceptively hard that you just have to take whatever life leaves behind for you.

Alvin died last Monday evening. A friend who was with him in the hospital said he stopped breathing about 10 minutes to 7. I would have been finishing up supper, getting ready to move on toward another Tuesday. I certainly did not anticipate then how different that next day and those following would feel.

Alvin had been the managing editor here for many years when I arrived a little more than 17 years ago. He had been writing stories, editorials and columns, hiring reporters and winning press awards long before I ever had a thought about journalism.

But by this time he was moving into retirement and I was moving into his position. I approached the job with a familiar trepidation: How would the veteran react to the new kid. For me, this relationship — this face-off between old editor and new — would be among the most crucial I ever would face. If he didn't like me, didn't respect me, didn't help me... .

But I also could not have anticipated that I was soon to meet Alvin Taylor. Who could have even hoped that as you arrived at your most important professional milepost, your fellow traveler and one of those who would hand over the reins to the rest of your life would turn out to be the nicest man you had ever met?

Since that day and until this past Monday I have had the great good fortune of sharing work space with Alvin. His absence these past weeks has shown me in ways average days never can what it means to have someone special in your midst. I could never have imagined that day I came to this newsroom with fear and trembling that I would have found in the editor's chair such a welcoming voice, such a reassuring demeanor, such a gentle soul.

From that day I have gone about this job with the assurance that if I did the right thing, I would be praised; if not, I might be so gently advised. From that first moment I knew I would not have to walk in doubt, at least not where my predecessor was concerned. I knew he only wished me success, because if I succeeded so did The Daily Reflector, so did his community. So did he.

Alvin's old desk is clear now. His calendar is gone, the shards of paper on which he scribbled notes on how to work the computer are thrown out. The clippings, the road maps, the old photos, the pair of black glasses — stacked, boxed, taken out, put away.

Except for his card. Each time I look at it from now on I'll remember those first days here and how fortunate I was to have known him and worked with him. As I have pushed my way through a difficult week I have thought a lot about what might have happened to me had Alvin Taylor not been the person he was.

At the long week's end, with more thanks than I can ever say, that's something I'll never have to know.