There are three strange and wonderful men I credit (and you can blame) for my career in journalism, and specifically at The Baltimore Sun: John Mick, my high school journalism advisor; Tom Horton, who throughout my teenage years regaled me with wild tales of life in and outside the newsroom; and John McIntyre, the man who hired me not once, but twice, as a college intern in 2003 and then as a full-fledged copy editor in 2006.

Without a doubt, of those three, John McIntyre is the strangest and most wonderful of them all.

Meeting McIntyre is always an experience, especially if it's right before the three-hour written test every copy editor has to pass, with sections on both editing and general knowlege. (Sometimes I forget what the definition of an ice floe is, or find myself unable to name three modern composers off the top of my head, and thank every god I've ever heard of that I never have to take that test again.)

This is a man who wore a bow tie to the newsroom on a regular basis. Who scootered around the office delivering pronouncements and sometimes a big rubber chicken. Who had a plastic foot wedged between his desk and the wall, just in case you weren't nervous enough when blindly entering his office.

This is a man who, as far as I can tell, was devoted especially to three things in life: his family, good Kentucky bourbon and making sure, every day, that The Sun's readers were greeted with clear and concise stories, which answered their questions, addressed their concerns and fired up their minds about the world around them.

He was a public servant and a great boss, and after nearly 23 years in this newsroom, yesterday was his last day at this organization.

Thank you for everything, boss. I hope to get word about your new blog to share your collected wit, wisdom and weirdness very soon.