"Hey, where you at?" That was the way every conversation with Vaughn McClure started.
It was always his first question to me, and it became mine to him. The last time he called, a few weeks ago, his name popped up. "Hey, where you at?" I said.
"Where YOU at?" he replied. 1/x

He wanted me to read something of his. He always wanted to get better. I loved that about him. The last email string started, "Thanks for reading JB. A couple things. Please let me know if you think the opening is too long. Also, I’m scheduled to talk to ..." He laid it out. 2/x

We worked together at the @fresnobee. I was the columnist. He covered Fresno State basketball. You get to know someone really well when you travel a lot together. But one thing sticks out -- a lunch in Fresno with my toddler. Vaughn loved Joe. 3/x

"How's little man?" That was part of every conversation since. Joe's 18 and has a vague recollection of Vaughn. But Vaughn asked about him every single time. How's little man? 4/x

I don't know anyone who had a rougher go than Vaughn. In a short span, he lost siblings, his mom, recently his father. So many close to him died, often young. Heartbreaking. He kept moving. Fresno, Chicago to be close to home, then Atlanta to cover the Falcons for ESPN. 5/x

He had a fear of bridges. It was one of his charming quirks. He once was in SF or San Jose and wanted to visit me in Marin County. How many bridges to get to you? he asked. Just the Golden Gate Bridge, I said. He thought for a second. How long would it take to go around? 6/x

I just looked for the last words from him. "You're my guy. I really, really appreciate it." That was the other thing he always said, at the end of every conversation: You're my guy.
Where you at? How's little man? You're my guy.
I'll hear those three-word lines forever. 7/x

I got a call this morning that Vaughn died suddenly. It hit hard, as hard as anything in a long while, maybe the cumulative effect of 2020. He was 48. My heart aches for all those who knew Vaughn well. 8/x

But it mostly aches for Vaughn. He had talent and personality. He had an endearing mix of humility and courage that led him to ask for help. He wanted to get better even though he worked at the top levels of our weird little business. I hate that his drive was snuffed out. 9/x

Those of us who knew Vaughn will never forget him. He left an impression. A positive one. I hope he knew that.
It's all I can do not to call him, to hope that somehow he'll answer.
I just want to ask him, one last time: Where you at?
Peace, Vaughn. You deserve it.
/end