My friend Steve

If this column were a novel, I’d dedicate it to Steve Biondo.
I was saddened to learn that my former colleague in the Laurens County press corps died Jan. 22 after a battle with respiratory problems. Steve was a great talent and – people say it all the time – “just the nicest guy you’d ever want to meet.”
During my five years on the beat with The Clinton Chronicle, I had the unfortunate opportunity to spend a lot of time with Biondo. It was unfortunate only because I think we both would rather have been somewhere other than a government meeting, waiting for an executive session to end, or a new business ribbon cutting, waiting for the giant golden shears to arrive. But it was during this downtime on the job that Steve and I got a chance to know each other.
Mostly, it was just chitchat. “How about this weather?” “How’s the family?” “Any big plans for the weekend?” And he was a good person to chitchat with.
Then one post-Oscar ceremony Monday morning we discovered each other to be film buffs and that opened up a whole new world of conversation while we waited for Jim Coleman or Randy Randall to pound the gavel.
This type of collegiality isn’t necessarily rare in the cutthroat, competitive journalism market that is Laurens County, but sometimes when you think you’re the only guy who’s getting the story and you see one of your competitors show up for the same interview, you can get a little miffed. With Steve, there was never any competitive posturing. He was glad to see me and I was glad to see him.
Early on in my tenure at The Chronicle I was introduced to the type of guy Steve Biondo was. We had both been summoned early one morning to Torrington because then Gov. Jim Hodges was going to tour the facility and talk to a group of employees about job training and troubles in the state’s economy. It was going to be exciting. I had never covered a governor’s visit before.
When we arrived, we were told by the genius Torrington gatekeepers that we wouldn’t be allowed in to see the governor. So, we sat there for a long time waiting. I was mad. “My Dad works here and you’re not going to let us in? What about the First Amendment?”
Steve just chuckled.
Finally, the governor emerged from his secret meeting and I got a couple quick and bogus quotes from him about something. In my haste, I forgot to snap a photo of him for that thing we publish called a newspaper. It was a mistake and Daddy Franklin put me on punishment for it. It was a bad, bad feeling.
A couple of days later, I saw Steve at another meeting. He handed me a photograph he took of me grilling the governor outside of Torrington with my notepad in one hand and a camera (with lens cap on) in the other. “I thought you might like to have this,” he said.
I didn’t want it at the time. It was a permanent, full color record of one of my dumbest moments on the job, but I was glad that Steve would think to give it to me. My wife put in a scrapbook.
Later in our careers, Steve published two historical fiction novels he wrote about South Carolina Civil War legend Manse Jolly. I was proud of him and genuinely inspired. If Steve, who covered all the same meetings I covered, was able to find the time to write a book, then why couldn’t I? There were days, I’m sure, that Steve and I spent more time together as reporters for rival newspapers than we did with our families, but if he ever complained, I didn’t hear him.
This is what I’ll remember him for, and this Sunday, I’ll watch the Academy Award winners say their thank-yous at the Oscars and I’ll think about how thankful I am that I go to know Steve Biondo.