Growing up in Michigan in the seventies and eighties, I remember Mitch. Not that it makes me cool or anything. I don’t actually know him; I just remember him. He wrote a sports column for the local paper and then a human interest column. I distinctly remember his face each Sunday morning. I read every word he wrote, even then. I never aspired to be a writer, heck, I still don’t. But, if I had to name an early influence I would have to include the name Mitch Albom on that list.

Wikipedia and I don’t agree on the exact facts (big surprise there) but my hazy adolescent memory remembers a nasty, drawn-out strike (as in a year or two) and then a joint operating agreement between the Detroit Free Press and the Detroit News. Albom didn’t cross the picket lines. Instead he tried his hand at local newscasting and he wrote a little book. You may have heard of it? Tuesdays With Morrie.

In a round about way, that newspaper strike helped so many thousands of people deal with death and mourning and, for that matter, living. You see, had Mitch Albom not been forced out of a job he loved, writing about Michigan sports, he may never have taken the time to sit down and write his NY Times bestseller. Sure, the whole meeting Oprah and getting on her must-read list helped but the book is so spiritually moving in its simplicity. It would have been on that list without her help.

I loved every word on every page and so will you. If you haven’t had the pleasure, go get a copy today. If you have, read it again. In fact, that is the ultimate compliment from me. I do not keep books, nor do I read them a second time. I make an exception for Mitch.