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It gives me pause to contemplate the fate of The Tribune, this venerable masthead and community beacon.

I recall that change is the only constant, as the Greek philosopher Heraclitus reminds us from centuries past.

I am compelled to acknowledge the important role The Tribune, which is up for sale, has played in our community's cultural fabric. It has established its own important editorial identity to the benefit of all.

A tragic personal story of mine, consequences of which garnered headlines in both Albuquerque newspapers, helps illustrate the depth of The Tribune's coverage.

One spring morning in the early Õ90s, I was living in Santa Fe and casually reading the morning Albuquerque Journal.

A small headline and news clip on Page 2 caught my eye: "Homeless woman murdered."

Instantly, without reading the story, I had an ominous feeling that the woman was Deborah Chittenden. She was a homeless woman whom I had come to know in Santa Fe during the previous winter through a chance encounter with her homeless boyfriend, Terry Cihocki.

Cihocki had panhandled me for some dog food at dusk one evening outside of a grocery store. His novel hook caught me. Instead of giving him money, I bought a bag of dog food for him and gave him a ride to a shell of a house near the Plaza where he was camped.

Little did I know, but the dog food and ride were my ticket into a bizarre though tragically routine odyssey in homeless America.

Two dogs and a passel of cats hungrily shredded the bag as I listened to an incredible and engaging version of Cihocki's life story, told by faltering candlelight in the trash-strewn house.

Over that frigid winter, I came to know the workings of several detox centers and homeless shelters. Cihocki taught me the merits of tough love and the Samaritan's prayer. There were times when I expected to find he had frozen to death.

Cihocki was in his early 30s at the time but looked as as though he could be in his late '60s. He was toothless and decrepit from years of severe alcohol abuse.

I saw glimpses of Cihocki's remarkable brilliance and fleeting resolve in his sporadic moments of sobriety. Sober, he could recite Shakespeare and a list of philosophers. Indeed, despite his obvious challenges, I came to respect him.

During our brief friendship, Cihocki earned his GED at Northern New Mexico Community College in Espa¤ola. School officials said he scored higher than anyone ever to take the test there. Amazingly, he was preparing, at my suggestion, to be a substance abuse counselor through course work at the college.

Soon after meeting Terry, I met Chittenden, a husky woman in her late '20s and a Santa Fe native. The derelict house was hers through a legally entangled family inheritance.

Chittenden gave me a drawing she drew once while she was in jail. The picture depicted the evolution of a human from the swamp, figure by crude figure, to a woman riding a horse in a yard with a picket fence. I still have it.

In spare detail, the Journal snippet confirmed that Chittenden was the slain woman.

Later that day, I came upon a newsstand copy of The Trib: "WOMAN KILLED FOR A SMOKE."

The bold headline jumped at me. I knew instantly the story was about Chittenden. Homeless or not, her death was noticed and reported.

The Trib devoted most of the front cover above the fold and half a page inside to telling Albuquerque how this senseless tragedy happened.

That deadly evening, as the story was told in The Trib, they were sitting in the alley drinking and smoking. Two homeless men walked up and shared their booze with the couple.

One of the men asked for one of Chittenden's cigarettes. She stubbornly refused to give him one. Cigarettes are strong currency in the homeless world, more valuable than gold at times. Chittenden was several six-packs into her stupor and less than cordial.

Shunned, the man went berserk, the story reported, and grabbed Cihocki's aluminum walking cane and beat Chittenden to death with it on the spot, as simple and violent as that.

Cihocki was too drunk and crippled to come to her aid. He was beaten, as well, but survived to share the details with the police.

Now you have the rest of this tragic story, human to human, something The Trib is great at providing our city on the weighty side of the news.

Whether I am here for the end, or the beginning of another Tribune chapter, I am humbled to have written for you on these pages. Thank you for reading us all these years.

Happy holidays!