“So?” I asked one of the editors in the San Diego Union sports department.

“No, say-ow,” he corrected me.

This was in the 1980s, when I was a relative newbie in Southern California, and still working the twang out of my accent. I was asking about the proper way to pronounce “Seau,” the last name of that linebacker phenom at Oceanside High. Understand that even then, Southern California was quite the melting pot, and that the north part of San Diego County was home to a large contingent of Samoans. And who says men don’t ask for directions?

It was my first and only real contact with the fellow who went on to stardom with USC and later was the soul of the only San Diego Chargers team to reach a Super Bowl. But those types of contacts are the ones I remember the most, kind of like those junior golf stories the San Diego paper would run about golf phenom Phil Mickelson during the same era.

So the news Wednesday really hit home, when I read that Seau apparently had shot himself to death in that same Oceanside community where he rose to fame.

 (Updated May 4: The death has been ruled a suicide.)

To a lesser extent, it raised some eyebrows when I heard this week that the son in law of a family friend died in his 40s of a heart attack. The son in law was a former University of Alabama football player.

And of course, my own father, a former college football player, never made it to age 50 before being taken out by cardiac arrest.

I’m not all-knowing, but such things aren’t normal. You have to be a good athlete to get a college football scholarship, but something has to be wrong for someone not to live to age 50. In these cases, there was no traffic accident, terrorist attack, or other cause inflicted from outside.

You’re not going to get an answer here, but you’re going to get some thoughts.

John Elway had a long NFL career, but he didn’t have to butt heads on every play with 250 pounders. You gotta have guys to clear the way for the stars, but after the glory goes, those grunts don’t get any endorsements. The spear carriers still have to fend for themselves in the real world.

That’s why it was so difficult to hear about Seau. He was a cut above the usual banger. He was able to leave USC after just two years to join the NFL. A 245-pounder with speed, he was a celebrity in San Diego, a provincial area that loves its local sports teams. Understand that the Chargers paved the way in that area; the team dates to the early days of the old AFL. If there had been no Chargers, there would have been no Padres.

Seau had a huge restaurant in Mission Valley, the heart of the city, during his glory days, and it was indeed a cool place. There were all those “Say Ow” souvenirs. Also, he tweaked the Chargers by holding his “retirement” announcement there instead of at Chargers HQ when he was not completely satisfied with the situation. As emphasis, he later turned up with the New England Patriots.

So there was plenty of money in those days, but the aches and pains of playing days sometimes never go away.

Know that I still am grappling for reasons why such a thing happened.

So RIP, Junior Seau. And all you others. You made it look easy. Obviously, easier than it really was.

Beach Boys at University of Georgia, 1970s. From left, Dennis Wilson, Alan Jardine, Carl Wilson. (Courtesy: Pandora/UGA.)

Birmingham was more about racism in those days, not surfing. But one of the fondest childhood memories I have was lugging my most unwilling father to the WVOK Shower of Stars at the downtown auditorium to hear the Beach Boys.

Yes, the dudes from California even penetrated the same state as Bear Bryant. Up the street, one of my friends used to leave the record arm up when he played the 45-rpm version of “California  Girls.” Obviously, I was brainwashed.

The Golden Gate Bridge, San Francisco. Taken in November 2010 during a Patch.com conference.

Many of you know that I just had a birthday, and I loved all the wishes I got on Facebook and elsewhere. Since my previous birthday, my life has changed quite a bit, due largely to professional reasons. So I could not help but air out some thoughts that have piled up since then.

Harry Graham, back in the day. (Photo courtesy of http://www.ocregister.com)

Everybody can write this about somebody. So I guess I’ll write this about Harry Graham.

He sat across from me in the publisher’s conference room at The Orange County Register in 2000, just as the Internet was gathering steam and before much of the world had learned of Osama bin Laden.

Last time I checked, they haven’t taken down Lindbergh’s plane at the Smithsonian, and the Mona Lisa is still on display at the Louvre in Paris. So maybe there’s hope for memorabilia and history that goes with the Allman Brothers Band and other musicians who contributed to Georgia’s rich history.

Crossing the Los Angeles Marathon finish line, 1991

Quoting Sgt. Pepper: “It was 20 years ago today …”

It has been called the ultimate athletic achievement, and it certainly was mine.

I’ve never forgotten running the Los Angeles Marathon, but it was another wake up call this week when the runners traversed Los Angeles streets. Yes, it was 20 years ago when I started and finished my only effort at the 26.2-mile distance.

A couple of colorful Packers and Broncos fans patrol downtown San Diego during Super Bowl weekend, 1998.

John Elway was seeking his first Super Bowl win, near the end of his career at age 37. Brett Favre had yet to retire, or un-retire. Terrell Davis was the league’s top running back.

Such was the scene for Super Bowl 32 in San Diego in early 1998. This weekend brings back those memories, and again shows how fast life moves.

"Lou" Christenbury of the Boston Braves in the 1920s.

The digital world is taking over everything these days, it seems. Kindles are at office-supply stores, and you can buy an iPad at Walmart, along with your toilet paper and hunting gear.

It’s evolution. A recent New York Times story showed how the tradition-infatuated world of Major League Baseball is adapting. That sport is particularly fond of statistics and nostalgia, so it was fascinating to see how the record-keepers are digitizing the game’s history. (Does this mean we’ll be able to recall Roseanne Barr’s forgettable rendition of the national anthem in San Diego in 1990, during which she rubbed her crotch and spat afterwards in a backfiring attempt at baseball humor?)

A portion of San Francisco skyline from my hotel, November 2010

Not being a parent, I’m not sure whether people still put locks of hair into baby books. But there are ways to commemorate special moments.

Thursday (12/23/2010), Suwanee Patch became a living, breathing Web site. Like other Patch sites, it’s all about community. (Can we bury the word “hyperlocal,” by the way, alongside “cyberspace” and “information superhighway”?) But this is different.

At Fisherman's Wharf, San Francisco, with Alcatraz in the background

Before long, the social media grid will be overrun with holiday stories and year-enders. So I’m getting ahead of all that.

And gotta say that 2010 was one special year. There was a lot of fun and personal recognition. Thankfully, I recorded some of it digitally. And I want to note five highlights.