When I started as a Stranger intern years and years ago in 2000, there were two kinds of people: there were the nice, supportive people who tried to teach me the ways of the paper, understanding that I’m working for free so the least they could do was buy me lunch once in a while and make sure I learned something, and then there were those who just ignored me. I wasn’t their intern, I didn’t exist.

Brad Steinbacher was the first person to break the mold. Taking a bratty big brother role, he’d prey on my naive insecurities and flip me shit about missing a deadline by one minute. When he was film editor, he was the man who started the tradition of sending me to all the shitty movies. He nicknamed me Scooby, one time he kicked a hole in my desk, one time he broke promo CD I intended on listening to (while in its case!) with his bare hands, and he also went through a phase of pulling the hood of my hooded sweatshirt over my head and shutting it in my desk drawer. I’d have to flail my arms about for a few seconds, before I could set myself free.

The worst of it: I also used to have a little, cute, fuzzy lamb doll at my desk—some cheesy movie promo thing. Now, thanks to Mr. Steinbacher, it rests not on my computer monitor, but feet above my head, out of reach, on the dirty, dusty ledge above a vent in the office.

RIP, Lamby.

But with all the crap he’s put me through (lovingly, I’m sure), Brad was also one of the first people are The Stranger to be nice to me, sincerely, without following it up with the question “Do you have time to transcribe this tape for me?”

So thank you, Bradley Steinbacher, for flipping me shit all these years which consequently brought me out of my shell and made me feel at home at The Stranger. We’ll miss you.