Chuck and my grandfather had similar personalities - my grandfather a World War II veteran, Chuck a news veteran. Both acted tough on the outside, but were sweet teddy bears on the inside. As my life progressed, both took care of me in their own ways.

Some people were a little wary of Chuck, but I was drawn to him. I liked his aggressiveness and his gruffness; in that respect, he reminded me a lot of my grandpa. At first, when I started WHAS, I was nervous because Chuck rarely wrote in the news scripts. So I never knew if I would actually have something that would appear on my 6 o'clock newscasts. So, I knew I had to get to know this man for fear that I may have this big two-minute black hole on air. Over the next three years, not only did I get to know Chuck Olmstead, but he became more than a coworker. He was a mentor and a best friend. At work, people would say "I spoke Olmstead" and whenever they needed something explained to Chuck or needed me to find him, I was on the job. So I am going to speak some Olmstead here ― sharing with you ― what I learned from a man that I was blessed to know, along with some memories of Chuck that have helped me find some peace with his passing. I also invite you to add your stories, as I know I am just one of hundreds that he knew and touched.

Go after what you want.

I am starting with this because this is the last thing Chuck said to me outside of the news station, right by the Crusade for Children walk. He told me to take all emotion out of things and to go after what I wanted. Chuck wouldn't just take a story or what was said to him because someone said it. He made the story his own. Chuck followed no one; he did it the Olmstead way.

If You Do It, Do It With Pizzazz.

The Olmstead way I am talking about is with Pizzazz. Chuck and I produced many segments in my newscasts called Crimetracker. We would have a good time with these stories. Sometimes, we would spend more than one hour just blocking his turns and twists through the newsroom ― how he was going to bring viewers the harder edge of this story. It was fun and sharp. It was like a dance, and Chuck and I blocked it like actors block for the theatre. As a producer, my first thought was, 'I don't have an hour to do this,' but I quickly gave that up. It was great. I did it, audio got involved, and we strung cable. Chuck came to you live from edit bays, walking and talking through the newsroom, through our tape rooms and ― my concerns wiped away in the moment ― working with Chuck in those newscasts turned into a happy memory.

Chuck's style, however, went beyond his walk and talk. It was in his voice and in his writing. When Olmstead talked, everyone listened. One time I needed him to check a headline and went looking for him. He was in the audio booth. I told him I'd come back and he told me he would just be a second. When Chuck was on air, there was rhythm to his reports, almost like a song with a good drum bass. When he voiced his story, he tapped his foot, he bobbed his head. It was beautiful, really. It was like he metamorphosized into a musician; no matter what story he was doing ― it wouldn't have mattered if it was on gas prices to meth arrest ― the story flowed out of him. When I heard him voice on this day, I got goose bumps in the booth. I told him this, "look at my arms!" ― teasing him. He shook off the compliment. That was Chuck. His script writing was the same way. He was a hell of a writer and he had an almost staccato style that with his voice drew you into the television.

Be Still.

No matter how crazy the day was, Chuck had stillness about him. I knew Chuck the last three years and he was always in control. I am almost 32 years old and have been running around stations since I was 17. Believe me, this stillness isn't true of all reporters I have been around. In the stillness, Chuck heard it. If I was worried about a story or wondered why Chuck wasn't out hustling, I shouldn't have been. By news time, Chuck had it. This taught me a lesson in my life: Through the stillness you find the answers.

Getting caught up in the white noise and the news scanners of life -- being busy -- doesn't mean you'll get it done quicker or find the answer. This was one part of Chuck's personality, but not all the traits that made Chuck, who I nicknamed Chuckles, about a year after being at the station because of his personality. (A director thought I might end up dead after calling Chuck that nickname the first time he heard me say it in his ear when he was out live, but he didn't care -- that was part of his sweetness.)

Be Humble and Genuine.

Chuck was genuine. He never acted like a star or like he was on air. If you saw Chuck when he wasn't working, he would look like any other person you'd pass in the grocery store. On winter weekends, he'd wear a stocking cap, light jeans and a turtleneck. In news, deadlines creep up and if I thought we weren't going to make it, he'd say, "Hey, baby, don't' worry. It'll be there." After my newscast, if he was out live he'd say "How'd that work for ya?" The veteran who had been at the station longer than I'd been alive was asking me?

In this industry, many reporters don't help producers with headlines or teases. They worry about their story first and what you need comes second or not at all. Chuck would write the promotion for you or give you his raw tape, so you could pull sound before he even looked at it. Chuck was a good guy that cared.

I worked one weekend and he said "Hey kid, come out to my car." He gave me a computer monitor. He gave me Kentucky Kingdom tickets that his grandchild couldn't use because she wasn't old enough. When the windstorm hit my Mom's house, thieves ripped out copper on my family's rental property. when we needed work redone there, you know who helped me: Olmstead. Chuck cared about people as people. They didn't have to be stars or officials and that's what made him special. He was a peach, even though he loved orange slices. We'll get there.

The Power of Candy.

The power of the sweets ― I never knew it before I knew Olmstead. He would bring me treats during plane crashes, homicides and fatal accidents, and it always made me feel better. He knew what he was doing when he married a woman named by this treats name, as he loved the sweets like he loved her. Like my grandfather, he loved his orange slices, circus peanuts and mints. So, how much did Olmstead like orange slices, let me tell you. Enough to jokingly set up me and the 5:30 producer, Katie Danner. Anchor Renee Murphy shared Chuck's love for the orange slice taste. She had some in her desk and Renee sits right across from me. Chuck ate her bag of orange slices and saved one slice. He then asked me if he could borrow a sheet paper and a black sharpy. I had no idea why and because it was Chuck, of course I gave it to him. Chuck wrote a note saying that Katie and I ate all the orange slices. What a jokester!

On the fast food side, he enjoyed his white castles. For his birthday last year, I brought him a German pastry called a coucou. It was my grandfather's favorite. My grandfather died when I was in college and I felt protected a lot by Chuck, just like I did by my grandfather. You knew nothing would get by either one of them. One time he had me call someone for him on a story and he felt like they didn't' treat me right when I called. He was doing a story at noon and switching stories afterward and he called and complained to them about their tone.

Derby was Chuck's time. He shined. When he offered to take me to the backside before my shift, I felt like he offered me a winning lottery ticket during Christmas.

Have Humor: Chuckle

Chuck told me he covered something like 68 out of 71 homicides one year. Yet, he kept his sanity and was one of the funniest men I will ever know. Here are some of my Olmstead moments.

I brought my two Boston Terriers into the newsroom. A girl and boy Boston. He said "Oh, I see you brought a new producer and reporter in." He then told my dogs where they could go to the bathroom, in the future, because of whom he didn't like.

When we were both called in on a weekend and we broke that Bobby Petrino was leaving U of L, it was during a "Desperate Housewives" season premiere. Imagine calling the station to complain about cut-ins and hearing Chuck Olmstead's deep, Boston-accented voice. When he answered the calls he always said the same thing ― that he would be sure to help. He transferred all the complaints to his favorite news manager at the time.

Chuck's news stories would go 30 seconds or 2 minutes and 30 seconds. The average news package is a minute 30. When he would want more time, he would come over and massage my shoulders and say, "Hey, baby." I knew he was up to something.

When I thought of a story idea on the weekend or called him to tell him the network had picked up one of his stories, he'd say they don't pay you to think about work on the weekend. Now go do something fun.

Chuck always talked about taking a lunch. I doubt he always got one. In a newsroom, we don't have a lot of time, so many of us work through lunches for months on end.
So, when Olmstead walked through the newsroom and someone would ask how his story was coming, he'd just grunt and say I'm going to lunch or I'm going to Walgreens to get candy. Whether he was or not, he was getting his break. It's an important lesson that I'm going to try to follow through on, even if just for 15 minutes.

Times changed, but never sweet Chuck. He is steadfast. We went through several different graphic changes at WHAS-11. Chuck's style, though remained intact. Chuck would put in our computer the same graphic fonts from three years ago. It would cause my computer to turn red and send alerts to all the newsroom computers. I felt like there was about to be a computer explosion! The positive thing when this happened: You knew Olmstead was writing a script in your computer! He finally just started giving me people's business cards to put name fonts in. He wasn't going to learn the 700th graphic system in 30 years.

The hardest thing with Chuck's passing is that I see him all around the newsroom. . . getting tea, stirring his hot cocoa, in his hat, in his pink tie, pink and lavender shirts, with his Marlboro red cigarettes. I see him pacing on his cell phone. I see him along the Crusade walk, outside the back, along the monitors, using the thick black Sharpie markers, writing in his large circular hand-writing ― the same markers I have written with for the past three years because he wrote with them. I hear him yipping in my head about the morning meetings and about how ― if we wanted to send him live ― we couldn't go live from Bullitt County, and the only place we can go live at Fort Knox is at the Patton Museum.

Every day I come in, I look at his desk. I see him bent over. His sleeves rolled up. His head tilted down. His copper bracelet on his left wrist, answering the phones, with his long nails that were much nicer than mine. I hear his old voicemail, telling me to leave a message in my best broadcasting voice. I see him in his long green coat during the winter, his white suits during the Churchill Downs Derby coverage. I see him dancing at the Derby Gala parties with Candy, putting all the 20-something couples to shame. When I drive into work, I see his car ironically backed into a WHAS-11 visitor's parking spot. Chuck in his black-brimmed hat and his leather coat. The coat he used to give me hugs in that felt like hugging a warm electric blanket. A hug that felt familiar, safe, like you were protected from a close family member. I see him walking and talking live throughout all our newscasts.

He is imprinted all over the station and my life. He wasn't a minute-thirty that I put in my newscast to fill. He was a friend.

What I have learned is that amongst all of the stories, the news and the buzz is to take the moment to eat the circus peanuts and to stir the hot cocoa. You hear these types of life stories all the time, but I had no idea three weeks ago, I'd be losing a best friend. Another plane crash, fatal accident and homicide will come, but not another Olmstead. I am learning to keep what he taught me in my mind and my heart and to use it to live my life.

"Hey baby in Heaven. I love you, Olmstead." I know you are in a better place. I'm praying for us down here without you. You were a great Mentor and Friend. God Bless You and Your Family.

On a side note:

While growing up, I'd always heard of namesakes. For some reason, I don't think that Jim, the name my grandfather went by during the war, would work for a baby girl. When I do have a daughter, I think I'll name her Charli, after you, Chuck. This way, you'll always be close to me. For some reason, I want a "feisty female Chuck," always nearby to remind me of how good you were to me. I hope you and my grandfather get to meet in heaven. Thank you both for keeping an eye over me.