Almost 14 years ago to the day, I was standing in the Fellowship Hall of First Presbyterian Church, nursing a cup of coffee and a bruised ego.

I had just moved to town to take a job at the Times, temporarily leaving my wife and two kids in South Carolina. I was living in an apartment for the first time in 15 years, and living alone for the first time in 19 years.

I was suffering from sensory overload. Watertown was pretty in white when I had visited to interview in January 1994. But when I arrived to work six weeks later it was ugly and gray, courtesy of dirt-speckled melting snow and overcast skies. "Ted Turner should buy this place and colorize it," I found myself saying.

I was having trouble sleeping. Then my car died on a Saturday night. And so with nothing else to do the next day, I got up, dressed and walked a mile in pretty cold weather to worship the God I had been cussing for the past week and a half.

It was during fellowship hour that a voice interrupted the pity party.

"You're the new editor at the paper."

"Yeah, that's right."

"Well, I hope you will enjoy Watertown."

"I'm sure I will." I bit my tongue so as not to add, "Eventually."

And with that the man turned and left. But a few minutes later he was back.

"Say, I was wondering if you were doing anything this afternoon?"

No family. No car. No sleep. Definitely no plans.

"No, I don't think so."

"Well, I'm wondering if you would like to join us. We're going to Syracuse for the symphony and having dinner first. I'd be happy to pick you up."

Twelve hours later I was back in my apartment, having spent the day with a number of fine Watertown people, having heard a fine symphony, and having eaten a fine meal. Instead of being simply a stranger in a strange land with no family, no house and no car, I had just been given a priceless gift: an emotional circuit override.

That's how I met Bob Sturtz. And I would wager you can find hundreds of other such stories of generosity shown for no reason other than Bob is a generous man.

After Bob was recently named this year's winner of the Shapiro Award for citizenship, the most fitting thing said about him was: "He hasn't won yet?"

You could almost feel the grimaces on the faces of our community's leaders. How could one of Jefferson County's leading leaders be overlooked all these years by all of our other supposed leaders?

Simple. Bob Sturtz starts too many conversations with the word, "Say." In his words, deeds and approach to life, there is never an air of superiority or know-it-allness, even though both would be justified. He has a way of not drawing attention to himself, despite building Slack Chemical into a thriving, diversified business over the past 20 years and giving away millions of dollars to organizations and charities.

Bob is so good at deflecting praise that he nearly hoodwinked the community into overlooking his life of service. And the thing is, Bob and his wife, Jean, were never trying to dothateither. (How can you consider what the Sturtzes do voluntary when service and giving appear to be involuntary, like breathing?)

Everything about Bob winning the Shapiro Award was perfect. Well, except that following the dinner in his honor Feb. 7 at the Ramada Inn, a scrum broke out as 300 people tried to find their coats in a room thatconformably holds only three people. In all the confusion, somebody went home with Bob's overcoat.

Bob can afford a new coat and all that, and really, if you need a coat Bob will give you one. But for a week he was fearful that "win the Shapiro, lose your clothes" would set a precedent, and nobody would want to win the award next year.

Fortunately, the coat was returned, which means Bob won't be "the most recent Shapiro Award winner" for the rest of his life. It's hard to stay in the background if you're carrying around a handle like that.

The Times continues to give our community some of the finest photography in the country. Here's a couple of examples.

Scott Schild caught the split second when trapped gasses blew out a section of a building during a fire in Massena. Firefighters can be seen starting to duck for cover.

Dale Beaulieu called to get a copy of it for the firehouse wall.

"We had a couple of people in there when that happened," he said, still marveling that no firefighters were seriously injured.

That photo is a reminder of the risks our firefighters are willing to take in trying to save lives.

Jake Hannah's photo of whiteout conditions and a 15-car pileup on I-81, received national attention when it was selected by MSNBC as one of the top photos of the week. It's the third time a Times photographer has received such recognition.

Yet, the photo almost wasn't taken. Minutes after Hannah arrived on the scene, someone acting in an official capacity attempted to prevent the press from doing its job. A Channel 50 camerman was initially blocked from the site of the mangled cars.

Glenn Morrison, Jefferson County director of fire and emergency management, is constantly training newly chosen volunteer emergency workers that securing a scene does not automatically mean blocking access to journalists. He and his predecessor, Greg Brunelle, have made great progress in getting that message through.

Still, it's a tough sell trying to convince every town's volunteer emergency responders that most photojournalists have more experience at accident scenes than they do.

These photos are a reminder that the public is served best when journalists are allowed to do their jobs.

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Bob Gorman is the managing editor of the Times.