I hate this.

Positively hate it with a passion.

Nice people are not supposed to die.

They should live on forever, being themselves, making the world around them a more interesting place and touching hearts.

Everybody has felt this way: Knowing someone you wanted to know better and longer.

Bob Shaw was that kind of person.

For the last two or three years, Mr. Shaw kept in touch. Boy, did he keep in touch.

I got phone calls from Hastings, where he lived. They came at least weekly and sometimes twice a week. The raspy voice was unmistakable.

He sent me letters.

He sent me newspaper clippings.

He sent me copies of state statutes.

He even sent me maps, blueprints, diagrams.

Mr. Shaw, who arguably was as concerned a citizen as there could be, followed local issues like a hawk chasing a field mouse. Nothing escaped his eye.

He also had “sources,” a euphemism for friends and fans, who kept him informed.

He also was a subscriber to the Austin Daily Herald and while it frequently arrived a day or even days late at Hastings — blame it on the Postal Service — it would finally get there and Mr. Shaw read it thoroughly. I know: he re-read passages of stories to me over the phone.

He was most concerned about the Mower County Jail and Justice Center project. He wanted it built downtown, but atop the current jail to save space and money and at a less grand scale than present plans call for building.

He also wanted a referendum to be floated before the taxpayers of Mower County to give more direction to officials.

He even knew how to petition officials to force a referendum.

To reinforce his opinions, he would send public documents obtained from his friends in state government.

After serving on the Austin City Council for nine years and the Mower County Board of Commissioners for 39 years, Mr. Shaw knew people and local history and knew it well.

The “Shaw Mafia” was always willing to help.

Invariably, he would ask me to “Check into this ….” but always with the caution to “Leave my name out of it.”

When he wasn’t coaching this reporter to dig deeper for truth and justice, believe it or not, he was sending me jokes to use in my Thursday column.

He was particularly fond of sharing the musings of Father Jim Perkl, a Catholic priest at Hastings.

When I knew him as an active Mower County commissioner, he was gracious, willing to answer any question put to him and, I thought, a little stand-offish. Even, aloof.

After three years of being his confidant over the telephone and in letters, I realized how wrong I was.

The guy was a hoot. He could tell a good joke with the best of them.

Nothing dirty. Just funny.

When he laughed, his craggy face betrayed any suspicions that he was in any way reserved to the point of being a stick-in-the-mud.

It was a pleasure to laugh with him.

Now, he’s gone and tomorrow Friday he will be laid to rest.

I have a small part — a very small part — in eulogizing him.

What can I say about a man this reporter got to know far too late in his life?

What can I say about how he made a difference in my life by sharing a little piece of his life at the end?

What can I say that others aren’t saying in their hearts today about the man?

That’s why, I hate this.

Positively hate it with a passion.

Just when a reporter gets to know the person behind the persona, he’s gone, and it’s a shame.

Mr. Shaw wasn’t quite yet done making a difference after his 94 years on earth.

Speaking of saintly people, St. Thomas is recovering satisfactorily, them Adams folks say after recent health problems.

I talked over the telephone to the man who wrote the book on community service earlier this week.

Mr. Mullenbach sounded fine to me. Even joked about his health problems.

The goal now is to get St. Thomas well enough to return to the Saturday, Feb. 14, Sacred Heart Catholic School winter banquet.

It wouldn’t be the same without him.

I think both those who miss Mr. Shaw and wish St. Thomas a speedy recovery deserve a joke:

A dog had followed his owner to school. His owner was a fourth-grader at a public elementary school.

However, when the bell rang, the dog sidled inside the building and made it all the way to the child’s classroom before a teacher noticed and shooed him outside, closing the door behind him. The dog sat down, whimpered and stared at the closed doors. Then God appeared beside the dog, patted his head, and said, “Don’t feel bad fella … they won’t let me in either.”