When I landed my first journalism job back in 1988, it was in a place I knew little about named Priest River. I knew no one, other than my good friend Mike McLean, already a reporter at the Priest River Times.

My main beat, along with city council and schools, was sports, and that included basketball, football, volleyball, cross country, track and baseball.

One of the first people I would come to know was Charles Maines.

He was the principal at Priest River Elementary, and he was also the coach of the girls' varsity hoops team at Priest River Lamanna High. His daughter, Liz, was one of their star players, and Charles enjoyed being not just her dad, but her coach as well. He did a good job, as I recall. Liz, all of about 5 feet tall, was a sparkplug who ran the hardwood all out, all the time. She got her tenacity from her father, who lettered in high school football, basketball and track and was a member of the 1960 state championship track team and a graduate of Priest River High that year.

When I would interview Charles after their basketball games, he would ramble on about his players, not just his daughter, and try to highlight each one. He didn't want Liz getting all the headlines for fear some would think he was favoring his daughter, which of course, some did. No getting around it, really, when the best player is the coach's daughter.

Sometimes, when I was back in the office writing up a game, the phone would ring and it would be Charles.

He forgot to mention a certain player who grabbed 5 rebounds and had 2 assists and a steal, or another who had an outstanding defensive effort but didn't score.

"Will you be sure to mention them in your story?" he would ask.

Sure, will do, I'd say.

But what I remember most about Charles Maines wasn't how he coached or how many games his teams won or lost. Often times, I would drop by the elementary school for stories or pictures and would inevitably meet up with Charles walking the hallways, checking in on students and teachers.

"You have time for lunch?" he would ask. "I'm buying."

And we would visit the cafeteria, receive whatever the special was that day, and retreat to his office, our food on plastic trays. There, we would talk. He liked to talk. About sports, about families, about school, about his dogs, about how fast we could run when we were in high school. He would speak with pride of his wife, Lynn, of his son, Justin, and of his daughter, Liz. He would talk about what he wanted to do when he was done coaching and being a principal, about how he loved the outdoors. He struck me as a man who enjoyed life's simple pleasures.

He always had a smile and laugh, and since I knew few others in town, I looked forward to our occasional chats. Charles made my job not just easier, but more enjoyable. There were other coaches in town I covered for the Times, but none who offered the same warm greeting - and certainly none who treated me to the cafeteria lunch and sat down for conversations.

A few years later, when I finally left Priest River and headed for my new job on the coast, Charles Maines stopped by the office to wish me well and thanked me for the stories and features I wrote on him, his team and his daughter. Just doing my job, I said.

We shook hands and soon, I was off on a new adventure in newspapers.

Sadly, I would never speak to Charles Maines again. His name didn't come back into my life until this week, when I read that he had died Dec. 31 at the age of 68.

While I didn't know him for long or well, I learned this from Charles Maines, and it is a good lesson to learn: When it comes to the people in your life, be sure to find time to sit down, grab a bite to eat, and, most important, talk.

That is something Charles Maines did very well.

Bill Buley is the city editor of The Press. He can be reached at [email protected].