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In my mind, my relationship with Scott Novak spanned 60 years. One of the Paul Bunyan-like tall tales he enjoyed spinning was his role in bringing A Hard Day’s Night to the Dowagiac theater in 1964.

Richard Phillipson and I stood on our seats straining to see over a boiling sea of screaming girls. As I’m doing the math, he would have been a toddler, but his mom did take tickets, so who knows?

Anyway, it makes a good story, like his quote that the Beatles would have been big if only they had a sax player like the Dave Clark Five.

He starred in Smokescreen, the quips, quotes and qulunkers I compiled to entertain the newsroom in the fun era of Tab-bat baseball.

We all know Scott as a legendary sports editor for an unsurpassed 40 years, 1984-2024, but he was my work wife (according to Carol) for three decades, a devoted dad to Kirsten and an accomplished cook.

As well as my concert sidekick and his Tigers tag-along for countless adventures.

As in any good marriage, there was give and take. I grudgingly indulged his fondness for cats and country/Christmas music, stringing holiday lights on his desk around Labor Day.

I goaded his grumpy side, telling him to go cover something without a ball, like the equestrian team or cheerleading. He responded by embracing NASCAR and auto racing.

He was a true-blue fire station Dalmatian. Whenever a call came, day or night, he always answered the bell. Fires, wrecks, homicides, storms.

I felt bad on 9/11 because I happened to be on vacation, on my way to the Cleveland Rock Hall. All the extra coverage terrorism attacks demand got dumped in his lap.

The summer of ’88 before I became a dad I all but lived in the Silver Hawks press box, running into John Fogerty one memorable night. Writing game stories convinced me sportswriting is harder than he made it look.

Thanks to Scott, my fantasy of going in the clubhouse, press box and on the field at Tiger Stadium was fulfilled.

I interviewed Alan Trammell and Lou Whitaker, met Ernie Harwell, jockeyed for position with Mitch Albom at Frank Tanana’s locker. I took pictures on the Notre Dame sidelines hoping not to be trampled.

We shared the 1987 South Bend Special Olympics, where stars lurked around every corner. Barbara Mandrell, Whitney and Cissy Houston, Susan Saint James, Marvin Hamlisch, Caroline Kennedy, Maria Shriver, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Don Johnson, John Denver, Frank Gifford, Oprah Winfrey.

We cheated death twice on I-94 seeing concerts, from Madonna, Foreigner and Pat Benatar to the Bangles, the Smithereens and Elvis Costello. He even knew the other Elvis (Doug Church) from Decatur.

Since he studied journalism at Southwestern Michigan College, Scott was a Roadrunner for life and as excited as a kid on Christmas morning when intercollegiate athletics returned after a 25-year hiatus since he covered SMC teams and Steve’s Run in the first era.

He was the prototype for the professional he became, in 1981 covering golf, men’s basketball and volleyball, but also writing straight news and photographing two stage productions, “Finian’s Rainbow” and “The Mad Woman of Chaillot.”

Just like that he was sports editor in The Southwester masthead, just as he paid Daily News dues developing film in the darkroom and covering random sporting events as a stringer.

One time he played society editor. To counter my year-end column, The Lefties, he created the TYAACODs (Three Yards and a Cloud of Dust, or “Ty Cods”), which is how our 1985 wedding landed on the sports page in an item slugged Biggest Surprise: “John and Sue’s wedding on Oct. 12. I never thought I would see the day when these two tied the knot. This might not have been a sporting event, however, anyone who attended the reception knew this was the social event of the year.”

Scott was a pretty good athlete himself, the most nimble big man I ever saw, a lefty holding down first base and crushing home runs at company picnics (while portraying the Wandering Scarecrow of “Wizards of Ads”) or playing driveway basketball.

His resilience was proven time and again as we conjured progress editions and special sections while he snagged major interviews through sheer perseverance. I truly thought he’d land his white whale, Ringo.

Really gonna miss my other better half.

John Eby is the Senior Writer and Coordinator of Media Relations at Southwestern Michigan College. He served as Community Editor for Leader Publications from 1981 to 2013.