The dreaded diagnosis hits us all

Editor’s Note: This column was written prior to Deb Flemming passing away late Monday night. We will have more on Deb’s legacy in next week’s edition.
It’s something we write about far too often. We have profiled survivors, families coping with cancer, medical efforts to eradicate the disease and organizations rallying to raise funds for additional research.
Despite this country’s best efforts at research, it seems as if cancer is still all around us and remains the second highest cause of death in America.
Within the past month, U.S. Congressman Jim Hagedorn fell victim to kidney cancer.
Sadly, we are forced to share our own story about cancer this week. Long-time journalist Deb Flemming, who has faithfully served as news editor of this newspaper, has been diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. The diagnosis prompted her immediately to leave behind the profession she has worked in for more than three decades.
It has been the one-two sucker punch to the gut for all of us at the Times. It’s agonizing to see yet another cancer patient.
Deb isn’t one who seeks attention no matter what the subject matter may be and actually discourages it when it comes to the newspaper. As a passionate journalist, Deb strongly believes in covering the news, and that journalists should not be part of the news. There will probably be a hint of disgust with her as she reads the front- page news story and my column this week.
In fact, it was challenging for me to get a photo of her as we accepted state awards just a couple months ago at the Minnesota Newspaper Association. She has always been one to shy away from the limelight.
She has truly been a cornerstone to journalism in Minnesota for many years. Besides working for the Times, she also worked at several daily newspapers across southern Minnesota. She served on the Minnesota Newspaper Foundation as well as an adjunct professor for St. Cloud State University’s Department of Mass Communication.
Her heart has always been in journalism so that’s why it makes it extremely tough for me to see cancer taking away one of the most passionate journalists I have ever worked with. She has always had a bulldog attitude and believed in digging for the truth and getting the story out there for readers to digest.
But there is a caring side to Deb that her own staff got to see many years ago at the Mankato Free Press. Facing budget cuts and staff reductions at the Free Press in 2005, Deb voluntarily gave up her position as editor in order to save several staff positions occupied by younger journalists.
“By eliminating my position, it allows more reporters on the street,” Deb said at the time. Quite simply, she was disgusted with the corporate demands to meet budget targets and cared enough about the quality of the product given to readers.
The company postponed staff cuts and proceeded to hire more part-timers.
Needless to say, Deb’s action created quite the buzz in the industry on the national level at the time. 
I have been fortunate to work with Deb for the past year and a half. During that time, she has been focused on helping me provide a quality news product for our readers. I challenge anyone to find someone as passionate about newspapers as Deb has been throughout her professional life. She is a rare breed that’s becoming extinct in this industry.
She also has taken tremendous pride in recruiting, training and mentoring Johnnie Phillips, a recent college graduate who became our sports editor last fall. As I’m sure Johnnie will attest to, Deb is no softie when it comes to learning the business. However, he has been so lucky to work with one of the best in the industry.
Deb is truly a professional who will sorely be missed by our staff in the day-to-day news cycle. More importantly, she is leaving behind a legacy on journalism that has helped make communities across Minnesota better places to live.
A breast cancer survivor from about 20 years ago, Deb now faces the greatest battle of her life.
Deb, we love you and wish you the best as you go in hot pursuit of battling cancer. Please know you’re not traveling that road alone.