I met Michael in Jacksonville when he worked for the Florida Times Union. What a brilliant, funny, exuberant man. He is a star that you never forget. His smile and his arms embraced the world.

I just learned of Michael's death-- I met him 34 years ago when I was a student at the Intercollegiate Center for Classical Studies in Rome and Michael was teaching assistant. In my memory Michael will always be a part of that year: in his Army fatigue jacket; his fluent and profane Italian; his special affection for Giancarlo and Benedetta.

Michael,
The photo album, unearthed in a dig through my suburban basement, is a building block of life, a past life. When building blocks were fat, red, and vinyl-covered; not skinny, shiny cases. I'm grateful it sat just one layer from the surface. Not like the city of Cannakale so long ago, that none of us (even had the guidebooks been in not-Turkish) could unjumble into seven layers. Except you, Michael.

I heft this circa-1969 artifact. Pages (the tacky kind -- what is that stuff?) ripple behind "protective", cloudy, plastic. The color of ancient, the color of mildew. Today we know among other things the whole setup is photo abuse in extremis.

Michael, here you are:
1. Ostia Antica. You're shot from below, slim silhouette with camera, jacket slung over shoulder, smiling, your feet longer than the width of the wall you stand on.
2. Selinunte. You scale a temple wall: left leg bent, foot two courses above; right leg set to push off and up; hands finding a higher grasp. My caption: "Michael, the human fly."
3. Roma, Bar Gianicolo. On the last night of fall term you smile in perfect focus. Your face crinkles; that flop of hair falls across your forehead.
4. At the Rubicon. You stand on the muddy bank, considering, assessing, tempted. Then you cross via il ponte. Only because you need those shoes dry for Gubbio & Assisi.
5. Troy. Four of us in sweaters and lumberjackets, under the covers, grinning as if we really are up to something. That one took a lot of takes.
6.Pergamum. You're a point at the end of the Sacred Way, a lesson in perspective, too small for ancient eyes to recognize.
7. Stadium at Olympia. Tom spectates from the grass. You lope solo toward the finish line.
8. Hadrian's Villa. You've climbed an olive tree (surely proibito), planting your tripod to perfect a "candid" group shot: "Il Mezzogiorno Sull'Erbe."

Mille Grazie, Michele. What gifts you bestowed. Requiescat in pace.

I met Michael in Beijing in 1984 where we both worked as foreign correspondents. I liked him. He was always full of enthusiasm and in good humour. It seemed to me immediately that he was a good man, full of humanity and unpretentious. I admired his acknowledge of China and his eagerness to learn more and more for his personal intellectual enjoyment and to share it with his readers. I liked the way he took his job seriously. When I learned of his death through common friends I felt sad. Now I'm sorry I did not meet him again to share a few memories and a few of his contagious laughs.

i could always tell he was asmart person just by the way he looked and smiled.may he rst in peace.been friends with his kids during the years we were in china,this was like 20 years ago but aman could never forget remarkable family like teh brownings.sorry for your lose Mathew.would love to get intouch.mail me at mbashir70@gmail.com