After our yearly rewatch of "A Charlie Brown Christmas," I've spent the last few weeks reading through my treasury of Peanuts cartoons. I loved Peanuts when I was a kid, and I think it had a pretty big influence on my outlook on life.

I remembered this story as I read through the strips. Charles M. Schulz, as you might remember, died the night before his final Peanuts strip was published. At the time, I was the editor or assistant editor of my high school paper.

Schulz had announced his retirement six months before the final strip was to run, and we'd assigned a student writer to write a story, to run the week of his retirement, about his career and legacy.

I don't remember most of the story, but I will never forget the final line: "We're all saddened by the death of Mr. Schwartz, but at least we have fifty years of Peanuts to console us." (Or something.)

Remember, only God knew that Schulz was going to die the day he did; all the rest of us knew was that he was going to stop making Peanuts. So I corrected the writer: "First, his name is Schulz, not Schwartz; secondly, he's not dead."

Then he died. As soon as I saw her in the newspaper room that Monday morning, I pointed at her and said, "YOU KILLED CHARLES SCHWARTZ."

You have to admit that writing that story is totally something Charlie Brown would do, and I hope that Schulz appreciated it, wherever he found himself.