Something’s burning,” she intoned in her distinct husky drawl, her reading glasses propped on the tip of her nose, as she sniffed.

This was in the mid-1990s, when smoking in the newsroom was still allowed, nay, the norm. It was in the middle of closing the day’s pages and LJM, the much-loved and revered motherly boss of the newsroom, was huddled with other editors around the computer monitor of the proofreader assigned to page 1.

Mildly alarmed, the rest of us in the vicinity surveyed the computers in the area. And then an audible gasp from LJM herself: The burning odor wasn’t from electrical wiring. She had singed her own skirt with her cigarette!

Quickly she brushed the ash off her blistered skirt, chuckling, as we tried hard not to giggle. Near-crisis averted, she got back to the task at hand.

It’s a totally random memory of the woman everyone knew to be all business when she had to be (and how!), but also knew how to laugh at herself and have fun. That was the beloved LJM who will forever be missed in the newsroom.

She never acted like she was too good to mingle with the youngest and lowliest members of her staff: At editorial Christmas parties, she’d gamely get her jig on and swig tequila shots. She was also incredibly generous, often raffling off cash from her own pocket.

LJM was kind with her words—a thoughtful, affectionate counsel affixed on the paper notifying you of your promotion, or a handwritten note for a job well done, wasn’t unusual.

It was Nov. 25 when I spoke to her last. I was writing at my desk when she approached with Secretary Mar Roxas, whom she was graciously squiring around the newsroom after an interview. My seatmates had mysteriously disappeared, apparently not wanting to shake hands with the presidential candidate.

“Che, is Thelma coming in?” she asked. I said not, as my boss was in Cebu. “Yes, she’s there for the SM opening? Is she coming back today?”

Then she looked across the room and spotted Anne and her red hair. “I confused you with Anne,” she said, her eyes on my head.

Before I could respond, she had moved on to the next room, back to business. As usual.