The name Dietrich will live long in our city
by // Winter 2012
At a civic event 11 years ago, I saw an unusually dapper fellow—navy pinstripe suit, rep tie and perfectly combed white hair. The fact is, I thought he was someone else. I went over and introduced myself, and he said, “Bill Dietrich.” The name meant nothing to me. But after chatting for a minute or two, it was clear that he was a man of consequence—smart, decisive, and thoughtful.
Over the next several years we talked at events and parties. I got to know him well enough that when I was starting this magazine, I asked Bill to lunch. When I told him what I was up to and asked if he’d like to invest, he was nice enough to partially suppress a laugh. “Magazines are not my kind of investment.” The lunch then limped along in obligatory fashion until a few minutes later, Bill said, “Maybe I could help you in another way; maybe I could write for the magazine.”
“Oh, that would be great,” I said, thinking to myself that the last thing I needed was the pontifications of a steel magnate. Months passed and after our first issue came out, I got a call from Bill about writing. He was always one to follow up. And so began a friendship that involved my editing and helping him with his writing—he didn’t need much help—and his counseling and helping me on business. He wrote in every issue of the magazine except the first and this issue. And his pieces, which have been collected into a book called “Eminent Pittsburghers,” were the most consistently popular stories we published.
by // Winter 2012
At a civic event 11 years ago, I saw an unusually dapper fellow—navy pinstripe suit, rep tie and perfectly combed white hair. The fact is, I thought he was someone else. I went over and introduced myself, and he said, “Bill Dietrich.” The name meant nothing to me. But after chatting for a minute or two, it was clear that he was a man of consequence—smart, decisive, and thoughtful.
Over the next several years we talked at events and parties. I got to know him well enough that when I was starting this magazine, I asked Bill to lunch. When I told him what I was up to and asked if he’d like to invest, he was nice enough to partially suppress a laugh. “Magazines are not my kind of investment.” The lunch then limped along in obligatory fashion until a few minutes later, Bill said, “Maybe I could help you in another way; maybe I could write for the magazine.”
“Oh, that would be great,” I said, thinking to myself that the last thing I needed was the pontifications of a steel magnate. Months passed and after our first issue came out, I got a call from Bill about writing. He was always one to follow up. And so began a friendship that involved my editing and helping him with his writing—he didn’t need much help—and his counseling and helping me on business. He wrote in every issue of the magazine except the first and this issue. And his pieces, which have been collected into a book called “Eminent Pittsburghers,” were the most consistently popular stories we published.
