Dennis Getto's restaurant reviews in the Journal Sentinel almost always made me hungry.

When I heard that he died Tuesday, I lost my appetite.

Getto, who was 57 when he succumbed to pulmonary fibrosis, was a rare breed in the journalism field. He was one of the biggest "stars" in the newsroom, but also one of the nicest people.

Although they never saw Getto's picture in the paper, which was necessary to preserve his anonymity with restaurant workers, readers came to know and trust his judgment on all matters relating to food.

Getto's reviews, which were always thorough, well-crafted and exceedingly even-handed, could literally make or break restaurants. While that type of power can be intoxicating, he was always fair to the people he wrote about and incredibly supportive, accessible and accommodating to readers and co-workers alike.

My first memory of Dennis was my favorite. It was the fall of 1986 and I had secured an entry-level job as an editorial messenger. In the dark ages, messengers were referred to as "copy boys" (before they started hiring women, I guess), and the duties included opening mail, taking photos to the engraving department and delivering papers around the newsroom. I was briefly introduced to Dennis on my first day of work and I think I made a lame joke about recognizing him from his picture (he used to wear a bag over his head).

A week later, I walked by his desk during a slow time in the afternoon and he stopped and asked me a number of questions about my academic standing, the school paper and my goals in the business. It was standard small-talk-with-the-intern type stuff, but Dennis seemed genuinely interested in my answers. After that, every time I crossed his path he would ask how things were going and I'd be stunned that he remembered details of previous conversations. (I never had him as an instructor at UW-Milwaukee, but I've heard from those who did that he was one of the most caring instructors in the Mass Communication Dept.)

As the years passed and sports reporting duties took me away from the newsroom, I didn't see Dennis often. When I did, he almost always shared an encouraging word, a dirty joke and some juicy interoffice gossip -- often simultaneously -- in a high-pitched voice punctuated with hearty laughter.

Although many longtime journalists view newspaper work as a sentence and not a job, Getto's excitement for the businesses and the people in it seemed boundless. What people perceive to be "the best job at the paper" often isn't as great as it seems, but Dennis never acted jaded. I think that is because he truly loved what he did and, more than that, he simply loved people.

My deepest sympathies go out to the people that loved Dennis. The morning paper, the newsroom and the city won't be the same without him.