It's a terrifically sad day here on Crosby Street. Lockhart Steele, managing editor of Gawker Media, the boss of us all and publisher Nick Denton's right-hand man, is stepping down. Today's the last full day in the office for Phish's biggest fan, and if history is any indication he'll show up some time around eleven, bleary-eyed and wearing something paisley. Lockhart's been a friend, a mentor, and a teacher to so many of us in this company—even, maybe particularly, to those that he's had to "let go"—and we're sorry to see him leave for the bright lights of his adorable little Curbed media empire. What we admire most about Lockhart is his calm, tempered management style. He's efficient and direct. Here are some of our favorite directives.

From his emails:

  • "Stories. Need to be our own. They're out there; let's go get them.Tidbits from parties, new words entering the lexicon, the hot new bar, the new Gawker-created celebrity. One Thing will help — let's not be afraid to be servicey."
  • "No need to be abrasive for the sake of being abrasive. For instance, random black dildo pic excessive. Wait until there's a reason, or the joke is terrific."
  • "Remember to work at preserving vertical space whenever possible."
  • Re: No. "This kind of headline just doesn't fly. Period." [Ed. Note: Except when Denton does it? Heh. Kidding! Eep.]
  • "WACKY TAGS!!! Are funny, when used very sparingly.

    Are painful, when used multiple times a day.

    'almost regretful i took the time to write this email'"

  • And then there are the IMs!
  • Locktoberfest: "Hot piece of twat?"

    BALK BTW: Don't blame me, that's all Coen.

    Locktoberfest: Oh. Hmmm. Not worth dealing with it. She's probably going to leave soon anyway. I'll just wait her out.

    BALK BTW: Okay.

    Locktoberfest: Frankly, I'm a little afraid of her.

  • Locktoberfest: "Twatwaffle?"

    BALK BTW: Don't blame me, that's all Emily.

    Locktoberfest: Oh. Hmmm. Not worth dealing with it. She'll probably go on about all the feminist crap.

    BALK BTW: Okay.

    Locktoberfest: At least she's not as scary as Coen.

  • Locktoberfest: Dude, I just got a high-quality burn of Clifford Ball 1996, Plattsburgh, Day Two. The one with the four hour, thirty-seven minute version of "The Horse."

    BALK BTW: Pardon?

    Locktoberfest: Oh, sorry, wrong window.

  • Locktoberfest: Um, what's the deal with all the posts written by your cock?

    BALK BTW: There's no news out there. It's the best I can do.

    Locktoberfest: Well, it's coarse and unfunny and self-referential and without context.

    Locktoberfest: But whatever, I'm halfway out the door already. Carry on.

    BALK BTW: Okay.

    Locktoberfest went away at 11:50:19 AM.

    Locktoberfest returned at 11:54:22 AM.

    Locktoberfest: My only regret is that I won't get to fire you myself.

  • Oh, all in good fun, Lock. We really will miss you. In fact, we've all chipped in to get you something.

We wish you the best in the new job. You deserve it. Next time we see you at Balthazar, breakfast's on us. You know, if you deign to acknowledge us.