From Cyber Books to Moses Mania, the Stories We’ve Brought You During the Year Have Had Some Surprising Developments : The Fighter Faces His Final Battle

Milton Tepper would have savored every minute--from the cracks made about his corny jokes to the stories shared about his volunteerism for others like himself: senior citizens.

Tepper, 84, died in July from cancer. Days later, family and friends, politicos and academics, people young and old, gathered for a memorial service at USC to say goodbye to the man nicknamed “the human tornado” because of his nonstop activism for the aging.

Three years ago, I wrote about Milton and his work. We became fast friends, had breakfast once a month at Jerry’s Famous Deli in North Hollywood, watched his favorite TV show (“Cybill”) and attended the opera. On Sundays we brunched over dim sum in Monterey Park, which was always preceded with a glass of champagne at his home.

He was always on the go, speaking to kids about aging, driving elderly friends in his red Mercedes to doctor appointments and spending his afternoons as an avid volunteer at USC’s Ethel Percy Andrus Gerontology Center, where he helped found the center’s volunteer group. At 80, he was the oldest-ever president of the Los Angeles County Commission on Aging. A year later he was a delegate to the White House Conference on Aging.

Last summer Milton told me about the cancer that had invaded his body. He only had three months to live. The tornado had lost his wind.

The friend and reporter in me wondered whether he would share with readers his wisdom about whatever was on his mind: friendship, love, marriage, parenting.

He embraced the idea of a series of stories, one last chance to have his say. He even wanted to write his own obituary. He sailed through the first interview, talking about his health and attitude toward dying. It was on his mind.

“You’ve got to find something that will make you be of value to other people so that people look up to you and you have self-respect,” he said in our first--and final--interview. A couple of weeks later--and three days after his photograph was taken--Milton died.

At his memorial, dim sum was served, opera music was sung and more than two dozen people stepped up to the microphone to tell the 200 folks in the audience their favorite Milton story. Before the tribute was over, everyone raised their glasses of champagne in a toast to the man they will never forget.

His sons, Bruce, 53, and Steven, 49, are making sure of that with contributions to support student scholarships--in the field of aging--including a $50,000 donation toward an endowed scholarship named after Milton.

Other donations, from $10 to $200, have arrived at the center to help in the work that was Milton’s passion.

“Helping people has meant a lot to me, a reason to get up every day and be active,” Milton once told me. “No matter what pains I may have, they disappear momentarily with people around.”