How Terez Paylor inspired a nation of journalist colleagues, and will continue to do so
Editor’s note: Dear friend and former colleague Terez Paylor died suddenly on Tuesday age 37. Plans for memorializing him are close to being finalized, as are details about services. Both will be announced soon in The Star.
Shortly after starting a new job, one that tasked him with covering the intersection of sports and race, Tyler R. Tynes made a trip to the Baltimore Ravens’ practice facility. In town to develop a story, he developed a friendship, too. On that day in 2019, he met Terez Paylor for the first time.
Tynes had wanted to meet Terez — an NFL writer for Yahoo Sports — and introduce himself. But Terez already knew. And he pulled him aside for a conversation.
Keep hustling, young man. I see you. And you’re doing just fine.
“To think that one of the only recognizable, national Black writers covering the league saw me as his equal was unreplicable,” said Tynes, a staff writer for The Ringer. “He gave off the grace of a veteran and the closeness of an old friend. It was the unspoken bond between the Black veteran on the beat and the youngster, no matter how old your age, because you came in the shadow of someone else, on the shoulders of giants.”
Terez died Tuesday, unexpectedly, at the age of 37. In the past week, we’ve shared stories of our former colleague at The Star. We’ve cried knowing there will be no new ones to share. We’ve laughed while remembering a friend who had a better laugh than any of us.
This was part of who he was, too:
A mentor.
He had a particular affinity for supporting and uplifting other minority journalists, especially Black journalists. Only 7% of newsroom employees nationwide are Black, according to a Pew research study analyzing data from 2013-17. Even harder than breaking into a newsroom is rising through one, according to a 2020 study from Reuters Institute.
Terez, a proud graduate of Howard University, shattered through that, along the way making friendships that transcended race and establishing his own audience that stretched across the country. He could connect with virtually anyone. He felt it part of his duty to not just pave the way for others like him — he also showed them how to follow.
“Terez was a real, genuine-ass dude from Detroit that cared deeply about football and breaking down barriers for Black sportswriters,” said Master Tesfatsion, a senior writer for Bleacher Report. “He took a lot of pride in being a young Black man with a Pro Football Hall of Fame vote in a room that lacked diversity.”
Terez was a regular at the Urban Student Journalism Academy, sponsored by the Kansas City Association of Black Journalists. He would also talk with young sportswriters for hours on the phone. He’d take time to converse with them at events like the NFL Scouting Combine, one of his busiest weeks of the year. His All-Juice team could wait.
At some point, you couldn’t help but wonder how there were enough hours in the day to still be among the very best at his craft.
You’ll read about all of that — and plenty more — in the stories that follow from those who knew him. From those who called him a friend. And also from those who looked up to him as a Black man thriving in a profession in need of more like him, but now tragically left with one fewer.
While Terez Paylor could easily be described as every journalist’s journalist and a man who instinctively knew how to make colleagues feel worthy, as though they mattered, he held a uniquely special place in the hearts of his fellow Black journalists — a bond best explained only by those friends and colleagues who claim this space and this somber moment to express gratitude for having known him.
“He relished most in being an advocate for us young Black journalists. He loved calling us rising stars,” said Cameron Wolfe, a reporter for ESPN covering the NFL and Miami Dolphins. “I hope he knew he was my star — our star.”
Aaron Randle, formerly The KC Star, NY Times
This time seven years ago I worked in fast food.
I wanted to say I was a “burger flipper,” but truth is, as a Winstead’s employee, I wasn’t yet good enough to flip burgers (that required a promotion).
I was the milkshake guy.
I had just moved back home to Kansas City from D.C. with hopes of starting my career in journalism. But things weren’t… thing-ing.
Fancy Howard University degree and my unproven yet steadfast belief in my ability to schmooze editors in tow, I figured I would land a writing gig quickly in my hometown.
I did not.
My target was Ink Magazine and the Call. My dream was The Star. My reality was milkshakes.
I had found Ink Magazine’s then EIC (and my now dear friend) Jennifer Hack’s info and sent her several cold emails filled with resumes and clips. Followed those emails up with calls and voicemails. Tweeted. Cold called and emailed other editors at the Star. Met with older, established Black journalists in town hoping to have a word put in. But ultimately, nothing was working.
For weeks I slogged on milkshaking, questioning my worth and place in the world. I was angry, second-guessing my writing ability, wondering what I would do (or could do) if I couldn’t even get a job in the city where I grew up, wondering when in the hell I would get promoted to the burger station.
And then one day, while complaining to a close friend (also a Howard grad, and a Detroit native) my life changed: “You should talk to Terez,” he told me.
Oh that’s it? Just talk to Terez? One of the most popular reporters in the city? Our nationally known NFL beat writer with tens of thousands of twitter followers. The guy who was so indelible to our city’s memory that folks hardly even bothered to say his last name. Sure, I’ll just send him a tweet — one of the dozens, if not hundreds he gets every day — and wait for him to prioritize me. Because of course he has time for that. Because of course he had time for me.
The next day, completely prepared for failure, I shot Terez a tweet. I don’t remember the exact words, but I know “HU!” and “journalism” were in there.
Terez — THE Terez — responded in minutes, in his trademark cool-as-hell manner.
“Represent,” he responded.
Then came another: “tpaylor@kcstar.com”
Within days, he told me to resend my resume and clips to Jenn Hack. Within a week, I was hired to write freelance for Ink Magazine, solely off the strength of Terez vouching for me. Within a year I was hired as a full time reporter at the Star.
I remember I told Terez that story once a few years ago. Like a true Midwesterner, he kept it polite — nodded and laughed along as I retold the story in all its gusto — but I could tell he didn’t really remember the story.
It was one of the defining moments in my career. My journalism origin story. A tale I still love to tell to this day (last, about two weeks ago). The day I tweeted Terez “HU!” stands as one of the most important and fortuitous days of my life.
For Terez it was Tuesday.
Typical.
Meh.
But that was Terez — always looking out and selflessly using his influence for the betterment of others with no expectation of anything in return.
Here he was, having moved a mountain for me and he couldn’t even remember doing it. This week, I learned, as I watched countless other young Black journalists tell their stories that I wasn’t alone.
Totems like Terez are critical to the survival of young Black journalists. Often marginalized, diminished and tokenized within newsrooms that look nothing like us nor understand us, the news landscape can feel like a wilderness.
It’s a big factor in why so many of us, outside of sports, don’t stay around. It’s why I almost didn’t.
I’m here today because of Terez. I’m better today because of Terez.
I’ve had a lot of regrets this past year as I think of all the people I’ve lost suddenly without ever telling them how much they meant to me.
I take solace in knowing that, even if he didn’t remember it (lol), I had in fact made time to tell Terez.
I don’t know where this first generation college student and grandson of a Mississippi sharecropper with a 6th grade education would have ended up had I never met Terez.
Do I ever join the Star and spend years as one of the only journalists uniquely capable of giving voice to other marginalized groups in Kansas City? Do I ever make it to The New York Times? Do I ever find or get to live in my purpose?
It’s scenarios I don’t have to worry about, simply because Terez made it a point to worry about me.
There is so much about Terez that I will cherish — that engrossing, regal presence, his limitless work ethic and sense of integrity and kindness. That pursed lip furrowed brow combo he’d have right before he’d start breaking down the X’s and O’s after a Chiefs game. All-Juice. Talking on 610. Running into him, every once in a blue moon, at an event around town and getting a dance out of him. Our music chats. Random text message check-ins. Begging him to retweet a story so I could get my page views up (lol). His impersonations. The giddy shock of hearing him telling me he liked something I wrote. The Detroit caps. That Detroit cool. There’s plenty.
But what I will most remember is the example he set, for me, countless other young journalists, and anyone who was paying attention, really.
Reach back as you climb, work hard and always — always — represent for your people.
Thank you Terez. I love you, man.
Rest easy.
Cameron Wolfe, ESPN
Terez was everything that I’ve ever aimed to be — real, respected, relatable, resilient. He was Black excellence. The type of man you can share laughs with at a bar over drinks or call for advice on personal struggles. He’s been both for me.
Terez was your favorite NFL reporter’s favorite NFL reporter. He would have had more individual successes to add to his lofty accomplishments, but he relished most in being an advocate for us young Black journalists. He loved calling us rising stars. I hope he knew he was my star, our star. I wish I told him that more. Our world got a lot dimmer this week, but let’s make sure his legacy lives on.
Steve Wyche, NFL Network
I remember like it was yesterday. I was outside of the Chiefs practice field, having just finished a TV hit for NFL Network.
Terez, my young Howard University brother, whose success was really blossoming in KC, came limping around the corner. Not waking-up sore limping, but limping limping.
“What’s up bro? What happened?” I asked.
“Turned my ankle bad,” he answered.
I could tell. He was gutting things out.
He told me he was working out and getting in shape and this was a setback. I told him to take his time and just do things at his pace once he gets right.
I asked him about his girl, Ebony. He told me she was headed to Columbia, about two hours east of KC, for awhile.
“You guys good?” I asked.
“We’ll be good my man,” he said. “We are really good.”
My man was sprung.
For the next however long, we talked about Patrick Mahomes before he became Patrick Mahomes. Eric Bienemy, Andy Reid, Dee Ford. Whatever there was to talk about related to the Chiefs.
It was all so secondary though. Those who know Terez knew that look, when he smiled and looked away. He was thinking about Ebony. He was gone.
Every conversation afterwards — every one — he told me about THEIR plans; what THEY had going on.
I loved it. My brother was in love and at peace.
We know TP loved his job and his friends and was an emerging star in our business. But my lasting memories of my brother, was how in love he was with Ebony.
Rest well TP.
Josh Tolentino, The Athletic, former intern at The Star
On my very first day as an intern under TP at The Kansas City Star, deputy sports editor Chris Fickett assigned me to do a writeup on Chiefs running back Charcandrick West. Later that day, Terez tweeted my story and it wasn’t long before West retweeted Terez. I remember geeking out when that happened and texting some of my friends about the opportunity to shadow Terez at work and witness how smooth he was on the job.
Prior to arriving in Kansas City, I heard from several peers across the industry how terrific of a beat writer Terez was. To be able to witness it first-hand was special. That very same weekend, I had a random encounter with then-rookie quarterback Patrick Mahomes at a local basketball court in Leawood. We ran a few pickup games and my first instinct after Mahomes and I parted ways was texting Terez about what just happened. Terez called me immediately and we spoke for 30-plus minutes.
During that call, Terez gave me so much advice about combating the challenges of being a young minority journalist and how to maximize interactions like the one I just had. Before we hung up, Terez said, “I see the hustle. Imma take care of you, lil’ bro.” I’ll remember those words forever because he stayed true to his word. Throughout that summer in 2017, Terez provided me and fellow intern Alec McChesney with so many wonderful opportunities. We produced bylines I’ll always be grateful for. Terez also vouched to the bosses, Chris and sports editor Jeff Rosen, on our behalf and pleaded with them to keep sending us to Chiefs camp.
My first full-time job following Kansas City was at a small newspaper in DeKalb, Ill, where I worked in a hybrid-role as a sports/news reporter. It was an invaluable experience to cover crime & court during the week and high school and college football on the weekends. Before I accepted that position, Terez advised me I’d be better from it, even though it wasn’t a full-time beat reporter gig. Later that fall, Northern Illinois made the MAC championship and one of my stories leading up to the game was about a player from Terez’s hometown, Detroit, where the MAC championship is held annually. After sharing a draft with Terez, he tore that feature up, offered suggestions and ultimately, made me better as he always did. The story later won an award from the Illinois Press Association.
When I started working with The Athletic in 2018, I moved up to Green Bay to cover the Packers. It was my rookie season in the pros and Terez made it a point to check up on me every single week. Our calls would range from a quick 10 minutes to several hours. He did this while studying his notorious All-22 film. Literally every Monday, Terez would call and we’d rap about that week’s game and the many challenges and adversities of the job. When things got tough, he reminded me, “You’re built for this.” Terez promised to look out for me and he more than kept his word. I can’t thank him enough for being an incredible mentor, friend and big brother. I will miss you dearly and promise to continue your legacy and pave the way for future minority journalists. All-juice team forever. Keep shining, TP.
Glenn Rice, reporter, The Star
Devastated is the only word that comes to mind when I received a phone call Tuesday morning and was told that Terez Paylor had passed away.
I had so many questions — how and why. Still hoping that what I had just heard was not real. But it was.
Terez was gone too soon.
I hung up the phone and immediately emailed the horrible news to my editors and to my colleagues in sports, those who had worked alongside Terez for many years. We were all shocked and horrified as we struggled to make sense of the cold reality that had just slapped us across the face.
By today’s standards, I am what many of you would call an “old head.” And admittedly, I didn’t kick it with Terez as many of my younger colleagues did. As such, I was probably at home sipping on some brown liquor or sound asleep while the younger Star crew kicked it, bar hopped and performed karaoke.
Terez was passionate about his hometown Detroit and his alma mater, Howard University. He proudly wore his “Detroit vs Everybody” T-shirt.
Terez was on the come-up. He did some amazing work covering the Kansas City Chiefs. He was a football junkie’s pusherman who constantly fed us addicts with a never-ending fix of informative, well-reasoned, comprehensive and thoroughly researched news and information about our beloved Chiefs. Reading Terez’s work or listening to his podcasts left you a better informed fan and football consumer. Without a doubt his over-the-top impressions, his off-key singing and vague references to movies and WWE wrestling were priceless.
On one occasion, I was assigned to write a story about security at sports stadiums. Terez helped me secure an off-the-record conversation with a front-office executive, which was a tremendous help.
As others have commented, Terez devoured football game film, even during the offseason. I remember catching him watching Chiefs game tape.
I playfully admonished him by saying that the football season was over and he should be somewhere on vacation relaxing. Terez replied that it was time for that later and he was preparing for the NFL combines and the upcoming draft. Terez reminded me a lot of a few other former Star sports colleagues — Terry Harris, David Boyce, Tod Palmer, Bob Luder, Ron Mott, LaVelle E. Neal III and Clarence Hill. They were a band of brothers who soldiered in the trenches of Kansas City prep sports to improve their craft. They also gave back and helped uplift others.
But Terez was more than an outstanding journalist, he was a son, boyfriend and a friend to so many. He was equally passionate about mentoring to young journalists. He was a frequent speaker during the Urban Student Journalism Academy sponsored by the Kansas City Association of Black Journalists.
I am still trying to process the loss of such an enormously talented, well-liked and respected young man. Yeah, devastated is still the only word that comes to mind.
It looks like 2021 picked up exactly where 2020 left off.
Rest easy my friend, rest easy.
Toriano Porter, opinion writer, The KC Star Editorial Board
Years ago, I was a frustrated community reporter at a small bi-weekly newspaper in Lee’s Summit. At some point in 2015 or 2016, McClatchy sold the building that housed the Lee’s Summit Journal where I worked for years as a business and education reporter. The company moved the Lee’s Summit staff downtown to the old Star building on 17th and Grand. There, I applied for a position as a high school sports reporter but didn’t get the job. I was devastated and on the brink of leaving the journalism profession. After 15 years of chasing daily newspaper gigs, I was done. The dream was over, I thought.
Heartbroken, I called Terez. I was adamant my journalism career was over. I would find a new lane.
“You are in the building,” Terez said to me. “Write something to get upper management’s attention.”
The rest is history. The rise from breaking news reporter to editorial board member would not have been possible with encouragement from and tough conversations with Terez. He kept me in the game and challenged me to dig deeper with my reporting. Even though he was younger than me, he was wise beyond his years and always willing to encourage, help and mode a fellow journalist.
Terez will be greatly missed.
Jeneé Osterheldt, Boston Globe, formerly The Star
I needed some time before I said anything about Terez Paylor. For those of us who were Black and at The Star, especially back in our twenties, we had a little club. Not all of us were best friends but we did act as a loose family, an unruly bunch of writers bonded by our Blackness, our hunger for community, and a respect for the craft. We had a lot of muchness, too.
As we all got new jobs and grew into different journeys, our mode of keeping up, at least as a collective, rested on social media. Our circle became less of a circle and more timelines of status updates. It happens. So I really want to send love to his friends and family and his fiancé.
Everyone has been sharing some really beautiful memories of Terez, a most brilliant sports writer, thinker, and a good time. My favorite recollection, like Pamela de la Fuente, is also Greg Moore and Jesse Chapman birthday. Terez was Black Joy before we had the language. Terez was old school cool and a type of comfortable in himself that is hard to come by when you occupy spaces where so few people look like you. He was a good man.
And for as many parties and random nights being young all of us had, there was a moment when Terez and I were the last of our specific shared friend circle in the office. With him in sports, we didnt get to see one another often. But he’d ask me about places to take his girlfriend. He was thoughtful like that. But I’m most grateful for my last in person memory of Terez.
In September 2017 I stood up for Marcus Peters. I called Trump a white supremacist. And that month and the months after leading up to my departure, I was gaslit in new ways. Someone threatened to lynch me. I was sexually harassed.
Terez reached out to me more than once during that time period to directly check on me. And I mean really check on me. Not to make a spectacle of the mess, or to rehash the details, but to affirm me and lift me. He told me to keep going, that my words were necessary. He didn’t know it but that encouragement came on one of those shoulder-on-the-mat I’m done days. He made a difference.
We miss you, Terez. We are grateful to have had time with you. Thank you.
Nate Taylor, The Athletic
I’ve cried so many tears. I’m still crying. Terez is and will always be one of my favorite people. Everything you’ve read about him is why this is so, so crushing. He was a great friend, an amazing mentor and someone I admired for how he did everything, with enthusiasm and passion.
It’s been incredibly difficult to find the words. The comforting part is that I told Terez often how much I loved him and his work, how I was always grateful for his advice. I know he loved me. He was so proud that I found my way back home to KC, that we we both covered the Chiefs.
Like many, I read Terez in the Star before I met him. I was in college. He and Candace Buckner and plenty others, were so supportive, all the way back in 2008. I can hear his laugh in my head. When I joined The Athletic, he was so confident I would do well. I can see his smile.
Terez loved his job. He loved it so much, every part of it. I wish we took more photos together. But I’ll always cherish his words. He was so reassuring. He always complimented my work. There was power in the way he hugged you.
Master Tesfatsion, Bleacher Report
I’m still in disbelief. Terez had a Hall of Fame career ahead of him, and it saddens me that it’s been cut short. But man, above everything else, we lost a great person. Terez was a real, genuine-ass dude from Detroit that cared deeply about football and breaking down barriers for Black sportswriters. He took a lot of pride in being a young Black man with a Pro Football Hall of Fame vote in a room that lacked diversity, and played a significant role in Terrell Owens finally receiving his gold jacket. He was well respected, but also great to just spark up a convo with at a bar rocking a Tigers fitted hat.
Terez would always offer encouragement, and it always hit different coming from him because it wasn’t simply lip service. The last time we talked in person, it was during Super Bowl media night in Miami. We were hovering over a Gatorade cooler chatting about how far we’ve come over the last decade in our careers, starting as two Black men just trying to understand the game and how to get better, and how proud we were of each other’s success. This one has been difficult to process, and my thoughts are with his family, friends and colleagues. Super Bowl week won’t be the same without you.
D. Orlando Ledbetter, The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
This is an absolute stunner. Terez Paylor was a friend, fellow Hall of Fame voter and most important, a fellow Bison from Howard University. He was the latest in our legacy in the sports journalism field. I was so excited when we met, I immediately called the others and blurted out, “We have another Bison covering the NFL.”
As one of the Founders of the National Association of Black Journalists (NABJ) Sports Task Force and former President of the Pro Football Writers of America (2013-15), I was proud to see him thrive and flourish covering the Kansas City Chiefs and the NFL. He has such a diligent worker. He was always thoughtful and intense in the Hall of Fame meetings. He gave an impassioned speech that finally won over the voters in the Terrell Owens matter. He loved work, he loved life and he is gone, way too soon. God rest his lovely soul and may his family find peace in knowing that he’s in heaven.
Lynn Worthy, Royals beat writer, The Star
When I think of Terez, two lasting memories come immediately to mind.
First, he’s partly responsible for me being at The Star. Not only did his earning a national position pave the way for the paper to hire, but I spoke with Terez before I even visited for an in-person interview. He hadn’t met me before, and he didn’t know me from Adam. He still took the time to answer my questions about the paper, the sports staff, the area and covering the NFL. His endorsement of the area and the paper was more important than he probably ever realized.
Second, stepping in to help cover the Chiefs meant I looked over a bunch of the stories and videos Terez did when he was on the beat as well as the work he did for Yahoo. He set a standard in multiple ways. He didn’t just report on what happened, but he improved the understanding readers and viewers had of what was going on and why. On top of that, his joy and enthusiasm for the sport always seemed evident. At the same time, he seemed to have unique relationships with just about everyone. His work, as well as the way he went about his work — his interactions, demeanor, presence — were aspirational.
Tyler R. Tynes, The Ringer
I met Terez during one of his summer NFL tours in 2019. I had just started at The Ringer and met him under the cloudless skies at the Baltimore Ravens practice facility in Owing Mills, Maryland. Terez was perched next to a gaggle of fans, holding court with team personnel and journalists alike. I was passing through town on a story, same as him, but upon first shaking his hand he pulled me to a nook near midfield to just chat about life. He spoke to me as if we’d been friends for years but I’d only just met the man. The warmth from his soul was palpable, his smile infectious, his company electric. The contents of our conversation could amount to a few words: “Keep Hustling, young man. I see you. And you’re doing just fine.”
To think that one of the only recognizable, national Black writers covering the league saw me as his equal was unreplicable. He gave off the grace of a veteran and the closeness of an old friend. It was the unspoken bond between the Black veteran on the beat and the youngster, no matter how old your age because you came in the shadow of someone else, on the shoulders of giants. And, as Toni Morrison preached, it was your job, once free to free somebody else. I was nowhere near the ground, but for a moment Terez made sure I knew I could still be pulled higher, I could still reach for more, I could be anything, merely because he could.
I know he gave those same moments to so many of the people I refer to as my chosen family, my brothers and sisters in the Black press. That we had an Angel so close to earth is something we’ll forever treasure. I do not mourn because Terez is gone, because for just a moment of life’s allotment, his light was more snug than the rays from the sun.
Jarrett Bell, USA Today Sports
Can you picture Terez in a small group of students who stayed after class to grill the guest lecturer? I can. That was Terez and that was me, invited by Ed Hill on several occasions to address his sports journalism class at Howard University. That’s how I met Terez a good number of years ago, connecting not only because of his career aspirations but also because, well, we were two brothers from Detroit.
It’s not hard to imagine now, after all that he accomplished as a journalist, that Terez would be the eager student looking for more depth about stuff as he left the impression that he was determined to pursue his passion. And you knew he would succeed.
Years later, Terez called with a few more “after-class” questions to chew on as he became a National NFL writer. Funny thing, though, I don’t think I could offer much “advice” at that point as he had already established himself as a force on the NFL beat and was so ready to take on the next challenge. It has been really cool watching this man progress. It was also fitting when Terez joined the Pro Football Hall of Fame selection committee. He was the youngest selector and in my view, quickly made an impact that including sharing X’s and O’s insight. And I swear that Terez’s input for the case of Terrell Owens — he eloquently said something about tapping into the younger generation — helped push T.O. over the hump in the minds of some voters who resisted. Yes, Terez Paylor was an impact player in his own right.
Damon Smith, Evergy, formerly The Star
Terez Paylor got to The Star shortly after my contract ended in 2006. I was still working freelance for the paper covering high schools, and so I spent a good amount of time around the new crop of high school reporters, especially at local pubs. We played copious amounts of poker with our photographer friends. I also got to hang with Terez plenty around other young Black journalists from the paper.
One night, our friend and colleague Candace Buckner corralled us and we landed at some karaoke spot in Shawnee, Kan. Candace loved karaoke. I did not. But I didn’t want to miss out on the fun, so I pulled up just knowing I wouldn’t take the stage.
At some point, Terez decided he was going to do this Gerald Levert number I didn’t know. He wanted our friend and colleague Greg Moore and I to be his back-up singers. I wanted no part of that stage, but Terez convinced us that all we really had to do was a little two-step in rhythm behind him and he’d handle the rest. And did he.
If you’ve never heard “Answering Service” and/or you know Terez, his voice, his smile and his laugh, I implore you to go listen to the song and imagine him reciting every spoken word and then hitting every note in the song with the sweaty vigor of Levert himself.
I’ve never heard this song without hearing Terez belting it out in my head.
His crushing rendition and a little liquor put me at such ease that I subsequently bombed some Kanye West song of which I knew every word with Candace recording via camcorder and laughing the whole time. Good times.
We had a fair amount of poker nights with some of our good photographer friends. Terez was a bit of stingy poker player at that time, so his game wasn’t that remarkable. But his impression of Teddy KGB from Rounders during those poker nights? That was remarkable.
We had so many nights like this and so many of them ended with Terez and I sitting in either of our cars, talking shop and life, often times for two or three hours. I was entering a period of sincere job insecurity — which really had me in the dumps about my abilities and what I would do going forward. In those conversations, Terez, three years my junior, knowing my story, consistently affirmed me in ways I didn’t understand for five or six years.
He was one of few people — all other young Black journalists at the paper — who saw me as my best version of myself when things were bleak for me. These friends reminded me of who I was when I couldn’t imagine that best version for myself. It wasn’t because we were just friends and colleagues. It was because of our shared Blackness. I can’t fully express how often I think about those idling car talks and how much they mean to me now — two young Black men really just trying to help each other find their paths.
I last saw him in Dallas randomly at a pool party the weekend the Chiefs were playing the Cowboys a few years back. Half of Black Kansas City was there and it was packed. No one was in the pool, though. We laughed so hard about this and said we needed to get up back in the city. We never did. We mostly just traded texts or direct messages every few months, catching up.
The last convo we had was about his podcast and how amazing it was. The fact that I could hear the same intonations, inflections, laughter and banter I knew so well was just proof of how authentic he was. Terez asked me how I was doing, and I was too happy to tell him about my recent promotion and how that earnest encouragement in those candid car convos was still top of mind some 15 years later. I know he knew what I meant.
A lot of folks are going to use that “great at his job, better person” stuff with Terez, and yes, he was an absolute rock star at his job. I just want to pay him his respect and lend some anecdotal evidence to that better person bit. Because he was the best of us.
Harry Lyles Jr., ESPN
I met Terez at the 2018 NFL owners meetings, where he and a few other veteran Black journalists looked out for me and gave me guidance along the way. It was my first time there, and Terez helped show me the ins and outs of the meetings. A year later at the Super Bowl in Atlanta, Terez and I met up again. We rode the bus together after an event, where he took the time to try and find out what I wanted out of this industry, and brainstorming people for me to meet to help accomplish my goals.
Terez and I didn’t talk regularly, but in a feeling only replicated by going to NABJ, I felt like I had somebody who was genuinely willing to help me in those moments like only a family member could. It was a feeling of hope and help that I never felt I got often trying to make it in this business, and I will always remember and appreciate Terez for being so willing to offer a hand when he didn’t have to.
Mará Rose Williams, education reporter, The Star
I didn’t know Terez as well as some of the younger journalists at The Star, especially since he was a sports writer and therefore wasn’t in the room all that much. Although we did play trivia together from time to time — our secret weapon in those sports categories.
What I did know about him though, was that he was a talented, dedicated, hardworking young Black man doing the craft proud.
That caught my eye. And from afar I watched him soar and I was inspired.
As a Black journalist who’s been in the business a few decades, I’ve found myself too often in the room looking around and seeing few others who look like me. I can’t tell you how happy it made me to see someone of the caliber of a Terez Paylor step in and do so well. I’m thinking all the while that he’s pushing open that door just a little bit more than it was before. He did that, and that gave me hope for the future of Black journalists in this profession where there has always been too few people of color.
I remember the day I heard that he was leaving The Star for Yahoo Sports. It hadn’t been announced yet, but I heard through the newsroom grapevine.
He stopped by my desk. He didn’t say a word just smiled. I remember saying, so it is true. I’m so proud of you.
Turron Davenport, ESPN
I always looked forward to seeing Terez at events, especially the Senior Bowl and Combine. He’d always come up to me and put his hand on my shoulder while he asked what prospects stood out to me. Then he would share his thoughts. Terez always made sure he told me how much he respected my film study. The excitement he had for football showed on his face and could be heard in his voice.
Then there was that laugh. His laugh was usually more funny than whatever it was that he found to be humorous. I loved how he would always recall a particular story I told him about how Tanoh Kpassagnon dominated one on ones at the Senior Bowl. He would tell the story back to me and laugh like as if it was the first time he heard it. It won’t be the same without him.
Clarence Hill, Fort Worth Star-Telegram
I met Terez when he took over Chiefs beat at Kansas City. He asked me for advice on navigating an NFL. He was a sponge. Eager to learn. Always respectful but very passionate about the job and his career. We would connect at all major NFL events for dinner and he was a regular part of the mentoring and networking events I would host for Black NFL reporters. He went to seeking advice to sharing the wisdom of his success. His death is gut wrenching. He was a rising star in the prime of his life. Everyone loved and respected him. This hurts.
Kia Breaux, Associated Press
Terez was an outstanding role model for young Black journalists. He had so much passion for his beat and his work ethic was impeccable. What impressed me most was Terez’s willingness to share his knowledge with others. He always said yes when asked to speak to young people or to participate in a panel discussion. His presence and his voice will be missed.
Gregory Lee, Boston Globe
Just crushing news. Terez Paylor was a very talented journalist and a mentor. Prayers to his family and my love to you, Ebony Reed.
Charles McDonald, For The Win/USA Today
Terez Paylor was inarguably the kindest person I have ever met during this journey of covering the NFL. As a young, Black journalist trying to figure out how to navigate this space, Terez was an invaluable resource for me. I didn’t take the standard path into this profession. I didn’t go to a journalism school, I never had an internship at a newsroom. It was simply the love of the game that got me into this profession.
That love of the game was where I was able to build a relationship and a genuine friendship with Terez. I met him at the Senior Bowl in 2018, during the Thursday practice that week. For those of you who haven’t been to the Senior Bowl, Thursday’s practice is the destination for all the people who are really obsessed with football. Most of the coaches have left at the point in the week. A lot of the media is gone too. Anyone that was still sitting around for what was essentially a walkthrough practice for an all star game really loved the game of football.
I introduced myself to Terez and we spent the next two hours just breaking down the NFL Draft, talking about different ways we liked to evaluate football, and ultimately, how close Black NFL writers are to each other. During that conversation, I knew immediately that Terez was someone I wanted to keep around for the rest of my life. From that point on, Terez was an invaluable source of wisdom, jokes, and just a great person to talk to in general.
Terez and I made a point to get lunch during the NFL Combines that we both attended, just talking football and life and he always made sure that I was doing OK. Over the years, I noticed that a lot of my peers and friends also saw Terez as a mentor figure. No matter what he had going on, he always carved out time for younger Black journalists.
I was in a sticky spot at my last job at the New York Daily News and the first older journalist I called for advice was Terez. The funny part was, Terez was fully honest that he didn’t have any advice for me with the situation that I was going through, but he could point me in the direction of people who could. Terez was a giver, and never asked for anything in return. No matter the task or the ask, Terez was going to give his best shot to get the people he cared about out of a rut — and he cared about a whole lot of people.
After I spoke with Terez about this issue at work, he told me that I had to pay that effort forward. Of course I will, because in Terez Paylor’s world, being kind to people was just part of being human.
I, and everyone else who encountered him, will miss him dearly.
This story was originally published February 14, 2021 at 5:00 AM.