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When I first saw Frank Deford in person, I was surprised by his suave and lanky look, a cross between Boston Blackie and Ichabod Crane. That sighting came last week at The Poynter Institute, where Deford was more than pleased to see what Tom Jones of the St. Petersburg Times had written about him that morning: "Frank Deford might be the finest sports writer who has ever lived."

Ever is, of course, a long time and includes the epochs of Red Smith, Gary Smith and a lot of other sports wordsmiths who might claim the title.

But Deford is a first-ballot hall of famer. More than that, he stands near the age of 70 as among the most versatile scribes in the world. His history includes writing for newspapers, magazines, movies, radio, television and theater. He is the author of 10 books, fiction and nonfiction. That makes him --  graying hair, sagging skin, and all -- an aging role model for all young journalists who now stand at the leading edge of a communications revolution.

I had the chance to sit with Deford for a few minutes to talk about the writer's craft. He asked me questions about how to teach writing, and I asked him about the details of his method, especially the construction of those legendary 6,000-word takeouts in Sports Illustrated.

I learned that Deford types his notes. Many writers I know transcribe their notes after most of the reporting has been completed. To the agnostics, this seems like a waste of time, but for Deford it is a dependable way to get his hands moving, learn what he has and still needs, and begin rehearsing the tone, voice and structure. He seemed to like my description of this as a "zero draft"  -- the writing that comes before the first draft.

I learned that Deford likes to work on paper of different colors. All writers struggle with imagining and constructing the big parts of the story, an architecture often hard to see in advance. To help him organize his material, Deford uses the colored paper trick. Notes and quotes for his opening scene might go on robin blue; the historical background on marigold; the conclusion on hot pink. Deford perked up when I told him that Esquire magazine had published not only the text of Gay Talese's famous story "Frank Sinatra Has a Cold," but also the blueprints Talese had created to divide the story into scenes. "He saved that stuff?" Deford asked with a laugh.

I learned that Deford's technique for overcoming writers block is to "write through the lead." That means he will sit down and try to construct the opening paragraphs, but if it does not go well, he'll start anywhere he can and write his way toward a lead and an ending. Sometimes the lead comes to him right away. That rarely happens with an ending -- which has to be discovered. I shared with him the advice of poet William Stafford on how to overcome the block: "Just lower your standards."

Deford admits that he likes to write late at night, a time frame I associate with much younger writers.  "The owl of Minerva flies at night," I said, quoting an old English professor. He loved that. "Did you make that up?" he asked.