Karrine Brogoitti

The first time I remember seeing the popular John Muir quote, “The mountains are calling and I must go” was on a T-shirt worn by Kelli Craft, a longtime Observer and Herald employee.

Those who were close to Kelli understood that you had to pick your battles carefully. On rare occasions, you won.

I recall giving her grief about wearing a T-shirt to the office. And as Kelli often did, she defended her choice — rather loudly. It wasn’t ripped. It wasn’t offensive. It wasn’t inappropriate. And it was her very favorite. It will come as no surprise to some that after that day it became part of her regular work attire.

As a newspaper veteran, Kelli wore more than just T-shirts — she also wore many hats in her 28 years with us. She began in the mailroom in 1995. The first time I was introduced to Kelli in 1997 was a memorable encounter. It’s a story that I’d love to share with you at some point (and one of Kelli’s favorites) — but due to the colorful language necessary to tell it accurately, I won’t be sharing it here today. I’ll just say that Kelli and I didn’t see eye to eye on that particular day, a recurring theme over our 26 years together. She let me know exactly what she thought about me that day — rather loudly.

After working in the mailroom, she moved to our circulation department and after a short stint in advertising, worked her way up the ranks to circulation director. It was a well deserved promotion and one that Kelli took on zealously.

As our business changed and the decision was made to transition from carrier delivery to mail delivery, Kelli was charged with breaking the difficult news to her beloved crew of carriers. She was heartbroken.

While she supported the change and understood the reasons for the transition, it meant that there would be people she cared deeply about who’d lose their jobs. That was hard for Kelli. She was their champion, and they knew it. Being a newspaper carrier can be thankless work and Kelli made it a point each day to ensure her team was treated with respect, that they knew how much she appreciated them and how important they were to our operation. She defended them at every turn — rather loudly (and proudly).

With the transition of our delivery and changes in the landscape of her position in circulation, Kelli began looking for opportunities to dip her feet back into the advertising waters and in October 2021 a sales position came open and she got her way. She was quick to regain the trust and respect of her business customers from years past and to win over new businesses with her down-to-earth, no-nonsense personality.

Each marketing solution she developed that equated in successful results for her customers was an exciting (and rather loudly shared) win for Kelli and for our entire sales team. She was a cheerleader and her enthusiasm was infectious. Kelli was a difficult person to say no to, but on the rare occasion someone tried, she interpreted it as a challenge accepted. And that made her an amazing salesperson.

On Tuesday, May 16, wearing that T-shirt that wasn’t ripped, offensive or inappropriate — her very favorite — Kelli Craft passed away after a short, but courageous battle with pancreatic cancer. Her passing marked another loss to our newspaper family on the heels of the passing of our patriarch and former Observer publisher, Bob Moody.

Kelli loved Bob like a father and I know in her final days how important it was for her to be here to attend his celebration of life, and even more importantly, to be front and center for the birth of her newest grandson, Stetson. As was par for the course, this insanely stubborn, loyal, brave, hard-working, loving, wonderful woman got her way.

I can hardly find words to describe how deeply she’ll be missed by her Observer and Herald family and by those who were fortunate enough to have met and worked with Kelli throughout the years.

She certainly wasn’t the easiest employee to manage (and she’d agree) — but after working alongside her for over 25 years, she became a very dear friend.

Loving Kelli was easy. And while there’s a deafening silence in the office and my personal and professional heart aches, I take comfort knowing that in those precious final moments, the mountains Kelli loved so much called out to her and she responded, rather loudly, “I must go.”