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By Mary Alice Casey Earlier this spring, I caught up with Don Moser as he was heading out for a fishing trip. Pretty typical of a new retiree, I thought. And then I inquired about his destination. He was leaving the next day for Andros, the largest but least-explored island in the Bahamas, to hunt down an elusive bonefish or two. I wasn't surprised.     Don Moser spent plenty of time at this Royal typewriter as an Ohio University undergraduate. It seems the just-retired editor of Smithsonian Magazine has done a lot of things in a big way. See if you agree: He had two articles published in Harper's Magazine before graduating from Ohio University in 1957. Three years after finishing his senior honors thesis -- his own observations and photographs of Washington's Olympic National Park -- it was published as a book by The Sierra Club. After his time in Athens, he studied writing at Stanford on a fellowship and at the University of Sydney on a Fulbright. In 12 years with Life magazine, he covered such disparate events as the Watts Riot, Hollywood galas and the Vietnam War. And in 1980, he became Smithsonian's second editor, a position he relinquished last fall. But when you talk with Moser, which I've had the pleasure of doing a few times since leaving a message of introduction on his home answering machine in January, you'd swear he was the guy next door. He and his wife, Penny, split their time between Washington, D.C., and a Sag Harbor, N.Y., home (set in woods and "ghastly barberry") that they bought in the '70s but until now have only visited. They share their quarters with four dogs: Harvey, a West Highland white terrier who propels himself and his wheelchair using his front legs; Herriot, a Cairn terrier named for author James Herriot; Herriot's son, Bill, a terrier mix; and Bear, a bison frise Moser describes as "a speed bump" compared to the manic terriers. Ironically, I was almost as intrigued by Moser's fish and dog tales as I was by those of his life as a magazine journalist. Must be the storyteller in him. We did get around to talking a bit about his career, though, and also about his days in Athens. Originally from Euclid, Ohio, he enrolled at Ohio University in the mid-'50s under the GI Bill. By then he'd already put in a couple years at Heidelberg College, served in the Army and worked as a fire lookout for the U.S. Forest Service in Washington and Wyoming. A catalogue touting the strengths of the University's feature writing and photojournalism programs intrigued him. The reality wasn't a letdown. Moser found himself in the good company of faculty members Paul Murray Kendall and Ted Hodnett of the English Department, Russell Baird in Journalism and Walt Allen in Photography -- tough but nurturing mentors -- and fellow photo students who went on to careers with the likes of National Geographic and Look. "It was just a tremendous, yeasty environment for someone who was interested in photography," Moser says. During his down time, which there wasn't much of -- "Writing and photography take a lot of time," he says -- Moser hung out in Baker Center's Bunch of Grapes Room with the rest of the "antisocial, off-center crowd." Within three years of college he found himself on the staff of Life, where he stayed until the weekly magazine ceased publication in 1972. "It was a fantastic place to work," Moser says. "It was just so damn interesting." It's no wonder that the stories spill out of him so easily. My favorite was the one about the night in 1965 that he and Life photographer Bill Ray covered Los Angeles' annual Waif Ball, a fund-raiser for disadvantaged children. Ray was not about to be contained in the distant press area when the main attraction, a young Prince Charles, took the stage. He dropped to the floor and, with a reluctant Moser in tow, crawled toward the front of the ballroom. They crouched behind a woman in a billowing skirt, and Ray popped out from time to time to snap some shots. The guest who provided their cover was amused. "Go get 'im boys," she encouraged. When Moser looked up, he discovered their partner in crime was Judy Garland.   Copyright B. Moose Peterson/WRP The past two decades at Smithsonian have been just as entertaining. "Being a magazine editor is inherently interesting," Moser says. "You're learning interesting things every day. You've got a new package to put together every month, and you're learning something new from every part of it." Imagine the lessons he took from these gems: The story Smithsonian did in 1984 about Japan's production of fake food entrees for use in restaurant windows. Or the 1988 profile of painter Hieronymus Bosch, who conjured up bizarre images toward the end of the Middle Ages. Or the 1993 tribute to worms and their importance to farming, composting and fishing. Or the 1999 look at America's fascination with the venerable demolition derby. With more than 2 million paid subscribers, Smithsonian -- and Moser -- obviously have been doing plenty right. He gives much of the credit to the talented editors, writers, photographers and designers with whom he's worked. But it's clear the buck stopped on his desk. "A magazine is a democracy ruled by a dictator," he says, apparently only half-joking. "The editor has the last word. But the editor spends a lot of time talking with the staff. Input is important. Getting it takes the whole day sometimes." So now Moser has "the whole day" for more leisurely pursuits. Speaking of which, I checked just before we went to press to see how that fishing trip went. He caught and released about 20 bonefish despite the challenges posed by high winds and a higher-than-usual shark count. "There are a lot of opportunities to screw up," he says of bonefishing, "and I have found them all." Good thing for readers he's also found a lot of opportunities to tell good tales -- fish and otherwise. Mary Alice Casey is editor of Ohio Today.