We are going to take a break from our normal coverage today to celebrate one of the best of the LEGO community, Joe Meno. When news broke of his passing, I was devastated and heartbroken. I’ve had to take many breaks while writing this article out of the emotion and grief, knowing such a dear friend is gone.

For many readers, especially newer ones, the name Joe Meno might not immediately register. But if you’ve spent any meaningful time in the adult LEGO fan community over the last three decades, you have felt his influence… whether you realized it or not.

Joe was the founder and longtime editor of BrickJournal, the first widely recognized print magazine devoted to adult LEGO fans. Long before “fan media” became popular, before influencer culture, before algorithms rewarded clicks, Joe was documenting builders through sheer hard work, telling the stories of the people behind the builds.

He helped chronicle the rise of AFOL culture and served as one of the earliest connectors between The LEGO Group and the growing adult fan community. But don’t be misled—Joe’s lasting legacy isn’t just in the pages of his beloved magazine, but it lives on in the countless people he encouraged, championed, and built up along the way. Myself included.

Many others have detailed his profound impact on the broader AFOL community, so please allow me a moment to share a more personal reflection on Joe and how he impacted me, not only as an AFOL but as a person.

BrickCon and BrickNerds

I had the pleasure of knowing Joe for years. He was a regular at BrickCon, and I think he felt most at home there among LEGO conventions. He was a true brick nerd. He thrived in that creative environment where you could chat with Classic Space builders, swap stories with a LEGO historian, and keep one eye on the newest MOC or builder that might deserve a feature.

In fact, he was the first person to publish the large winter village I built with Wayne Hussey and Terri Landers, a moment I credit with helping me enter the larger zeitgeist of AFOLdom and understanding that the world of LEGO builders was so much bigger than I realized.

Even though he frequently registered as a vendor to sell a few copies of BrickJournal, Joe was an AFOL at heart. He would attend your presentation, ask thoughtful and insightful questions, and then want to continue over lunch. He’d remember what you talked about in conversation the year before and was just as interested in you as a person as he was in you as a builder.

I remember one year while I was serving on the BrickCon planning committee. Joe hadn’t received an attendee bag because technically he had registered as a vendor, but they were pretty cool that year and I had seen him eyeing one longingly. After the convention ended, I took an extra swag bag over to the Maxwell Hotel to make his day as he was hanging out with a few other late-night AFOLs who were staying one last night. He was absolutely delighted and immediately began digging through the goodies inside. What followed was pure Joe.

One of the items in the con bag was a large Ziploc of black 1x1 bricks, which he tried to give back to me and said there wasn’t much he could do with them at the moment. I replied that you can do a lot with 1x1 bricks like build a tall, skinny tower. In fact, I jokingly promised a dollar for every foot of height if he built one right then and there in the lobby, then I headed out to another area for a drink and to decompress a bit after a long, successful convention.

Cut to a few hours later when Joe, Joshua Gay, and Guy Himber came running up to me grinning like giddy teenagers. They had combined all of their swag bags and built a freestanding tower of those 1x1s that spanned nearly two floors through the stairwell. They excitedly recounted how the build progressed, the problems they encountered, and how they banded together to solve them. It was the best $20 I ever spent.

It was chaotic. It was triumphant. It was exactly what LEGO conventions are supposed to be. That moment was so much fun that we turned it into an unofficial Maxwell Lobby after-con game tradition, repeating it every year in his honor until BrickCon moved to Bellevue a few years ago. Who knows how many AFOLs have since taken part in those late-night lobby games without ever realizing that Joe helped start them.

Speaking of BrickCon, it was because of Joe that I met BrickNerd’s Founding Nerd Tommy Williamson—and look what that led to. We laughed about how we had wanted to meet for years but kept missing each other in passing. Joe made it happen.

How Joe Saw the World

Joe loved art in all forms (and we even both played the bass trombone!). He was friends with artists, filmmakers, and photographers, and he was always looking for ways to celebrate them. He sponsored photographers to attend conventions. He promoted his friends’ successes as if they were his own. He even brought a Disney Imagineer to BrickCon because he believed builders deserved to hear directly from the minds who shaped worlds. He saw wonder everywhere… in LEGO, in coding, in friendship, in theme parks, in nature, and even in simple conversations.

When I built my rainbow heart mosaic, I thought of it as a personal piece. More emotional and maybe even a little vulnerable. It wasn’t just about color blocking or mosaic math. It was about identity, love, visibility, and joy. Joe celebrated it as no one else did. He didn’t just compliment it at a convention and move on. He wanted to talk about it — what it meant, why I chose that form, why that scale, why that color arrangement. He asked questions that made me think harder about my own intent. He understood the impact of the piece before I fully did.

But it didn’t stop there. He made a high-quality print of the mosaic and mailed it to me. He wanted to honor something he believed was stunning and beautiful. He put it on the cover of BrickJournal. He championed it in a way that gave it a wider audience, and he was one of the reasons I turned it into a puzzle so I could share it even more broadly with friends and fellow builders.

Joe had that instinct. He could tell when something wasn’t just clever, but meaningful. He helped me think differently about art. About intention. About message. About what we’re really doing when we build.

And he was a builder and artist himself. Along with his many MOCs and kits, he loved to draw. For years, he had a tradition of messaging people on their birthdays to ask what they wanted him to sketch, and he would mail you the drawing.

For one particular LEGO review of a Minions airport set, we were talking about what he could do since he accidentally accepted the offer but didn’t think it was the right fit for the magazine. As we talked through options, I jokingly suggested he do an illustrated review instead. His eyes lit up. To this day it is the only hand-drawn illustrated LEGO review I have ever seen.

He mailed me the original artwork afterward, framed and signed, along with the accompanying set itself as a thank you for inspiring the idea. That was Joe. He always found a creative way to make something meaningful.

The Man Behind the Magazine

Many people may not know that for the past few years, I’ve served as an Associate Editor for BrickJournal. I got to collaborate with Joe behind the scenes. Joe was a night owl, and so was I. We would talk for hours about the direction of the magazine (well, mostly about life and maybe a little about the magazine). We’d brainstorm themes for upcoming issues. About fun ideas we could explore. What instructions to dream up next. About which builders deserved a spotlight. About what the community needed next. And as much as I helped, Joe was always the driving force. I was just there to support the vision he had already set in motion.

BrickNerd and BrickJournal were always close friends from the beginning—just look at our sidebar. We shared articles, created instructions for publication, and supported the community in parallel ways. In many respects, our content was similar, diving deep into the LEGO hobby and telling stories. Joe even contributed a few articles for BrickNerd about monorail, how to ask for instructions politely, and featuring his friend Angus MacLane. He used the magazine as a vehicle to lift others up. It wasn’t about him. It was about everyone else.

I spoke at San Diego Comic-Con because Joe invited me and wanted to be on a panel together — just as he did with so many others over the years. I attended LEGO’s Fan Media Days for BrickJournal because of Joe. I attended my first Toy Fair NY with BrickJournal media credentials that he fought for. In fact, I’m wrapping up this article from the Toy Fair press room right now, realizing that I’m only here because he inspired me to be. He freely shared the access earned through the magazine to elevate others.

Joe always had an eye out for trends, from toys to MOCs. He cared deeply about getting it right. About telling stories thoughtfully. About balancing nostalgia with innovation. About making sure builders felt seen. I remember his glee when he went the extra mile to produce an entire issue about New Hashima, as he gleefully created custom graphics for the layout.

Joe was pretty much a one-man show, so whatever he spent his time on, he thought was important, even if it was just a little flair to make a MOC shine even better. And he followed through. He sent copies of the magazine to every featured builder. He made being included in BrickJournal feel like a true accomplishment.

L to R: Joe Meno, Jay Kinzie (USA) and Laurens Valk (Netherlands). Photo via Mike Brandl

Joe was one of the original AFOLs. A champion of both the Mindstorms and MOC communities. One of the founding voices of LEGO fan media before that phrase even existed. Joe had huge plans and wanted to get the magazine to 100 issues. Looking back, perhaps the 20th anniversary issue was enough. He didn’t always adjust easily to the rapid pace of modern media like social media, algorithms, or the constant churn of information.

But behind the scenes, he was a powerhouse of one-to-one connection. He would show up for you in person with a smile, genuinely cheering you on, and that mattered more than any algorithm ever could.

Everyone Has a Joe Story

Everyone seems to have a Joe story. Reading them over the past few days has been one of the most beautiful tributes of all. Different builders. Different eras. Different conventions. But the same thread runs through every memory: he listened. He encouraged. He made you feel like what you were doing mattered.

And he knew how to have fun. He would make you smile, be willing to do something ridiculous for a photo, get down on the floor to sort through trade bags of pieces… and somehow secretly give you the better deal.

At BrickNerd, we have a “Nerd of Note” award that we give to people who build up the community. Joe was one of our first recipients. I remember pulling him aside at BrickCon to quietly thank him for his work, for being himself, for building the community the way he did. He burst into tears.

At the time, he had been wrestling with the weight of the magazine. Wrestling with whether print still mattered in a rapidly shifting digital world. Wrestling with whether his contributions were becoming irrelevant. In that moment, that award meant the world to him. That someone had seen his efforts. That his work mattered. That even the quiet, behind-the-scenes labor of community building might be remembered. We remember, Joe.

Joe and I connected on a deep level. I think we were driven by similar ideals and had a mutual respect for each other’s work. And because of that, I’ve honestly cried more than I expected while writing this article, realizing that he is gone. Even knowing this day was coming, grief doesn’t quite prepare itself on schedule. I keep sitting down to type and instead find myself replaying conversations and reminiscing, sometimes tearing up, sometimes laughing.

But as much as there are tears, there is also something else. I leave this inspired to be a little better. To include more people. To lift others up more intentionally. To send the email. To ask the thoughtful question. To compliment more. To be curious. To share the spotlight instead of standing in it. I leave this article knowing I can and should do better. Joe’s legacy isn’t just the magazine but the community he built and the lasting good he inspired.

In fact, as I write this, I still have a deadline to get him an article about my latest mosaic for the next (and now possibly last) issue of BrickJournal. I’m sorry, Joe. I’ll get right on that.

Do you have any fond memories of Joe Meno? How did he impact you as an AFOL?

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