New York, NY -- Sean "Puffy" Combs hung in the back of an overcrowded church in the Bedford Stuyvesant section of Brooklyn the afternoon of July 28, 2000. His mother, who broke down in tears while offering a testimonial, said he was too upset to come inside and sit down. He couldn't believe it. Nor could any of the others -- many a famous friend among them -- convince themselves that they were there to celebrate the life, cut shockingly short, of Nija Battle.

Loved ones too often leave us without warning, but this seemed cruelly abrupt for a healthy woman just 36 years old, who defined joyous vitality. Saddiya, Nija's sister, best friend and partner in Nija (pronounced Nee-jha) Furs, recounted to me how it happened; otherwise I wouldn't have believed it either.

The two had traveled together to Montreal last weekend on business. While there, they did some shopping. "We were in a store, and Nija suddenly said she felt dizzy," Saddiya said, fighting for composure. "So we went outside for some air, and she just fell down on the sidewalk, as if she went to sleep and never woke up. Then it was like something out of a movie; there were emergency service people working and working on her, but she was gone. It was an aneurysm."

Walking down the street and dropped dead. Who can fathom it?

Not the Combs family, nor Wyclef Jean nor Faith Evans nor Desiree Coleman Jackson, who fought grief to sing solos for Nija and her family at the memorial service. Jackson's husband and a reverend at the church, Mark Jackson of the Indiana Pacers, read a scripture of comfort. Phylliss Stickeny offered her reflections.

The Reverend Dr. Washington L. Lundy, who eulogized Nija, praised her first-rate mind, her dedication to her work, and recognized that the number of "people of excellence" in the crowd was a splendid tribute to her love and determination to succeed. He also remembered the proud moment when he received a fur coat from Nija.

To tell the truth, I met Nija only about a year ago, but in the course of interviews and preparations for her story featured on furs.com last October, I instantly felt I knew and loved her. She was not treated well by the fur industry in New York City, and she had every reason to reject my request for an interview or at least approach it with skepticism and resentment. Instead she demonstrated her strong spirituality. She was warm, honest and generous, patiently debunking some of the racist theories held by furriers about their African American clientele. I was profoundly grateful for the experience.

If you check our archives for this previous story, you'll find it concluded, "Keep an eye on this shooting star." It was obvious Nija had her hands on the reins of fur's future and had no intention of letting go. Her death is a tragedy to fur lovers and the fur industry, even if it turned a blind eye to her outstanding contributions.

Nija's passions were furs and music. She combined them frequently, tailoring furs for Puffy Combs and, this year, for his Sean Jean line of clothing. Other clients included Mary J. Blige, Lynn Whitfield, Faith Evans, the late Notorious B.I.G., Lil' Kim, Kenny Anderson of the Boston Celtics and Whitney Houston. Word of mouth spread among the music and sports communities, and Nija quickly won fans and friends there.

Nija was the youngest African American woman fur designer in New York City, probably the only one with a celebrity clientele. Other African Americans working in the New York fur industry could be counted on one hand.

She never advertised anywhere, never held a fashion show and was largely ignored by the fur trade. I was surprised, to say the least, to see a furrier who was totally unknown to me turn up in Vogue magazine a year ago. This is rare after 13 years covering the business. Immediately e-mailers to furs.com asked, "Who is she? Where can I find her?" I began tracking her down, a slow process because hardly anybody in the market knew her.

That's despite the fact that Nija's furs have turned up in magazines -- Vogue, People, Allure, Vibe, National Inquirer, TV Guide, The Source, Essence -- as well as in music videos and tv shows ("Divas Live '99)."

Nija described her style as "ghetto fabulous," meaning not gaudy but colorful and of the best quality. "It's not just a Black thing," she told me last year. "I've traveled around the world and seen White and Black people in the ghetto, and they've always wanted the best. I can take you to the ghetto today and show you women in designer clothing who care about their appearance."

Nija was born December 13, 1963, in Brooklyn, NY. She was the second of three children of a Native American mother, Gladys Manley, from New Bern, North Carolina and a Black and Italian father, Clarence Battle, who was born in Detroit and grew up in Harlem.

As a child, Nija's greatest influences were her parents, who managed a fashionable boutique. A hunter, Nija's father first inspired her to make a fur coat from the skins of game he brought home. Nija spent summers and vacations in North Carolina with her maternal grandmother, Alice G. Manley, a farmer who raised chickens for dinner and stone marten for a stole she made to wear to church on Sundays.

Nija therefore did not grow up trapped by concrete, ignorant to the realities of nature. She once lectured me, "Don't forget, it's always been part of life in Africa and for early American slaves to use resources completely, to appreciate animals and not waste a thing. My grandmother made her own blankets. Why sleep with a down comforter when you can have a fur blanket? But really, it's not like there was a grocery store right next door, and in the days of slavery, we used what we had access to."

Nija began her career retailing furs while still in high school. She worked in a fur store in Harlem, where she recognized a need for masculine-styled men's furs. Ten years ago she began working at two jobs, one for a store on Orchard Street in lower Manhattan and another on Seventh Avenue, making her own creations.

Even then she found difficulties being a minority in the fur business. As the only African American working in the Orchard Street store, she watched as Black celebrities ready to plunk down rolls of cash or platinum cards had difficulty getting service, except from her.

Along the way, Nija was blessed with surprising opportunities, meeting celebrities unexpectedly and selling them her creations, not giving them away, as is today's custom among many designers. She offered them red carpet treatment and custom-made furs -- a key to success among NBA players.

Nija also loved to cook and sing. She co-wrote the song, "Your Love is So Good," recorded by J.T. Taylor, former lead vocalist of Kool and the Gang. This year she recorded background vocals for Wyclef Jean's "It Doesn't Matter."

Nija always maintained a bubbly, positive attitude. "God has been good to me," she'd say. "There is no question about it."

Events of recent months would have provided ample reason to dampen her spirit, but they didn't seem to. After so many years in the fur industry and contributing to it so greatly, she was still suffering from its deeply rooted racism and criticism about her business style.

For the past few months, she didn't have a place to bring her famous clients. Until then she shared space with a manufacturer at 307 Seventh Avenue. When they lost their lease, finding other space in the area became a challenge. Given New York's nosebleed real estate market, Seventh Avenue landlords have been doubling rents for tenants, forcing fashion houses out of the fashion district.

Nija didn't need an entire showroom space, only a corner to call her own. But furriers refused to have her, claiming her style might offend their conservative customers, and her late hours (pop stars, who perform at night, aren't usually morning people) would be inconvenient. Even with assistance and references from a prominent pelt dealer in the market, furriers didn't want "a stranger" holding keys to their showrooms.

In the last conversation I had with Nija, she and I were making plans to interview one of her celebrity clients for a story on furs.com this fall. "It's going to be fantastic, you'd better believe it," she enthused. "And don't forget, I'm still looking for a showroom if you hear of anything open," she reminded. They would become her last words to me, and I'm sorry I wasn't adequate help to her.

Today I believe the Seventh Avenue fur district bears great shame for not taking her in. But it has a second chance. Saddiya, Nija's sister and business partner, intends to continue the company and her sister's legacy. If nobody sees the practical opportunities in helping Saddiya provide furs for her roster of young celebrities, not to mention the Sean Jean collection, then they deserve to lose their businesses with their aging doyenne customers.