Ronda Rich

Syndicated Columnist

Perhaps I’ll never forget the lilting sound of his beautiful, Southern accent.

I hope not.

Right now, it’s ringing in my ears, forcing tears to my eyes. Walt Ehmer was one of the best friends I ever had. He possessed a quick wit that couldn’t be outrun.

Although he was the chairman of one of the world’s best-known companies, he usually answered my calls by the second ring or shot me a text to say, “I’m on another call. I’ll call you back as soon as I finish.”

My other friends sometimes take a week to call me back. His promptness to our friendship is one of the things I’m going to miss most about dear, dear Walt.

Our friendship started in the Polo Lounge of the Beverly Hills Hotel. I was in Los Angeles for a speaking engagement and was at a table chatting with two Southern friends. A gentleman, hearing our accents, leaned over to our table.

“Where y’all from?”

“Clermont, Georgia.” “Lexington, North Carolina.” “Raleigh, North Carolina.”

He stuck out his hand. “Hatton Smith. Birmingham, Alabama.

Conversation began and we told our occupations. Kim, an interior designer. John worked for former President Ronald Reagan, organizing his archives.

“I sell coffee,” Hatton said. “Give me your address and I’ll send you Royal Cup coffee.”

After we left the hotel, Kim said, “I sure hope he sends us coffee. I love Royal Cup.”

“That guy doesn’t have the authority to give us free coffee,” I replied.

Kim pulled out his business card and squinted at it in the dim car light. “It says he’s President.”

A huge box of Royal Cup coffee was waiting on my front porch when I returned from L.A. I wrote a column about it and, after it was published, I received an email.

“Hello, my name is Walt and I sell waffles for Waffle House.” He explained that he’d read my column about Hatton who handled all of Waffle House’s coffee business.

“I’m not going to be outdone by Hatton. Please, send me your address and I’ll send you Waffle House stuff.” I got the impression that he worked in inventory.

After 20 years, I still have that email.

Two days later, an enormous box arrived filled Waffle House T-shirts, coffee mugs, hats, a waffle maker, and waffle mix.

I read the note then looked at his business card. My mouth dropped. I emailed him immediately.

“You didn’t tell me you are the president!!”

He replied, “Thought it was funnier to tell you I sold waffles since Hatton had told you he sold coffee.”

It was a friendship which took off like greased lightning. We understood each other and both of us saw the world through the eyes of Southerners.

One day, we were on the phone and a sense of knowing came over me. “Walt, are you OK?” He was only 57.

“Yeah,” he replied. “I’m fine.”

My intuition was so strong that a few days later, I asked again.

“Nothing’s wrong. I promise.”

Three weeks later, my phone rang. Seeing Walt’s name, I grabbed it and, without a greeting, I said, “I’ve been worried sick about you.”

He replied in a resigned tone, “Well, you should be. You knew something was wrong before me or the doctor.” He took a breath.

“Pancreatic cancer. Stage four.”

It felt like a searing hot knife plunged into my gut. I double over in pain and said, “No, no, no.”

Tink and I were at Mama’s house. I stumbled out the screen door, dropping down on the steps.

Tears poured but I listened, not saying a word. When he finished, I asked, “Could we go to the Lord in a word of prayer?”

“Please.”

It was the first of many prayers we shared together or I whispered silently by myself. The doctors had given him two months. God gave him 14 months.

It still wasn’t enough time.

Ronda Rich is the best-selling author of Sapelo Island: A Stella Bankwell Mystery. Walt didn’t live long enough to add the book to his Ronda collection stacked on his bedside table.