Ronda Rich

Syndicated Columnist

At an invitation only reception before my speaking engagement, Tink and I found ourselves in the midst of lovely people who came one at a time for introductions then to talk about our work, either individually or separately.

In a room of strangers yet friends, because they know us through our publicized words, we made conversation and tried to focus on that person. Not us. I take words of praise then quickly toss them aside for more interesting conversation about them or their hometown. Tink is more adept. Any conversation that focuses on him is disdainful to him. It’s the New England Yankee in him. We Southerners are happy to tell you what we had for breakfast and how we make our biscuits.

A precious woman had been waiting. When she got to us, she spoke sweetly on our work, then mentioned specifically a television show that Tink had executive produced. He quickly answered her question then said, “We want to know more about you. Did you grow up here?”

That question answered, he discovered she was a teacher and she smilingly told him how much she had loved her years in the classroom.

“Where did you go to college?” he asked.

Immediately, tears glistened in her eyes. Softly, she said, “That’s a tough conversation these days. I’ve cried so much.”

Birmingham Southern College had provided the stage for her four happy years of college. Those, as we all can recall, are the last carefree days before life comes calling with triumphs, tribulations and, sometimes, tragedies. Those laughing days, without warning, turned into times when we search for a job, a place to live, the right person to date and the wisdom to get away from the wrong one before it becomes a trip down the aisle.

A tear dropped from her eye and she wiped it away quickly with a cocktail napkin. “I’m so sorry to bore y’all with my tears.”

We encouraged her and asked more questions.

“It had been in trouble for many years. I and many of the alums had stepped up our contributions. It was such a large, happy piece of my life that I believe I will be sad for the rest of my life.”

Two weeks later, I read a story in the Wall Street Journal that schools of higher education are closing at an alarming rate. In the last 10 years, more than 500 private colleges had closed. It wasn’t the first time that I had heard this. It was the second. A couple of years ago, a college in Vermont had closed. I saw the story and read it aloud to Tink.

“Seriously? That was a well-respected school.” Tink’s stepfather had sat on the board of directors for many years. The photo, accompanying the story, showed grand buildings sweetened by age and ivy spilling over walls. It was a big blow to a small town that counted on the economy the school brought to local businesses.

But her tears, salty with heartbreak, were the first I had personally encountered.

“Now, when I think of all the joy I had on that campus, the pain of knowing that it’s no longer there will be almost too much hurt to stand. It’s feels like losing a family member to death.”

In the WSJ, the reporter told the story that the Birmingham Southern College, over 167 years old (it survived the Civil War), built on 197 acres, had a baseball team that was advancing impressively in the Division III College World Series when word arrived that the school had closed. Two days later, in a small Ohio town, the team was eliminated. Not for lack of playing but for the lack of a school.

Without warning, 975 students were displaced.

Nothing is sadder than the scenery lost where beautiful memories were created.

The bad memories, though? Tear all those walls down.

Ronda Rich is the best-selling author of the Stella Bankwell Mysteries. Visit www.rondarich. com to sign up for her free weekly newsletter.