When my wife, Mary, and I had gotten married, we moved to Evans, Georgia, and the search was on for a church to attend. Some friends had invited us to try the Sunday school class at Warren Baptist Church where they attended, so we showed up that morning in our Sunday best. Little did I know that the friends that had invited us had advised the Sunday school teacher that I had watched a lot of professional wrestling in my younger years. I might have watched some in my older years as well. When the teacher recognized us as visitors, he said he always did an “ice breaker” to welcome new guests. He asked new class attendees about a hobby, a little known detail of your family, or about your children. In my case, he asked me to do an impression of Ric Flair in front of the class. Being a little shy by nature, I’m not sure ol’ Ric would be proud of the weakened WOOOOO I let out. There was one class member that was proud of it though.
I first met Richard Hillman that day. After the Sunday School lesson had ended, he was the first one to come over and shake my hand. The first words he said to me proudly recognized my innermost Ric Flair.
“That was awesome! The only thing missing was the fake blood.”
I asked him if he was a wrestling fan and he told me about his younger days of going to the Bell Auditorium in downtown Augusta to watch the wrestling matches. He wasn’t a big fan in present day, but he couldn’t hide the smile across his cheeks when he recalled watching Buddy Landell, Thunderbolt Patterson, Tommy “Wildfire” Rich, Outlaw Ron Bass, Harley Race, Ric Flair, and of course The American Dream Dusty Rhodes. We instantly hit it off and the only thing that broke up the wrestling run down was his beloved wife clearing her throat and saying, “Hey y’all. I’m Cheryl.”
“Oh, oh…uuuhh…yeah, I’m Richard.”
My grin was as wide as Richard’s as we shook hands again. “I’m Tommy and this is my wife, Mary.”
“Miss” Mary and “Miss” Cheryl apparently didn’t share our love of watching Hollywood Hulk Hogan or Randy Macho Man Savage because they exchanged a smile and “the look” that wives give each other when the guys are being guys. Richard and I liked to use “Miss” when referring to our wives because, yes, it was a wrestling reference to Randy Savage himself having “Miss Elizabeth” in his corner as his loyal wife and manager.
Even when teasing and using the moniker “Miss” Cheryl, Richard always praised her and spoke of what a wonderful wife, mother, and grandmother she had been in their family. In fact, the entire time I’ve known Richard Hillman I can’t recall anything negative he ever said about Cheryl. He only spoke praise for his partner and held her up in the highest human point of his heart. The highest spiritual point was reserved for the Lord as Richard was never shy about reminding anyone who may have doubted, but Cheryl was his human high point. The bees’ knees you might say. Or as my Papa might say about a loving couple, “they sure are thick.” I was newly married at the time when I first met Richard, but this example always spoke volumes to me about how I should treat Mary. Or maybe I should say “Miss Mary.” Richard would certainly laugh knowing I corrected her name but would be first to point out, “love her like Christ loved the church.”
As Richard and I got to know one another better, he loved to hear me tell stories about football or crazy things that happened at my work. He loved to tell me about hot rods and the newest Bar-B-Q joint he had come across. If you knew Richard, you know he could find Bar-B-Q in the most rural and out-of-reach areas on the map. One day Richard began to discuss an idea he had to minister to residents of our local jails. Long story made short, he was instrumental in the formation of a group called Serving Time of the CSRA that ministered in the local jails in our area of the state. He would attempt to recruit me to participate a couple of times only to meet with repeated resistance. I would tell him that I didn’t feel like I could teach and Richard would start with that persuasive reasoning he possessed.
“You’re good at telling stories. You can write them and you can tell them. I’ve noticed that about you.”
Uh oh, he’s started with the flattery.
“You know the story of Noah, right? You know the story of Moses, right? You can tell people about Jesus and His grace, right? That’s all you have to do to be part of our group.”
Well, he continued on and convinced me. I nervously agreed to go to the Columbia County Jail on a visit with him. I agreed to go on the condition that he would let me observe how it worked. When we got through security at the jail, the officer shouted, “Who will go to maximum?” Richard grabbed my arm and jumped forward. I looked at Richard with wide eyes, and he got a big chuckle out of my reaction. In fact he laughed all the way down the long hallway leading to the thick steel door that sealed the maximum security area of the jail. As the officer led us in, Richard quietly spoke.
“God is working, my friend. Relax. Get ready to be blown away.”
He was right. I was blown away as he led the inmates in a Bible lesson and they hung on every word he spoke. I ended up being part of the ministry as a teacher and have seen several receive the same grace, mercy, and forgiveness that I received in my own life. Richard would remind me of the words of Jesus when we would talk jail ministry.
“Whatsoever you’ve done to the least of these, you have done unto me.”
And now, I have to temporarily say good bye to my friend. He’s left this life behind for his eternal place in heaven. We had been texting and talking in recent days about the end of life. Richard, a big UGA football fan, knew I am a die hard Georgia Southern football fan. He took the chance to say, “Well hey, when the day comes that I’m gone, you can be happy that you don’t have to listen to me talk about all the five-star players Kirby Smart is signing.”
I said, “Come on, man. Don’t say it like that.”
Typical Richard smirked and asked, “You think I’m afraid of dying? My heart has stopped before, but here’s the thing. I know where I’m going when it finally stops for good. Don’t you know where I’m going?”
So it’s off you go, my friend. I will miss razzing you about UGA and having you return the favor towards my GA Southern Eagles. I will miss our laughs. I will miss your wisdom. I will miss your advice. I will miss your interesting critiques of all the middle Georgia Bar-B-Q joints. I will miss listening to you teach. I will miss your texts. I will miss you. But I’ll catch up to you later because, yes, Richard, I know where you are.
