I was a senior in high school when I first met a red-headed fireball. Gary McKinney.

At Ringgold High School the McKinney stories were legendary. They were the best (and the meanest) fighters in our town, especially the brother called Rat. And there were lots of them. McKinneys I mean. Twelve children. They all lived on McKinney hill out in the country.

Gary died a few days ago. I guess he decided to go back to a hill. The world has lost a great man. I lost a friend.

Remember this exchange in the movie Tombstone:

Turkey Creek Jack Johnson: Why you doin’ this, Doc?
Doc Holliday: Because Wyatt Earp is my friend.
Turkey Creek Jack Johnson: Friend? Hell, I got lots of friends.
Doc Holliday: …I don’t.

I don’t either. Not real friends. The kind a man needs. The kind that when you find one, you realize what a rare and fine thing it is.

A friend who is not waiting for the next thing you can do for them. A friend that is…well, just a friend.

Gary was that to me.

A lifelong friend. For over 30 years.

Here are a few snapshots.

He left our small country village and went to college. The stories of his academic success wafted back to our town in a day long before cell phones and e-mail. The word spread like wildfire in our small community. Gary McKinney was making straight “A’s” and was at the top of his class.

I will never forget how articulate, well-read and soft-spoken he was when he came back home for a visit a couple of years later.

He was proud of his strength. He was a man’s man. He would always put up his fists, dance around shadow boxing and say, “Come on, come on, you want some of me, SON!”

He was a legendary pulp wooder. He helped me cut a few of my trees later in life and treated his Husqvarna like others treat their Ferrari.

He was the first of my friends to become a Pastor. His Dad and Mom were so proud.

He was also the first of my friends to go through a divorce. The unpardonable sin in the evangelical church.

He went back to cutting pulp wood in the panhandle of Florida, ironically not far from the church that “let him go” because of the divorce.

I was fortunate enough to be able to return some of his many favors to me by recommending him for a job as the Singles Pastor at our mega-church in Florida. The pastor there had also gone through a divorce and therefore did not classify divorce as unpardonable.

Gary thrived and in fact worked there until his lengthy illness and ultimate death.

His stories about his Dad “Clyde” were also legendary.

He had a habit of raising his voice gradually to a fever pitch as he told stories of his family of fourteen and his country upbringing.

He always had a smile. Always.

I remember some people equating his red hair, country stories and ever present smile with blarney. Little did they know.

I’ll never forget a backpacking trip, just the two of us over 20 years ago, on the Jacks River Trail in the Cohutta Wilderness, and his tears as he told me about his divorce and subsequent ostracization by the Christian community.

I’ll never forget him saying divorce is a fate worse than death because your former mate is still alive and the hurt never goes away.

Little did I know those words were a foretelling of my life as well.

We worked out together in a private gym in Florida several times a week for years. A friend who was the rehab director there opened just for the two of us so we could beat the rush and get to work on time. We had conversations there I will hold dear forever.

He was an athlete. We also trained for a marathon together. Something happened and he was not able to run it, even though he had lasted through six months of grueling training in the Florida heat. I’m not sure he ever ran an official one, but he could have.

His affectionate term for me was “SON!” When he would say it, it was all capitals, with the explanation point, all executed with that affecting southern drawl of his. I can hear it as I write. SOOOOOOON!

He and his brother-in-law even wrote it on my car on my wedding day in 1979. In capitals.

I would have been honored to be his son. I would have been honored to be his father. I know Clyde was and Jared is.

I am honored to have been his friend. Forever.