Gliding through the produce section of Publix with a bouquet of flowers in the cart, he smiled and called my name a half second before I smiled and called his. Lugging a case of water to where I stood we warmly shook hands and immediately fell into conversation catching each other up.
It's been three years since I was at the Georgia State Capitol for a meeting he was hosting on my behalf. Several Department Heads sat scattered around the heavy oak table. Though they were busy running their various departments none were in a position to decline an invitation from the State's Chief Operations Officer. That's what Jim Lintz did three years ago.
I was still at Union Mission, had taken our key staff to the meeting. It was a debriefing over the failure of a behavioral health collaborative that tried to privatize services for the mentally ill. It ended up being too much change at once for a state bureaucracy and too overwhelming for us to manage.
We were meeting to pick up the pieces while planning for another try.
Jim had been instrumental in it all and there are several things I remember about the meeting. Minutes before I entered the room I got notice that a divorce I didn't ask for was finalized. Talk about taking the steam out of your sails.
But I threw myself into the moment, worked the room like a man on a mission and we walked away with pledges of new commitments and some patched up alliances.
Then I went and got drunk.
It was soon afterwards that my time with Union Mission ended. While I licked my wounds there was no reason for me to log countless hours at the Capitol, visit Jim or spend more nights in Atlanta.
I retreated to the Beach and a tight group of friends and family.
But it was good to see Jim yesterday. He laughed at my ear ring, long hair, Marlin Monroe's tee shirt and black running shorts. I told him he looked as stately as he ever did with a perfect white hair, starched shirt and creased pants.
We talked for fifteen minutes or so, smiled a lot, and congratulated one another on the good things we'd done. Then we slid back into the present ... he as a semi-retired Life Coach and me as a Beach Bum writer with big plans.
"See you on the beach," he said as I rolled my cart towards the check out lane.
"It's better than your office at the Capitol," I replied.
"It is," he said flashing his million dollar smile.
