Tink and I had a precious friend named Roy Hodnett. Roy, the kindest and most perfect Southern gentleman, had raised his family in Virginia with his pretty wife, Anne.
Roy sold cookies for a living — at least, that’s the way he always phrased it. When he retired, he and Anne traveled south and happened upon a charming island that captured their hearts.
At 65, the Hodnetts bought a house on St. Simons Island, where Roy decided to take up selling real estate. In a short time, charming and honorable as always, he made a fortune. The commission on an island property is much higher than that on a pack of cookies.
From the moment Roy became a millionaire, he refused to let anyone else pick up the dining check. Once, Tink and I hosted a small dinner party on St. Simons, and while Tink paid the check, Roy squirmed uncomfortably, trying to convince Tink to hand it over. Only Anne, holding his arm to the chair, said firmly, “Roy, no. This is their joy. Don’t take it away.”
That’s how we look at it: it is a blessing to bring pleasure to others.
Twenty years ago, we began a dear friendship with an adorable couple.
The man is one of the most famous people in America. If I called him by name, you’d recognize him immediately.
The dinner check came.
Tink quickly laid down his credit card just as the other man was reaching for his wallet. His eyes grew wide.
“I’m gettin’ that,” he said.
To the waitress, Tink said, “Take that card.”
Puzzled, the man shook his head. “Do you know that’s the first time since I started makin’ money that anyone has paid the check? Someone always picks it up and passes it to me.”
These days, we swap off, and quite often one guy will look at the other and say, “I don’t remember who paid last time.” Then they work it out.
It’s been over a year now since that couple joined us and another couple at my invitation to Ruth’s Chris Steak House. He was the chairman and CEO of Waffle House, Walt Ehmer. I wanted the two couples to spend time together because Walt was gravely ill with pancreatic cancer.
The next day, Walt called.
“I’m assuming that he picked up the check. I wanted to send him a thank-you note.”
I laughed teasingly.
“Well, actually, we picked up the check.”
“Oh,” Walt replied in a voice that was growing increasingly weak.
I never received a thank-you note from him — though I wish I had one to cherish and put in our bank deposit box — but it was the last time I would ever see my precious friend. No amount of money could buy that memory.
This all leads to the main event.
About four years ago, a couple moved into a subdivision up the road and down another road from us. Tink met them somewhere and thought they seemed like nice people. Twice, they called to invite us to dinner. On the third invitation, I said, “We must go.”
They chose an extremely expensive restaurant.
Then, as soon as we were seated, the man ordered several appetizers and a $100 bottle of wine. (We don’t even drink $5 bottles of wine.)
Tink and I ordered water and, thinking they were paying, ordered modestly.
That’s a Southern dining rule.
They ordered expensive entrees. Then dessert.
The waiter placed the check in the center of the table, closer to the other man.
He never even glanced down.
After quite a bit of time, Tink, gentleman that he is, reached for the check.
Neither the man nor the woman paid attention. Or said, “Thank you.”
We paid it. Five hundred dollars. I’m still stunned.
Those people moved elsewhere. Apparently, they keep moving to new places to find someone to buy them dinner.
That’s a good thing.
They just aren’t acquainted with the Southern way of dining.
Ronda Rich is the bestselling author of the Stella Bankwell series. Please enjoy “A Merry Chatty Christmas.”