Rich: The homeless

It was many winters ago in Washington, D.C., that I saw my first homeless person. He was lying over a warm vent atop the Metro train. Behind him, across the street, the Washington Monument stood gloriously bathed in light.

Rich: Jay, the good shepherd

It is conventional wisdom that you should never do business with family. And, for the most part, that is probably true.Unless that family member is an honorable, God-fearing man like the one that my niece, Nicole, was wise enough to marry and bring into our family.

Rich: The Tinker diaries

In my office is a beige wicker suitcase with brown leather straps.Inside are 32 handwritten diaries produced by Charlie Tinker during his years working at the White House for his cherished friend, Abraham Lincoln.In another area, squirreled away by Tink, is a hand-duplicated set of those diaries.

Rich: The magical romance of trains

Whenever Tink and I visit Greenwood, Mississippi, one of our favorite places, we stay at the small Alluvian Hotel.“Please, Denise,” I ask the front desk manager, “put us as close to the train as possible.”She laughs delightedly.

Rich: One million words

One million words ago, I started this column.That’s a lot of stories to tell.Additionally, I have written eleven books, including one that was turned into a television movie and one that is closing in on its 50th printing.

Rich: Brent’s extraordinary father

Brent’s birth, when he joined his sister, Laurie, and brother, Jay, on an Autumn day, was joyous.Brent, looking straight into his mother’s eyes, smiled with an abundance of sweetness. He was happy to meet the world that he would be his new home.

Rich: Too funny to be true

This story sounds too remarkable to be true. You may doubt its veracity.But trust me: the truth it is.It began decades ago. Some stories happen quickly, but the most remarkable ones unfold over the years.This is one of those stories.

Rich: The colors of war

There is a multi-awarded country song, written by Jamey Johnson and Bill Anderson, with a line about two soldiers in World War II in a black-and-white photo: “You can’t see what those shades of gray keep covered; You should have seen it in color.

Rich: When a landmark died

Perhaps, it is the older we get, the more it hurts.Or perhaps it is the more sentimental we get, the more it hurts.Growing up, we rarely ate out. We were rural country people, so my parents counted pennies to have enough for taxes, electricity, and the few groceries we bought.

Rich: The mother who was but wasn’t

She loved me so much.Often, she’d tell stories of my childhood and always begin with, “You were the cutest little thing I've ever seen.”Her favorite story to tell happened when I was three. “Your Mama always dressed you like a little doll. I ain’t never saw nothin’ like it.