Ronda Rich

Syndicated Columnist

From the oven, I pulled out a peach cobbler that bubbled and popped beautifully. Outside, Spring had come calling to resurrect what Winter had lulled to sleep. The trees and shrubs were a lovely green and almost in full growth.

I took off my apron and watched two birds flittering outside the window, communicating in their unique way. This was a few years ago, but I remember it all so clearly.

I should have been happy and content but my heart was burdened and the heavy hand of grief squeezed it like a giant vice. It was hard to breathe. And the tears?

They had come forth like a rushing waterfall for days then left me so dry that no amount of water would hydrate my mouth. Our good friend, Gavin MacLeod, had died.

He, who had an abundance of enthusiastic love for Jesus, America, his friends and family.

Gavin was one of several people who put an arm around my shoulders and helped guide me through the world of Hollywood television, which was as unfamiliar to this mountain girl as Paris was to the American boys who helped liberate Paris in World War II.

The moment he slung open the door of their condo in Palm Springs, bellowed out a welcome, then gathered me up with his massive arms, I knew I had found a lifelong friend.

Tink knew Gavin, of course, from playing Murray on “The Mary Tyler Moore Show.” Whenever possible, the young Tink would go with his father and stepmother, Mary, to the Radford lot for the Friday night filming. While it’s rare for a television actor to have more than one hit show in his career, Gavin went on to play Captain Stubing on “The Love Boat” for nine seasons.

“I was so blessed,” he thundered whenever recalling the opportunity to be a part of two memorable television series.

The sound of the peach cobbler had quieted when the phone next to the stove rang. “I’ll get it,” I hollered up to Tink.

“Hello, Ronda?” The timid, soft voice of Patti, Gavin’s wife, tumbled over the thousands of miles from the California desert, to our mountains. We chatted a bit, the lumps in our throats making conversation difficult. Finally, Patti pulled herself together and asked for our address so she could send an invitation to the funeral. Then, she drew up her strength and asked, “It would mean so much to me if John (Tink) would speak at the service.

Do you think it’s possible?”

“He would LOVE it!” I replied enthusiastically. Tink does not like to be noticed.

John Tinker is ‘umble as mountain people say. When he heard that I had obligated him, he turned white. He protested. He fretted.

But, when all was said and done, he was powerfully wonderful.

Gavin cried a lot. His heart was so tender that, whether the story was good or sad, he cried.

At the funeral, his best friend, Pat Boone, told how they and their wives had gone to see the movie, Saving Private Ryan. When the credits rolled, Gavin jumped to his feet, applauding and sobbing like a baby.

Once, at lunch in Palm Springs, Tink said, “Tell Gavin and Patti about your Uncle Oscar and Aunt Fairy.”

Halfway through the story, Gavin’s shirt was soaked with tears. When he heard the triumphant end, he put his face in his hands, crying harder.

How could you not love a man like that?

Pat Boone told a remarkable story of Patti’s solid faith. Gavin, some 25 years before, had left Patti. “She firmly believed he would come home. She got down on her knees every day and prayed.” Pat paused dramatically, looking at the audience. “Five years after he left, the door bell rang. When Patti answered the door, there stood Gavin. ‘I’ve come home.’” With complete composure, Patti replied, “Your dinner is waiting.”

Since Gavin wasn’t there, I cried for him.

Ronda Rich is the best-selling author of the new book, “A Merry Chatty Christmas.”