Ronda Rich

Syndicated Columnist

In addition to being one of the greatest states in the South, Mississippi has made many contributions to America.

William Faulkner. Elvis Presley.

Archie Manning. Morgan Freeman.

Eudora Welty. Zig Ziglar. Jerry Clower.

The only one I ever met was Mr. Clower. I was just a college kid but from the first time I met him, he never forgot my name. Even in the darkness of the Grand Ole Opry backstage. Even if it had been a year since he met me. He always called me by name and greeted me warmly. He was a fine man.

Tink and I fell in love with another proud Mississippian. We met Diane Ladd, born in Meridian, when she was hired for a role on a Hallmark show he was writing and producing. We fell in love immediately. All three of us.

She’d spent years ridding herself of her soft Mississippi drawl in order to get acting roles. It worked because she was nominated for numerous Academy Awards as well as Emmys.

But… Five minutes around me, listening to my extremely thick Southern drawl, and she would tiptoe pleasantly back into the land she loved so much: Mississippi.

Whenever we were driving through Mississippi, we’d call her and, more often than not, she’d say, “You know I’m from there. Tennessee Williams was my cousin. Lanier. That was his real name. Lanier.

But he called himself Tennessee. I always called him Lanier, though.”

Another beautiful habit she had was when she talked about her daughter. The gorgeous Diane had been married to fellow actor Bruce Dern in his young, dashing years. Together, they had Diane’s only child, who she adored and often regaled us with stories about.

Every time, EVERY time, she mentioned her, she called her “Laura Dern.” Always.

When she called, Tink would put her on speaker phone and we’d talk together. As she slipped gently back into her Mississippi drawl, she’d say, “I told Laura Dern the other day…” or “Laura Dern just left.”

A couple of Christmases ago, against Laura Dern’s wishes, Diane brought her grandchild a dog.

“Laura Dern don’t like it, but I don’t care. I’m puttin’ my foot down.”

About two years ago, Laura Dern and Diane Ladd wrote a book together that was filled with conversations they shared while walking daily. Diane had gotten sick on the first season of Tink’s show but not so sick that she couldn’t call up to rant and rave about the producer. She swore he had poisoned her with the cheap catering he contracted.

She was always funny – not trying to be – but she was hilarious when she got started on the stomach ailments that had plagued her since the summer of that catering.

What wasn’t funny was that she kept getting sicker. The doctor said she would only get stronger by walking each day. It was hard but Laura Dern realized that the best way to distract her mother was to have her tell stories as they walked.

As Diane would quickly tell you: something good always comes from something bad. From that bad and those conversations, came a beautiful book called “Honey, Baby, Mine”, a song Diane sang to Laura Dern as a child.

Laura Dern’s best friend, Reese Witherspoon, hosted a event for them in Nashville at Reese’s former high school, Harpeth Hall. Diane called, insisting that we come. I am so glad we did.

I was unsure as to what to expect from Laura Dern. I thought she might be aloof. I was wrong.

She leapt to her feet then hugged us both.

“I’ve heard so many good things about you,” Laura Dern said to John Tinker. “She loves you deeply.”

Too soon, the day arrived that Diane’s last breath came then took her away. Our hearts broke then broke more when we had to miss her memorial.

Our last memory, though, was of her laughing. And speaking with a Southern drawl.

Ronda Rich is the best-selling author of the Stella Bankwell mystery series. Please visit www.rondarich. com to sign up for her free weekly newsletter.