When Carter Wells Kay said her husband had a knack for writing and that it might be a good fit for the Lookout Mountain Mirror, I was excited, but I didn’t get my hopes up. Lots of folks have an affinity for writing but they don’t get around to sending it in for publication.
But by the time I got to my office, there was an email in my inbox from Forde Kay, signed off as FK. My maiden name is Kelly and that’s exactly how I sign off on the Mirror proof pages.
We chuckled about our initials and thus began a delightful relationship that was mostly online through his charming columns and emails and various texts. All of my text threads with him are punctuated with his numerous emojis of a bright yellow sun in oversized sunglasses.
In one of our many conversations via text, he typed, “FK, I’m doing well but have been fighting what’s been going around the last couple of weeks. I apologize that I do not have a story prepared for February. No excuses, just didn’t get it done.”’
My buddy certainly had an excuse. But that’s not who he was, and his illness certainly didn’t define him.
As recorded in his obituary, “Forde was an inimitable character. An immaculate dresser and irrepressible raconteur, he always had a freshly pressed linen handkerchief in his jacket and a perfectly tailored story in his pocket. He loved to laugh. He loved to sing. He loved to share his joy with others. Most importantly, though, Forde always showed up-for his family, his friends, his beliefs.
“Service to others was an essential part of his life. Whether delivering Meals on Wheels, volunteering in church soup kitchens, or ringing the Salvation Army bell each Christmas dressed as Santa, Forde led by example and often brought his children along so they could see firsthand what it meant to love your neighbor.”
In one of our many conversations, FK told me is mother said (in a deeply Southern accent), “Forde wakes up singing.” I believe that.
FK was chipper. As illustrated by the sunglasses sun emojis. I knew he was struggling with his health, but I never heard about it from him.
Exactly two weeks before he died, he texted, “Hey FK, I needed a change of scenery, so I arranged for an exciting trip to CHI Memorial. Will have Carter bring me a copy of your text about editing [my June column] FK.”
I drove him crazy with the editing, but I usually needed to trim his articles by a couple hundred words because of space parameters.)
After my immediate text of concern, he assured me he was in good hands and that Carter was bringing a printout of my edits to his column to the hospital for him to see.
He also apologized for being a few days late on turning it in.
When I heard almost immediately that he was with Hospice at home, I texted him again and he replied, “I’m in good hands, Coach. (He kindly called me Coach when I was overly zealous with my red pen.) Did you get the edited article back from me via [son] Chapin, Robby’s corner man? FK”
The next time I texted I told him I was making vegetable soup and wondered if he had an appetite for that. He replied that, yes, in fact, he did!
I thought that was a very good sign. So I zipped right over.
There were a lot of cars parked at their house, and I hesitated to knock on the door. I didn’t want to interrupt so I just left the soup at the door.
I can’t tell you how sad that makes me, that missed opportunity to wish FK safe travels and promise him that his last column was in good hands. I didn’t change a single thing on his last submission, but that doesn’t make up for not seeing him off when I had the chance.
by Ferris Robinson
But by the time I got to my office, there was an email in my inbox from Forde Kay, signed off as FK. My maiden name is Kelly and that’s exactly how I sign off on the Mirror proof pages.
We chuckled about our initials and thus began a delightful relationship that was mostly online through his charming columns and emails and various texts. All of my text threads with him are punctuated with his numerous emojis of a bright yellow sun in oversized sunglasses.
In one of our many conversations via text, he typed, “FK, I’m doing well but have been fighting what’s been going around the last couple of weeks. I apologize that I do not have a story prepared for February. No excuses, just didn’t get it done.”’
My buddy certainly had an excuse. But that’s not who he was, and his illness certainly didn’t define him.
As recorded in his obituary, “Forde was an inimitable character. An immaculate dresser and irrepressible raconteur, he always had a freshly pressed linen handkerchief in his jacket and a perfectly tailored story in his pocket. He loved to laugh. He loved to sing. He loved to share his joy with others. Most importantly, though, Forde always showed up-for his family, his friends, his beliefs.
“Service to others was an essential part of his life. Whether delivering Meals on Wheels, volunteering in church soup kitchens, or ringing the Salvation Army bell each Christmas dressed as Santa, Forde led by example and often brought his children along so they could see firsthand what it meant to love your neighbor.”
In one of our many conversations, FK told me is mother said (in a deeply Southern accent), “Forde wakes up singing.” I believe that.
FK was chipper. As illustrated by the sunglasses sun emojis. I knew he was struggling with his health, but I never heard about it from him.
Exactly two weeks before he died, he texted, “Hey FK, I needed a change of scenery, so I arranged for an exciting trip to CHI Memorial. Will have Carter bring me a copy of your text about editing [my June column] FK.”
I drove him crazy with the editing, but I usually needed to trim his articles by a couple hundred words because of space parameters.)
After my immediate text of concern, he assured me he was in good hands and that Carter was bringing a printout of my edits to his column to the hospital for him to see.
He also apologized for being a few days late on turning it in.
When I heard almost immediately that he was with Hospice at home, I texted him again and he replied, “I’m in good hands, Coach. (He kindly called me Coach when I was overly zealous with my red pen.) Did you get the edited article back from me via [son] Chapin, Robby’s corner man? FK”
The next time I texted I told him I was making vegetable soup and wondered if he had an appetite for that. He replied that, yes, in fact, he did!
I thought that was a very good sign. So I zipped right over.
There were a lot of cars parked at their house, and I hesitated to knock on the door. I didn’t want to interrupt so I just left the soup at the door.
I can’t tell you how sad that makes me, that missed opportunity to wish FK safe travels and promise him that his last column was in good hands. I didn’t change a single thing on his last submission, but that doesn’t make up for not seeing him off when I had the chance.
by Ferris Robinson
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