KINDER'S COMMENTARY: NORM LAMBERT: SIKESTON'S LEGEND

One bitterly cold, clear Friday afternoon this past January, I was returning from Portageville, having attended the funeral of the father of a dear friend. Realizing it was 3 in the afternoon and I hadn't had any lunch, I stopped in at Lambert's restaurant in Sikeston at one of the few times there isn't a line or a wait at that famous eatery. Escorted to a seat, I ordered one of my favorite pig-out meals: Chicken-fried steak, mashed potatoes, corn and green beans. Then, of course, there were rolls. Always, throwed rolls.

With few patrons in the place, I was absorbed in some reading, enjoying the down-home cooking. Before long I looked up to see the familiar, smiling, friendly face of the proprietor scooting into the booth across my table.

I hadn't known Norm extremely well, having admired him for years, mostly from afar, as a hardworking businessman with an unmatched touch for people of all stations in life. All were equal in his sight. Like God's, you might say. Norm knew no strangers. He gave new meaning to the word "gregarious," and though I've known lots of successful politicians at the local, state and national levels, I've yet to see one who matched his people skills. I had first eaten in Norm's tiny restaurant more than 20 years ago, when it was located near the intersection of Main and Malone, and had followed him east on Malone ever since.

That day five months ago, Norm said he wanted to thank me for some favor I had done for him. He grabbed my check, as he had so many others. In an eloquent tribute published in Wednesday's Sikeston Standard-Democrat, Mike Jensen observed that, "you could feed a small army on the food he has given away."

It's amazing how far a smile, a firm handshake, an unpretentious eagerness to work and a genuine fondness for people will take you. And oh, how far they took Norm Lambert, together with all his people. Somebody returned to these parts last summer from a trip to the West Coast with a report that everywhere he went Southeast Missouri was known for two things: That Cape Girardeau is the hometown of Rush Limbaugh, and that Sikeston is home to Lambert's where you get the "throwed rolls."

Some funerals, or memorial services, are tougher than others. It was like that Wednesday morning at the Lambert farm near Blodgett. So many, many things aren't given to us to understand on this side of God's veil of tears. Norm's death will, for me and so many others, forever belong in that category. The unashamed tears and the heaving sobs from the grown men that morning testified to their love for this wonderful leader and friend.

As we walked behind the horse-drawn carriage bearing Norman's casket, a friend who had played football for Norm related to me what kind of fierce, dedicated and friendly line coach he had been during those glory years of football at Sikeston High School. What a debt is owed by all those young people to the unforgettable Norman Lambert.

Heading away from the gravesite Wednesday morning, I spotted two police officers whose shoulder patches indicated their home city: Ozark, Mo., located on Highway 65 between Springfield and Branson. I introduced myself and thanked them for coming all the way over for the service. They seemed surprised at my thanks, and one responded, "Norm's restaurant is the best thing that's ever happened to Ozark." What an eloquent epitaph.

So, it seems, you can do good by doing well. Norm would understand. And toss those officers a roll. And pick up their check. And brighten their day. And leave 'em laughing. I'd give anything, today, to hear that booming voice and to see him sauntering by, tossing somebody a roll from halfway across the room.

~Peter Kinder is the associate publisher of the Southeast Missourian and a state senator from Cape Girardeau.