I’d known Stephen Long for about a month before I understood anything he said.

It wasn’t that he mumbled — well, kind of, but mumbling implies a haphazard rhythm of conversation.

No, Stephen had flow. His words just had to work extra hard — they had to make it past the mustache and wrestle with the toothpick. By the time they made it out, they were a little low on the volume.

But that’s OK, because he made up for it in speed — the guy talked fast. Very low and very fast, to a degree I’m pretty sure is technically impossible. I told him he should let the folks at MIT take a look at his mouth.

But modern physics missed out. Stephen passed away last weekend.

I just found out tonight which means I missed the wake. I’m half glad because I hear it was open casket and I doubt they gave him a toothpick. I’ve never seen him without one and don’t intend to. Tomorrow’s his funeral. I’ll be there for that.

And I’m sure half of Franklin — the lucky half — will be there too.

You probably knew Stephen Long. No? Ask the person next to you.

Stephen was a giant. Not height-wise — that curse we shared. But in every other aspect, he was tremendous.

For instance: do you have any old issues of The Franklin Press lying around? And I mean old, from a couple of years back. Open one and look for a column called “This Side of Heaven.”

Who’s it by? Stephen Long.

Is it good? Undoubtedly.

Stephen reminded us that we are not Christians just because we stick a metal fish on our car, wear a cross around our neck or sit in a pew every Sunday. And he did it with style.

I told Stephen that though his column wasn’t in The New York Times, it was on a lot of refrigerators in Macon County. That was good enough for him.

So he could write. He could also sell.

Last year I stopped by Stephen’s Emporium, his store in Waynesville, just to say hi. I left with a 15-inch black leather elephant for my coffee table and a Tony Bennet CD. Two points are important: I don’t own a coffee table and I already had the CD.

Seriously. I can’t make this stuff up.

More importantly, folks will say he was a devoted father and a great neighbor. And they’d be right.

But I knew him as a friend — and I can say proudly he was one of the best I’ve ever had. I’ll miss him.

The last time I saw Stephen was right before Christmas. I stopped by his store on my way home and caught him just as he was about to close up. I was glad I got there in time. Now I’m grateful to no end.

I remember that our goodbye hug was extra long that night. I remember, afterwards, asking myself why.

Bye, Stephen. And no worries — white was always your color.

Stephen Long died on Jan. 23. This article is reprinted with permission from The Franklin Press. Walter Herz lives in Chapel Hill and can be reached at walterherz@yahoo.com.