Most people are very forgettable. We come and we go. We smile, shake hands, speak pleasantries, and leave impressions as unimpressive as water spilled on a shirt.

I met Ronnie Sturdivant once. He was unforgettable.

The Durham businessman died this past Saturday.

I won't extol his family life (I didn't know it) or his business practices (his clients could tell you better).

I will, though, recount one summer day last year when I sat in his office and interviewed him for The N&O.

A little backstory: He owned the "We want Oprah!!!" building downtown. For three years, the sign had been sprawled across the building's windows. I simply posed the question, "Will she ever come?"

"She is coming," he said, his eyebrows lifted, cheeks pressed upward by a knowing half-grin.

We talked for about an hour, mostly about individuals, especially blacks, having faith in their own ability to achieve.

At some point during the talk, I did something journalists rarely do: I leaned in. (You see, that's when you know you're really paying attention -- when you narrow your eyes, raise your chin just a bit ... and lean.)

Oprah, to him, was more symbol than manifestation. She stood for urban wealth -- or, rather, its driving force. The spirit that causes us to try harder, work later, think bigger. He saw her as progress personified.

I never believed Oprah would come. But I believed that he believed, and that was the most refreshing thing about that sticky-hot, 100-degree day.

I'll never forget that. I'll never forget him.