It was here, in San Antonio, a few years back when one of my long time friends called about lunch.

Bill Handleman became my close friend at the 1996 Olympics in Atlanta when by coincidence we were assigned the same hotel. We covered events together daily for almost three weeks.

We visited the site of the Centennial Olympic Park bombing together.

We went to the first women’s softball game and sat through extreme temperatures to watch USA win the gold medal.

We were at a boxing venue one day when a boxer sat down in front of us and I tried to strike up a conversation, but he was from a tiny island in the Mediterranean Sea and spoke no English.

Bill, to my total shock, had a long conversation with him in fluent French. Seems Bill’s dad had been a foreign correspondent and Bill spent three years in France.

We first met at the Kentucky Derby years before as we, along with Tom Luicci and Jerry Izenberg, both of the Newark Star Ledger, and Robert Yates shared table H in the press box.

We shared it for years and while others would come and go – on rare occasions (like daily) Bill and Tom would debate a horse’s merits very loudly – we were always there and started a tradition of eating dinner Friday night at a Mexican restaurant that was off the beaten path. The food was only OK, but there was no crowd and it was cheap. Usually by Derby eve Tom or Bill were running a little short on cash.

Bill once won $100,000 once by taking first place in the World Handicapping Contest. Horse racing was his favorite sport.

Bill and I became closer when he needed to close the gap between him and his daughter by his first marriage. He didn’t have a big ego, but he still had to swallow the one he did have in small bites. He ended up flying to Japan, where her husband was stationed, to see her.

A few years ago Bill’s paper, The Asbury Park Press, wanted him to switch from sports columns to general columns and we talked many times during a week of decision making. I might have helped convince him that he was ready for a change.

The switch meant no more Final Fours, college football national championships and no more Derbies, although Bill had his own office, with a tote machine, at Monmouth Park.

Early last year Bill call to tell me he had cancer, but he was fine and was going to beat it. Bob Ford, from the Philadelphia Inquirer and another friend, would drive him to New York for doctor appointments.

At the last Final Four, Bob encouraged me to stay in closer touch with Bill, and I did.

We were even going to celebrate the Kentucky Derby together. I was going to fly up and we were going have dinner on Friday and spend Saturday at Monmouth Park.

Something came up and when I called Bill he said he understood, but I could hear the disappointment in his voice.

That day back in San Antonio, we were looking for lunch when we stumbled on a Mexican cafe that had just opened. Julie’s Place was the name and you could see a lady making fresh tortillas by hand. Bill got flour, I got corn, his were great but he shared one.

Last month Tom called. Bill had taken a severe turn for the worse and in a matter of hours had gone into a coma and died.

The cancer was rare, something like one in 10 million get it, and few had survived.

I deeply regret not making it for our Kentucky Derby reunion, but Bill will stay in my memory always.

He is unforgettable.

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