Within five minutes of meeting John, he gave me a Johnny Matanzas and the Hombres CD, played a bluesy tune on the harmonica, then, deftly explained Florida’s Gulf Coast ecosystem restoration post-Deepwater Horizon. By all accounts, this was classic John Hankinson, a larger-than-life personality and esteemed environmentalist. We met five months ago at an Audubon Florida assembly with the promise to meet again to discuss water issues.

“Come to our beach house and bring your family, too,” John added after hearing my son played guitar. “We can play a few songs in my studio.”

“I sure will,” I said, waving goodbye across the hotel conference room.

This was the first and last time I met the famous John Henry Hankinson, Jr.

Two weeks ago, John passed away due to complications from a brain hemorrhage. He was 68.

Across the country, tributes to John started pouring in as news of his death was made public. Online and printed accolades shared universal praise of a hands-on leader who took complex environmental challenges seriously, but himself, not so much. When he led the EPA’s Region 4 office in Atlanta, he formed a blues-rock band with some of his co-workers, The Nonessentials, as government shutdowns deemed many in his agency as “nonessential.” John balked at the notion and advocated for his team.

John never shied away from working on difficult projects and encouraged others to join him with one requirement – to literally go where the problem was, be it a polluted swampland or a toxic coast. No executive office quarterbacking for John. He believed the only way to fix a problem was to experience it.

After John’s death, I stayed up late one night reading story after story about the man many called “Big Puff.” It’s rare to smile and tear up at the same time when reading a memorial, but, then again, John was pretty exceptional. He was a lawyer, musician, environmental defender, policy leader, and, apparently, a heck of a barbecue chef.

He was also a dedicated father, husband, son and brother, hailing from an Ocala family whose mother, father, sisters and brother could each merit a column of their own for their noteworthy contributions to our world. Matter of fact, that’s how I came to know of John, through his sister, Margaret Hankinson Spontak, a well-regarded leadership strategist and environmental author in her own right.

“You’ve got to meet my brother, John,” Margaret would often say to me, knowing our mutual interests.

Time passed. I let life get in the way of making an opportunity to meet John who lived just two hours away near the Matanzas Inlet, hence the inspiration for his latest band and CD. I even re-scheduled a few introductory phone calls for some reason I can’t recall.

It was by chance that we actually met, both of us sitting next to each other at the same table for Audubon’s opening session luncheon. John was on the agenda to speak about the Gulf Coast restoration. We hugged instantly, feeling like old friends thanks to one persistent sister.

“Margaret will be so happy we finally met,” we both said almost in unison.

We took a cellphone selfie, texting it to Margaret, the friend-matchmaker.

“Won’t she get a kick that her brother is in a selfie?” John laughed as we leaned in to pose for the picture.

Then, John pulled out something from his worn-leather briefcase.

“Here’s something you and your son may enjoy,” John said, handing me a CD titled “Holding Down the Fort” by Johnny Matanzas and the Hombres, a nod to vigilant protection of our Florida history and ecosystem near Fort Matanzas.

After John’s eloquent and passionate presentation on the precarious state of our gulf which ended with a spontaneous harmonica solo that rose the sold-out crowd to a standing ovation, we said our goodbyes with assurance we’d see each other again.

I popped his CD in my car laughing and singing all the way back from St. Pete to Ocala. From the starting track of “Who is that Hombre?” to “Maggie’s Farm,” I knew I was listening to something special.

That was five months ago.

Confession: I’m not a rock-blues kind of girl, but this CD hasn’t left my car. I have a favorite: “I Ain’t Old (Been Around a Long Time” by Delbert McClinton, sung by John who crooned as if he was singing his way to conviction about living a life without regret.

The CD stays in my play track.

As does the one and only larger-than-life John Hankinson.

I’m grateful my procrastination didn’t keep me from meeting John Hankinson. He made time for what and who mattered to him, from music to the marshes. And I know how lucky I am that time made it briefly possible for me to meet a legend.

Take a look around you. Chances are John’s legacy is preserved in the air you breathe, the water you drink, and land you love.

You’re right, Margaret. I’m awfully glad I met your brother.