Mr. Cincinnati died today. He was 92. If you have never heard of Mr. Carl Lindner Jr., you probably never lived in the city of flying pigs and you’ve probably never been to the banks of the fair Ohio River waters.

My encounters with Lindner were occasional at best. During my days working as a journalist in Cincinnati, I’d see him now and again at various press conferences. Maybe at the Reds’ ballpark when he was the team’s owner for a stint. That’s about it. He shook my hand a couple times, though our conversations never once extended past a polite, “Hello”.

Once, at the opening of the National Underground Railroad Freedom Center, I got a glimpse inside his banana cream-colored Rolls-Royce Phantom. Rumor had it the car was so rare it came with its own driver, but what impressed me most was the umbrella that popped out of the door for quick necessity when it was raining.