Colonel's lady, beloved husband had original recipe of love

It beat inside Claudia, his wife.

It beat for 94 years and four months - a good, long time for a human heart. It stopped, full and happy, only last week.

Mrs. Sanders died New Year's Day, returning to her beloved husband's side once and for all. For 16 years they had been separated: she at Table 26 in Dining Room 2 of the Shelbyville restaurant named for her; he in Section 33 at Cave Hill Cemetery in Louisville.

Col. Harlan David Sanders - H.D., his wife called him - died Dec. 16, 1980. With her burial Saturday, Mrs. Sanders joined her late husband where the yellow line ends - that grave site in Louisville's Cave Hill Cemetery marked by a bust of the Colonel.

The dividing line on the narrow lane leading through that part of the cemetery ends suddenly right in front of the graves.

''Truly the Colonel's Lady,'' the gravestone reads.

''She always stayed in the background and let him take all the credit,'' said Kathleen Smith, a waitress at Claudia Sanders Dinner House in Shelbyville.

''But he always had her by his side. You'd never see him do nothing that she wasn't with him.''

The tale of their marriage and devotion will make you feel warm and happy, like a whole mess of fried chicken or a plate of country ham.

They'll tell you all about it when you visit the restaurant named for Mrs. Sanders: Claudia Sanders Dinner House in Shelbyville. But you can't very well visit without sitting down to the ''Real Country Cookin''' touted on the menu.

On a weekday in winter, a steady lunch crowd flows in. A rooster crows on the farm next door.

Those who simply pull open the door of the restaurant run the risk of putting on extra pounds. The smell of fried chicken hits you in the face. Nothing but comfort food is served here, and many of those streaming in last week needed comforting.

The restaurant remained open as friends and relatives of the great lady descended on this Shelby County city east of Louisville to pay her their last respects.

''She would have preferred it to be open,'' said Kathleen Smith, an employee of the restaurant for 27 years. ''She had a lot of family from out of town.''

Mrs. Sanders was a native of London, Ky.

She and the Colonel, a native of Henryville, Ind., both live on, of course, and will for a good long time. The empire they forged in the quaint, white house in front of and adjacent to Claudia's restaurant on U.S. 60 endures worldwide.

The 125-year-old Blackwood Hall residence served as their home and base of operations during the formative years when Kentucky Fried Chicken was growing into a worldwide operation.

Claudia Sanders' presence extends far beyond Table 26. But it was there she sat so many times while visiting her restaurant and spreading the cheer that so filled her and the Colonel.

Forget what they say. The Sanderses didn't clog hearts so much as they filled them.

''She was a lovely lady,'' Ms. Smith said. ''I never went to the table that she didn't pat me on the head or arm.''

When Mrs. Smith brought the birthday cake to Table 26 along with a knife and a glass of water Sept. 7, the 94-year-old birthday girl seated there reached out a bony hand and laid it softly on her employee's arm.

Nobody knew it was the last time they would see Claudia Sanders in Claudia Sanders Dinner House.

''You remembered,'' Mrs. Sanders said distractedly.

Mrs. Sanders had drilled it into the employees to keep a glass of water handy when cutting a cake. You have to dip the knife to keep it sliding through the cake.

Many secrets were shared at Claudia Sanders Dinner house. Over the years, Mrs. Sanders and her famous husband taught many cooks how to prepare the greasy legs and wings using the famous secret blend of herbs and spices.

''Ginny, honey,'' the Colonel told cook Virginia Beckham, who still works at the restaurant 28 years after her hiring. ''There's a recipe. You follow that. And if you have any problems, you let me know.''

Another secret is the Sanderses' fondness for - surprise! - ham. Country ham is more prominent on the menu than chicken. ''Kentucky State Fair Grand Champ Ham,'' it says.

But never mind all that. It's getting late now, and the lunch crowd is thinning out. In Room 2, Table 26 sits empty. When your check comes, there's nothing left but the leaving. The Colonel's Lady has settled her tab. She has settled up and gone away.

Rob Kaiser is The Enquirer's Kentucky columnist. His column appears on Sundays and Thursdays in The Kentucky Enquirer. He can be reached at 578-5584.