Where I Stand — Brian Greenspun: Saluting Sen. Cannon

Thursday, March 7, 2002 | 8:55 a.m.

OH, WHAT could have been?

Many Nevadans have asked that question over the years, much more so of late, when talking about the surprising political defeat of Sen. Howard Cannon by Chic Hecht in 1982.

Sen. Cannon died Wednesday at the age of 90 after having lived a life so ripe with success and good fortune that his funeral should be a celebration well-deserved. It was not, though, a life full only of personal success, but one also which can count hundreds, thousands and millions of people as beneficiaries of his great and varied talents as one of Nevada's leading political figures.

The newspaper reports and television coverage will be replete with his many accomplishments for the people of this state and the United States as well. I need not repeat them. But I will always wonder, in light of President George W. Bush's decision to stick Yucca Mountain and the nation's nuclear waste to Nevada, whether we ever would have reached this point had Sen. Cannon not been turned away by a foolish Nevada electorate in 1982.

My own sense is that he never would have stood for the way Nevada was being treated by the rest of the country, just because we were a small state with little political clout. Because of his seniority -- remember that word because it may be the only thing that saves us this time -- he would have stopped the insanity that has culminated in the president's turning on us.

Each of us who knew Sen. Cannon has his or her own stories that either warm our hearts or bring a chuckle when sadness is the alternative. I have my own personal story that speaks volumes about his capacity to suffer fools and clumsy law students. It involves yours truly and, in that regard, is less than, shall we say, flattering.

Back in the old days, there were just a few of us Nevadans who traveled eastward to college or law school in Washington, D.C. Because most of the students needed some work to enable them to complete their studies or wanted the experience to determine if politics would be part of their futures, it fell to the congressional delegation to supply as many of those jobs as possible.

In my day, it was Sens. Alan Bible and Cannon who performed admirably in maintaining full Nevada employment in our nation's capital. I was the beneficiary of one of the plum jobs that allowed me to attend to my studies while serving the constituents of my state on Sen. Cannon's behalf.

I remember a day in January when the senator invited the entire staff to help celebrate his birthday in his beautiful offices. While we were anxious to extend birthday greetings to our political patron, most of us were interested in meeting the other senators who would drop in to extend their good wishes.

I remember when the senator was introducing his young staff to Sen. Ted Kennedy. We were standing in line waiting both to wish Sen. Cannon a happy birthday and also to shake the hand of the brother of the martyred President John F. Kennedy.

When it was my time at the front of the line, someone behind me hit my elbow, which caused the glass full of champagne to spill all over Sen. Kennedy at the same time he was extending his hand to greet me. What I got from Kennedy at that moment was stunned silence and a look of disbelief. What I got from Sen. Cannon, who acted as a father figure to those of us who clearly needed one so far from home, was a look of understanding and a quick distracting move that prevented what should have been a Kennedy-esque response to the spirited spritz.

Sen. Cannon put me at ease, so much so that I rested against his beautiful desk while I carried on my conversation with the two lawmakers, all the while trying to forget that a very good sport named Kennedy was dripping wet in front of me.

When it came time to get off Sen. Cannon's desk and make way for the next staffer to say hello, I stood up and turned. Now, having made one clumsy move was bad enough in front of two of the most powerful men in the world. But what came next was beyond redemption.

While I thought I was resting comfortably on the senator's desk, I was really settled into this incredible birthday cake that was yet to be cut and served. Fully one third of the cake was decimated, most of which was stuck to the jacket of my favorite suit of clothes.

The look on both senators' faces along with those of my colleagues told me all I needed to know about youthful humiliation. But, once again, the reaction of my boss, Sen. Howard Cannon, told me all was just fine, although there was a noticeable smirk amongst his comforting words.

There is no way I can ever forget that birthday cake incident. More importantly, there is no way I can ever forget the kind and quality of man that was Howard Cannon.

He lived a long and fruitful life. I was proud to have been there to share a small and very sweet part of it.