Saturday, March 6, 2004 | 1:54 a.m.
I'LL NEVER understand how life can be so unfair at times -- why we have to lose people we love, people who mean so much to us.
This is one of those times for me and, I'm certain, thousands of others in Nevada.
I can't even begin to describe what it means to lose Mike O'Callaghan in my life. Frankly, I'm still in shock as I write this, tears in my eyes, just hours after learning that this irreplaceable giant of a man who had so much influence on my life has passed away.
Please tell me it's not true. It can't be true. You were supposed to be indestructible, Mike, around forever.
I know Mike had serious health problems the past couple of years and was under a lot of stress, but he rarely let on that he was hurting.
Even though his problems were far greater than mine, he was always there to provide comfort and guidance whenever I came to him for advice, which is why I loved him, as so many others have, like a father.
How could you not love a man who gave so much of himself to so many people and asked for nothing in return?
Mike led a comfortable life, but he didn't have a lot of money. Yet I saw him as the richest man in the world. He touched so many people in so many ways.
I've been in his office many times over the last 25 years since he retired as the most popular governor ever in Nevada, and I can tell you there was not one time when the phone didn't ring and there was someone on the other end looking for his help.
He always responded, whether it meant getting food and clothing to the needy, correcting an injustice in the court system, lecturing a public official for abusing his authority, or helping people cut through bureaucratic red tape.
His phone never stopped ringing.
Often Mike would be in the middle of writing his column, which he did the old-fashioned way, long-hand on a yellow legal pad, when a call would come in. He simply would stop what he was doing and give his full attention to the caller. When he heard enough of the story and hung up, he was right back on the phone locating the people who could solve that person's problem. He believed in getting quick results.
Mike was happiest when he was helping people, and in his giving he never discriminated. He helped the young, the old, the troubled, the sick, the poor and even the rich.
I have never known a man of such compassion and moral strength.
Mike treated everyone equally no matter what their calling, and he was just as comfortable talking to heads of state as common laborers.
So many people must be feeling lonely today. I know I am. It's so hard talking about Mike in the past tense.
I spent much of Friday trying to ease the pain of his passing by talking with people who knew him as well as I did -- ex-governors, labor leaders, gaming executives, political strategists and just ordinary citizens whose lives had been enriched by him.
All said the same thing -- that they had come to rely on Mike as a mentor and friend, and they can't imagine what life will be like without him.
Mike simply had a way of making everyone around him feel good about themselves. In my case it was words of encouragement after breaking a story or writing a good column.
He was one of those remarkable individuals I fear I will never again see in my lifetime.
Despite all of his giving to others, family was the most important thing to him. He loved taking his grandchildren on hunting and fishing trips or watching them participate in after-school sporting events. And he loved to share memories of those experiences and remind others that family matters most.
There's so much more I should be saying about Mike, but my heart is too heavy to keep writing. I know that I was blessed to have him in my life.
So I'll say goodbye for now, Mike, but not forever.
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