Saturday, March 6, 2004 | 2:04 a.m.
As a cub political reporter, I had managed to coax the Reid campaign into letting me ride along in an RV to places I had never heard of, much less visited. O'Callaghan, I later learned, was not too keen on me tagging along since, at that time, I wrote for the hated Review-Journal.
But what I remember most about that trip was the kindness he extended to me during the rural swing. I vividly recall him summarily booting whoever was sitting in front with him to the back of the cavernous vehicle, so I could ride next to him and he could tell me the history of Walker Lake. O'Callaghan made that trip both memorable and enjoyable.
That memory, among others, comes to mind with the former governor's sudden passing last week at the age of 74. In the 18 years or so I have covered politics, I have known some great men. But O'Callaghan is the only one who truly was larger than life, an almost personified cliche: The gruff, tough military man with half of one leg gone whose compassion was endless and who may be the only person I ever knew who really embodied what every politician claims to embody -- a desire to stand up for the proverbial little guy.
I did not know O'Callaghan well and I surely cannot match the knowing personal tributes or the testimonials flowing in from friends and foes alike. But I once experienced what separates him from too many politicians and from too many people, and what may have been his defining quality: his fierce loyalty.
It came during a particularly troubled time in my life, and a prominent community figure was trying to make it worse. When O'Callaghan discovered what was happening, unbeknownst to me until later, he called the person and all but threatened him. The person backed off.
O'Callaghan never told me about it -- someone else ratted him out -- and I will never forget it. He hardly knew me, but it was enough that he thought what was being done was wrong. And he wouldn't stand for it. I don't even think it mattered much that I worked for the same organization; if I were still at the R-J, he would have done the same.
That was O'Callaghan, who fought for the little guy but made anyone he encountered feel bigger. And yet everyone else truly was small in comparison, and not just because of his imposing physical presence.
It goes well beyond what O'Callaghan did as a two-term governor -- providing incomparable help for seniors and consumers, increasing rights and representation for minorities and moving the state's educational system forward. O'Callaghan slowed down not a bit after his public life ended, traveling the world to advocate and fight for people, from the Miskito Indians in Nicaragua to the citizens of Israel.
No country could possibly epitomize O'Callaghan's ideals better than Israel -- a tiny nation surrounded by hostile states, the little guy of the Middle East. And no word could better describe O'Callaghan than one that springs from Israel -- he was the consummate mensch.
O'Callaghan retained his boxing and political skills as a columnist with the Sun, often jabbing elected officials and power brokers and, occasionally, as many former legislators will attest after he assailed the infamous 300 percent pension increase, delivering a knockout blow. The ex-governor had no problem picking up the phone to lambaste one of his successors or a senator or a county commissioner on behalf of a friend, a cause he believed in or just for the hell of it. He was a hard guy to ignore -- as many of his department heads who received phone calls at 3 a.m. will attest.
Even after he was no longer in politics, O'Callaghan was still in politics. Rumors continually abounded that he would make a comeback. And many a budding pol would kiss his ring before running for office. Some elected officials might not exist without O'Callaghan's imprimatur, the most obvious and striking example being Reid.
Now the state's most powerful Democrat, nearly 30 years ago Reid was political carrion, reduced to nothingness by a failed U.S. Senate bid and a disastrous follow-up run for Las Vegas mayor. But O'Callaghan resurrected Reid, who had been his lieutenant governor, and appointed him to the Nevada Gaming Commission. That post provided the springboard for Reid to run for Congress and then the U.S. Senate.
O'Callaghan couldn't help but rub off on anyone he touched. If you could please him, you could please anyone -- so felt his staffers, fellow politicians and others. I remember once after appearing on a public affairs show with him, I foolishly needled him about the Democrats trying to recruit someone for a vacant state Senate seat. I suggested he jump into the race.
As we walked down a corridor, he stopped and playfully punched me in the upper arm. My eyes watered it hurt so damn much, but I refused to show him my pain and soldiered on.
Mike O'Callaghan would have appreciated that.
archive
