Saturday, March 6, 2004 | 2:05 a.m.
His door was always open.
"Gov. Mike" O'Callaghan welcomed any reporter -- current, past, prospective -- into his office.
I met The Governor a little more than five years ago on the day I interviewed at the Las Vegas Sun. I had been invited to check out the paper by its then-metro editor, with whom I had worked at The Tampa Tribune some 10 years earlier.
Las Vegas was sprawling, dusty and a lot noisier than the pretty little Utah mountain town I had called home since leaving Florida and the frustrations of a metropolitan newspaper.
I didn't like it here.
But I liked The Governor.
Immediately.
"Come in! Come in!" he said, standing and shaking my hand as if I were the most important person in the room.
Newspapers and books were stacked on nearly every available horizontal surface and in some places up to the bottoms of the plaques that covered the walls. A battlefield scene encased in glass and built by one of his wartime buddies was displayed against one wall.
"Now this is an office," I thought.
An office of a working newspaper man, rather than the stoic corporate atmosphere that has permeated most newsrooms in the country.
We talked about living in Utah, which is not all that different from living in Idaho, where O'Callaghan worked as a young man before enlisting in the Marines. My dad was a World War II Marine pilot, so we talked about that, too.
We talked little about newspaper work, except to say we both loved it because it helped people.
"Well, I like you," The Governor said.
I liked him, too. This job promised a lot more money, a better newsrooom, better grocery stores and a higher standard of living than what I had in Utah.
But The Governor sealed the deal. I wanted to work at a place that had someone like him. He covered the community's back, from the back. Mike O'Callaghan knew that real power -- the kind that changes the world -- lies in empowering others.
Give 'em a leg up, and get out of the way.
The day after a Valley Views column described the efforts of a 65-year-old woman who was struggling to launch a homemade cake business, The Governor brought me an envelope.
"Here. Give this to that woman. You don't know where it came from," he said.
There was $200 inside.
In December I told him our perpetually poor nonprofit bicycle safety education group was having trouble raising money to pay for bicycle helmets that the Las Vegas Fire Department needed for 200 Christmas bikes.
In 24 hours The Governor had secured a grant from the Greenspun Family Foundation that bought 217 helmets. He helped give some freedom to kids who don't have that many choices.
Gov. Mike was bigger than life. He lunched with world leaders and cop reporters. He'd travel to Iraq one week and walk through the newsroom the next. He took the long route so he could stop in every department.
When your door is always open, the world comes in. And Gov. Mike never turned it away.
I don't know what we'll do without him. But we'll never do it as well.
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