Sunday, March 07, 2004
Copyright © Las Vegas Review-Journal

JOHN L. SMITH: O'Callaghan leaves legacy of compassion to Silver State sorely in need of it

I have looked up to Mike O'Callaghan for as long as I can remember.

But it wasn't his larger-than-life status as a war hero, his fearless progressive politics or his engaging Irish personality that first drew me to him.

It was his artificial leg.

There are few things 3-year-old boys find more fascinating than prosthetic devices, and my first memory of Nevada's great man of the people takes place back in my Henderson youth. It was 1963. President Kennedy and blue-collar Democratic optimism were still alive, and the Smiths and O'Callaghans shared many suppertime stew pots.

With his dark curly hair and mischievous grin, O'Callaghan would appear in the doorway of our little house on Elm Street with his wife, Carolyn, and ever-expanding family in tow. I'd run to greet him and wrap my arms around his legs, knocking until I found what I was looking for.

"It's still there," I'd say knowingly.

"Yeah, it's still there," he'd reply with a wink.

He'd lost the lower part of that left leg in Korea, and many years later told me the story of the battle. His men were taking hits from a relentless enemy, and he fought with everything he had. And then he was hit.

He kept on fighting and wondered through the fog of battle why he kept falling down. He fought so ferociously that he turned back the enemy and saved lives.

Donal "Mike" O'Callaghan, the son of a poor Wisconsin farmer who lost his land in the Great Depression, wasn't much more than a boy when he won the Bronze Star and Silver Star for valor. He had to sneak to enter the U.S. Marines at 16 after World War II and worked in Air Force intelligence before enlisting in the Army in time for the Korean War. He was considered a hero to a generation of Korean people he'd helped keep free, was such a great warrior that a regimental rifle range was named in his honor.

Whether it was on the battlefield, in the boxing ring or in the political arena, anyone who tangled with Mike O'Callaghan never came away unscathed. He was a born fighter, the caliber of character worthy of the pen of Jack London and Ernest Hemingway.

But more than the fight in the man was his boundless compassion for his fellow man.

Take his injury, for instance. After O'Callaghan began to mend, he started receiving a government stipend as a token acknowledgment for the loss of the leg. Others would have used it for whiskey and self-pity, but O'Callaghan would have none of that. Instead, he gave away the proceeds and never said a word. For years his "leg money" checks bought groceries, shoes and winter coats for a broad spectrum of humanity.

Mike O'Callaghan had a world of fight in him, and he fought for Nevada from the moment he arrived. First, as a history and economics teacher at Basic High School and boxing coach at the local Boys Club. It was there he taught a skinny kid from Searchlight named Harry Reid, who would grow up to be O'Callaghan's lieutenant governor and go on to become a powerhouse in the U.S. Senate.

It was in politics that O'Callaghan made his mark at a time Nevada had a deserved reputation as one of the most backward states in the union. He stood for such audacious concepts as civil rights, fair housing for the poor and equal rights for women.

He was seen as too liberal and bad for business in the fat-cat Silver State, but O'Callaghan shocked Nevada's political establishment in 1970 when he knocked off the heavily favored Ed Fike in the race for governor. O'Callaghan served from 1971 to 1979, and my mother, Janet Smith, was his special assistant for many of those years.

When O'Callaghan died shortly after suffering a heart attack Friday morning at St. Viator Catholic Church, I was immediately returned to those Henderson days 40 years ago when our families were young and Mike was just entering politics.

What was it about O'Callaghan that made so many people believe in him?

"He cared about little people and their problems," my mother said through her tears. "He cared about people that nobody else gave a damn about."

O'Callaghan left Basic High to become Las Vegas' chief probation officer, then became the state's first director of the Department of Health and Welfare. He managed a function of the Job Corps, and, after an unsuccessful run for lieutenant governor in 1966, was chosen by Lyndon Johnson to direct a regional unit of the federal Office of Emergency Preparedness before returning to the political arena in a fight for governor no Las Vegas handicapper would have booked.

His term in office was defined by a relentless press for improvements in the quality of life of working Nevadans. He created agencies that for the first time in state history acted on behalf of the environment, elderly, consumers and the poor.

"Mike was a man of his word," my mother said. "He would fight to the death to keep a promise."

O'Callaghan advocated a more open government at a time a small cabal of insiders ran the show. He toughened the Gaming Control Board at a time the state's casinos were receiving increasing scrutiny. He was a tireless champion for children, the poor, and the mentally ill. And he fought for a more democratic Nevada, which since statehood had been afflicted by the rule of autocratic robber barons.

Not all his efforts succeeded, but it wasn't for a lack of effort. It wasn't simply the battle that defined O'Callaghan: It was his hawk's eye on the greater victory that distinguished his character.

O'Callaghan was a cagy political player, but he wasn't addicted to politics. People who saw the former governor as an election year animal misread him. For him, politics was a tool. It was a means to an end, not an end in itself.

When he left office after two terms, he was arguably the most popular, and least financially secure, governor in the state's history. True to his nature, he spurned cushy figurehead offers from casinos and instead accepted a job as a pugnacious columnist for the Las Vegas Sun.

O'Callaghan won his share of awards, but he wasn't a stylish writer. He was, however, a helluva puncher. He was a serious intellect who wrote on serious topics, but always had time to acknowledge the achievements of the legions of regular people he loved and who loved him.

His reporting last year from the Middle East was some of the best work to come out of that region. And it's no wonder. He traveled to Israel to further the cause of that nation's democracy, sojourned to Nicaragua to promote free elections and give his time and materials to poor and orphaned Indian children, and flew to Northern Iraq a decade ago to monitor Kurdish elections.

Mike O'Callaghan was a good Catholic, a helluva Jew, and a proud Irish-Miskito Indian.

He was just as devoted at home. Recently, Mike and Carolyn battled cancer with a quiet courage and dignity that awed even their longtime friends.

And, truth be known, Mike O'Callaghan lived for his family. All our discussions in recent months centered on my wife and daughter and his wife, children and especially his grandchildren. He punctuated every conversation with updates on the next Utah fishing trip and latest athletic achievement of a new generation of O'Callaghans.

Only a couple of weeks ago he was talking about getting medical approval to return to the democratic fray, this time in Iraq for the upcoming free elections. He knew his friends the Kurds would need his help.

That was just like O'Callaghan: always on the side of the underdog.

Like the winos and mentally ill he helped feed on many mornings before sunrise here in Southern Nevada. Or the children he championed in his column, and those who attended O'Callaghan Junior High, or the veterans who were treated at O'Callaghan Federal Hospital.

Friday morning started in the usual way for Mike O'Callaghan with a trip to St. Viator for the 6:45 Mass.

It was there his big, compassionate heart gave out. He was 74.

"He didn't have far to go when he died," my mother said. "Just straight up."

That's right.

But because he stood his ground and fought so valiantly for so long, he helped all Nevadans stand taller.

I have always looked up to Mike O'Callaghan, and I expect I always will.

John L. Smith's column appears Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday and Sunday. E-mail him at Smith@reviewjournal.com or call 383-0295.