Kenny Guinn could make friends in banks and bars

The Tap House had seen a few celebrities over the years, but every head in the place turned the night Gov. Kenny Guinn came through the door.

This wasn't some professional athlete or local politician. This was the handsome, hard-working guy who ran the whole damn state, and he blended into the working-class crowd like the regular Joe that defined his political persona.

He wasn't ordinary, of course. He was just comfortable in his own skin.

Nevada's nice-guy governor liked a cold light beer after a long day, and I'll never forget the night I met him for a brew at the sports bar on West Charleston Boulevard. In no time a crowd of regulars and reporters moved a little closer to his table to listen to the state's highest-ranking politician.

What they heard were stories not about executive branch intrigue or legislative legerdemain, but tales about his family, his upbringing, and his love of Nevada. Before the night was over, Guinn had made a roomful of friends.

Once you met Kenny Guinn, it was nearly impossible not to like him.

When Guinn died Thursday following a fall from the roof of his Las Vegas home, the shocked community naturally wanted to know what a 73-year-old man was doing climbing a ladder and playing handyman.

But Scott Scherer wasn't surprised to learn his friend, mentor, and former boss had been up on that roof. As Guinn's general counsel and chief of staff, Scherer saw the governor tinker around the mansion and relate equally well to cabdrivers and construction workers as he did veteran legislators and casino CEOs.

"That's just the way he was," Scherer said. "He thought nothing of getting out there and doing things himself. He was very hands-on, and he didn't mind getting his hands dirty."

Scherer was speaking literally, but his statement provides a metaphor for Guinn's life in the private and public sectors. When a Nevada governor needed a volunteer for the challenging work of an important committee, former Govs. Richard Bryan and Bob Miller told me, they found a reliable friend in Kenny Guinn.

Although he'd been a successful banking and gas company executive, had played an important role in Southern Nevada's integration struggle as the superintendent of the Clark County School District, and as governor reveled in personally crunching the state budget numbers, Guinn couldn't wait to lose the suit. He enjoyed being plain old Kenny, the devoted father and grandfather, the former athlete who retained his youthful vigor.

He was proud of being governor, but he sometimes grew tired of being watched by his security detail. So, Scherer recalled, occasionally Guinn would slip away for a few hours.

When the homestead needed light bulbs, Guinn went to Kmart. While he was out, he did a little banking and had a bite to eat at a local cafe.

Security went into high alert. Losing the governor is frowned upon. But that was Kenny being Kenny.

"He really didn't see the need to be surrounded by security, especially when he first came into office," Scherer said.

After learning of Guinn's death, attorney Don Campbell was reminded of the time he saw Guinn at the family's Brian Head cabin, playing handyman and clearing debris from the road.

But Campbell also witnessed the attention given to judicial selections, appointments typically made to members of a governor's own party. Political affiliation meant little to Guinn. He wanted to know about the candidate's character.

He was truly interested in who the guy was as a person," Campbell said. "That's what was meaningful to him, and what should have been meaningful to him. Public service really meant something to him, and my God we're so much better for it.

"The state could sure use a Kenny Guinn right now."

John L. Smith's column appears Sunday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday. E-mail him at Smith@reviewjournal.com or call 702-383-0295. He also blogs at lvrj.com/blogs/smith.