With Energy To Spare

New Mexico Gov. Bill Richardson -- who's also a former congressman, energy secretary and U.N. ambassador -- is hoping to become the first Hispanic president. But this son of a well-to-do Anglo father and a Mexican mother is more frequently mentioned as a VP choice. Inside, those who've played college baseball and political hardball with him recall a man of boundless energy.

New England boarding schools circa 1961 weren't quite the spa environment they are today. The arrival of tall, shy, skinny (yes, skinny!) Bill Richardson at Middlesex School from sunny Mexico must have been a severe shock to him in many ways -- climatic, cultural and emotional, for starters. No matter that in pitching he was touted as a ringer; he was still a self-conscious kid like us all.

Though we sat in class, ate, played sports and had fun together at school, I didn't get to know Bill well until 1964, when my family took a trip to Mexico City over spring vacation and he invited us to his family home for lunch.

I recall driving through dirty, dusty streets surrounded by high-walled compounds. When the door opened to Bill's family compound, the impact was overwhelming. A sumptuous garden, a stunning hacienda, and an elegance and refinement that was nonexistent a few meters away. Bill's parents were gracious and cordial.

Once we were alone, Bill immediately suggested a clandestine trip to Acapulco for a few days of parentally unencumbered sensual exploration. You have no idea the impact such a suggestion can have on the imagination of a 15-year-old Episcopalian from the Midwest.

Unfortunately, the scheme soon unraveled and we didn't take the trip. We never became the lifelong fast friends we might have, but the 1960s Richardson remains for my money, in a word, cool.

-- Duncan Laurie, Richardson's classmate at Middlesex School, a New England boarding school.

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In our junior year, Bill took it upon himself to recommend, plan, raise money for and implement a spring baseball trip to Mexico to ready the Tufts varsity team for the 1969 season. Bill's vision went far beyond a typical tourist trip of 10 days of baseball with a siesta thrown in here and there. Rather, he saw this as an opportunity for cultural immersion, long before such quaint ideas were popular. Between daily games with university teams in Mexico City, he planned trips to architectural ruins, museums, embassies and social gatherings.

Realizing that a stopover in Acapulco would be the perfect end to our trip, Bill posed the question to our head coach, who resisted because it would put pressure on those of us who were short on money. Bill negotiated with the airlines and arranged the stopover at no extra charge. Our coach, however, would not relent unless games were scheduled. Magically, Bill produced a letter of agreement to play during our stay on the coast. Upon arrival in Acapulco, we immediately and thankfully received news that the games were canceled. Worn out from 10 straight days of baseball, we had two days in the sun and surf of Revolcadero Beach. The coach wanted to get a look at the stadium where we would have played, but we couldn't find a way to get to it. The little secret Bill shared with me on our plane's ascent provided the final liftoff -- turns out there is no baseball field in Acapulco.