Sunday, March 11, 2007

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.

* * *

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.

-- Rich Giacchetti, Richardson's Tufts baseball teammate.

* * *

Lanky to the point of thin, generally quiet and reserved if always amiable, Bill Richardson in 1968 bore little resemblance to the gregarious and relentless politician/public servant we see today. That year, college campuses foamed with agitation over U.S. involvement in Vietnam. Yet Richardson displayed none of his later appetite for foreign policy, taking no part in the frequent bull sessions and occasional demonstrations over the war.

The civil rights movement intensified and on campus some minorities began to pull away, seeking their own society. Yet Richardson, while distinctly Hispanic, remained just one of the guys in our fraternity. He decided to stand for fraternity president. To the extent that our gentle election had themes, his opponent advocated broader political involvement. Meanwhile, Bill avoided most politics other than a general interest in social issues and a particular concern to bar recreational drugs from the house. Bill won, handily defeating me in what was to be his first election and my last.

-- Robert Fitts, Richardson's Tufts classmate.

* * *

I met Bill soon after President Jimmy Carter nominated me to be the assistant administrator of USAID for Latin America in February 1977. A friend suggested that I meet Bill, the foreign relations aide to Sen. Hubert Humphrey, when I made courtesy calls before my confirmation hearing. It snowed the day before my appointment with Humphrey and many people had not made it to the office that Friday morning, but Bill was waiting for me when I arrived. I saw a tall, imposing figure in a corduroy jacket and boots. He looked more like a Hispanic ranchero than a legislative aide. As we waited for Humphrey to arrive, I told Bill that I was unaware that there were any Mexican Americans in Minnesota and asked how he had come to work with Humphrey. He replied, "I am not from Minnesota, I am from New Mexico!" He said it with such assurance and conviction that I assumed he had been born and raised there. Sometime later, I learned that he had visited New Mexico only twice before. But already, he had committed to adopting it as the state where he would pursue his political destiny, not knowing quite how but confident that he would find a way to win. It is this commitment and self-confidence -- combined with his ability to connect with voters of all backgrounds -- that I saw in Bill three decades ago and that I see in him as he pursues this greatest political challenge today.

-- Abelardo L. Valdez, former chief of protocol in the Carter administration.

* * *

When Bill Richardson was a little-known congressman, he called me to ask if I could help him get to Baghdad to negotiate the release of two Americans who had crossed the border from Kuwait and were now in the Abu Ghraib prison. No one was optimistic about the trip, but through Nizar Hamdoun, my friend and Iraq's ambassador at the United Nations, Richardson was eventually authorized to enter into talks. Three months later we all traveled to Baghdad. The deal had been cut, but a meeting with Saddam Hussein at which the release of the prisoners was to be formally requested was required.

A big man, Bill overflowed the modest chair at the start of the meeting. One arm was over the back and his legs were crossed. Suddenly Hussein got up and left the room. A nervous aide quickly explained that this was a formal audience. Bill's lounging posture was unacceptable. Hussein returned after Richardson's feet were firmly planted on the floor. Bill's charm and friendly style quickly dispelled whatever offense Hussein had taken. The Iraqi leader then gave a thoughtful 30-minute review of U.S.-Iraqi relations over the previous 20 years, coming perilously close to saying that his invasion of Kuwait had been a mistake. At the crucial moment he stopped and said, "Well, that's another story."

-- Peter G. Bourne, former special assistant to President Jimmy Carter.

* * *

I ran against Bill Richardson in my first political race, and I learned a lot from him during that campaign. Because of his very close loss to Manuel Lujan Jr. for Congress in 1980, everyone knew that he was the one to beat in 1982. He had a reputation for being a relentless campaigner and if anybody did a poll -- I certainly didn't have the money to do one -- it would have shown him way ahead.

It was a new congressional district, and we all thought that whoever won our primary was going to be the next congressman. It became a very hard-fought four-way primary. We contested every issue and the experience of each candidate. There were accusations and charges flying, and everyone was trying to make hay out of it.

Nearly 25 years later, we still always kid each other about having been political opponents in the past. He's a man who wins over his adversaries. Bill understands that in politics it's never to your benefit to allow your political opponents to become enemies.

-- Rep. Tom Udall (D-N.M.).

* * *

D uring Bill's 1982 campaign, I flew him all over New Mexico in a little one-engine Cessna 182. We'd go into very small airports or not even airports at all. Once, on an Apache reservation, our battery died and one of the Apaches came out with a pickup truck and gave the plane a jump. We'd go from conservative ranchers to Hispanic neighborhoods to Native American tribes and everyone embraced him. He used to say: My last name is Richardson, so the Anglo population thinks I'm Anglo, I can speak Spanish -- and he'd say something in Spanish -- so the Hispanic population likes me. And I look like a Native American, so all the Native Americans vote for me. And we were very frugal in those days. He had a big debt. I'm not sure of the total, but he had at least $20,000 interest on the debt. So it was a lot of travel in our little plane. I was a crew member in Vietnam, and I flew as long a day with him as we ever had in Vietnam. He was almost like a robot, he never quit.

-- Walter "Butch" Maki, Richardson staffer from 1982-92.

* * *

I worked for Bill Richardson on the Hill and at the Energy Department and am married to one of his college friends, so I know something about his demanding and inexhaustible style. During Bill's first campaign for Congress in 1980, my husband Steve's job one day was to hold the "clicker" to keep track of the record-breaking number of hands the candidate shook at the New Mexico State Fair. Bill did so with such vigor that en route to a campaign event that night after the marathon effort, they had to stop at a drugstore to get a sling for his arm. Bill works harder than anyone else and it's a challenge to keep up.

I didn't get state fair duty with Bill, but I did get Utah, where it was also a struggle to keep pace. In 1999, as energy secretary he asked me to research an obscure issue: the disposition of a Naval oil reserve property in northeastern Utah. When I told him that the reserve was, in effect, a "doughnut hole" in the Northern Ute Indian reservation, carved out for the Navy in 1916, Bill directed me to return the land to the Utes.

At the time, he was also grappling with health and environmental issues associated with uranium mill tailings along a river in southwest Utah. Richardson instructed me to "package" the land transfer with the tailings cleanup. I protested this pairing of unrelated issues at opposite ends of the state. His response was true to form: "Just do it," a frequent instruction when staff members pointed out practical difficulties, often followed by "Do it now."

We ended up returning the property to the Utes, with an agreement that the riverfront would be protected according to environmentalists' concerns. Royalties would be paid to DOE for any gas production on the reserve, and that money would pay for the mill cleanup.

I was on a plane to Utah to participate in a signing of the agreement before we actually had one -- Interior was a holdout until I was in the air. True to form, Bill was pushing his staff and pushing the signatories over the finish line.

-- Melanie Kinderdine, aide to Richardson in Congress and the Energy Department.

* * *

The first time I met Bill Richardson was the day after I had won my party's nomination for governor in 2002 when we both happened to be flying down to Las Cruces, N.M.

When we realized we'd be landing at the same time, we quickly arranged all the formalities and met on the tarmac to shake hands, very politely. And then he looked at me and put his finger into my chest and poked me and said: "Listen, John, we have to run a very clean campaign. Just remember: Keep it clean." Three months later, he had spent $3 million to $5 million doing nothing but attacking me. I can recall traveling in a car through the most desolate area of the state, listening to a radio station out of some tiny town. In a very short time, we had heard two or three radio commercials for Richardson. There wasn't a station we could turn to without hearing about him, in English or Spanish. He bought up every bit of radio advertising time. We had tried to respond, but it was like going up against an M1 Abrams tank with a small sword.

-- John Sanchez, 2002 Republican candidate for New Mexico governor.