The telephone seemed to leap off of my coffee table when it rang
that morning, just like in the cartoons.
The telephone seemed to leap off of my coffee table when it rang that morning, just like in the cartoons.
“Fitz, this is Mike O’Callaghan! Get over to my office!”
I wiped the Friday night shots and beer dust from my eyes and trudged from my apartment across Highland Drive to the Las Vegas Sun, where I was the sports editor in the mid-1980s.
My boss was sitting in his office, holding a wayward newspaper section in his fist, a scowl on his face.
“Mike,” I said to him in a still-sleepy voice, “why don’t you just open up the window next time and you won’t have to use the phone.”
The moonish Irish grin filled his face as the steam quickly evaporated.
“I just might try that,” he said, still smiling. “It would save on our bill.”
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Oh my, how I loved this man, whose 74-year-old heart of Silver finally gave out just before the daily Mass he attended started last week.
A friend’s mom said: “He didn’t have far to go when he died. Just straight up.”
The years never diminished his heroics, his kindness, his bravery or his bluster. He was a mentor, a father figure and a friend. And I always reminded him, even when we last spoke about six months ago.
After being a Korean War hero, where he lost a leg in combat saving many lives in the process, he was the two-time Governor of Nevada – could have been Guv for Life he was so popular – yet he settled into a role as columnist and executive editor at the Sun.
Mike and the late Sun publisher Hank Greenspun gave me the biggest opportunity of my journalism career, my first sports editor job in the greatest of sports towns. I was barely 30 years old at the time.
Mike didn’t show me how to write, but he showed me what was right. The former teacher and boxer was a fierce champion of the underdog his entire life.
One time, a young black woman who worked our switchboard at the Sun lost an important call that I was waiting on. I marched down the hall and chewed her out over it.
Mike quickly called me into his office and said in an uncharacteristically soft voice: “Fitz, if you ever talk to her that way again, you will be doing her job. And she will be the sports editor.”
He wasn’t kidding, either.
To this day I try to never talk down to anyone for any reason.
Another time, I was summoned to his office, which was filled with tributes and mementos that a museum would be proud to display.
Suddenly I was in a shouting match over the phone with another editor over why we missed deadline. Mike Donahue was his name and it was his day off.
Then O’Callaghan grabbed the phone and barked: “We have three pissed-off Irishmen and only one telephone!”
Make that two sheepish Irishmen.
And one Mike O’Callaghan.
When my dad, also a Korean War vet, was given just six months to live I wrote a column about it and sent a copy to Mike.
A few days later, my office phone rang in Utah.
“Good column on your dad, Fitz. But don’t count him out just yet. He comes from a tough generation.”
My dad lived for two more years.
The last time we talked, Mike matter-of-factly said: “Me and the wife had cancer, but we both beat it.”
Mike was especially proud of helping minorities, the disabled, the homeless, veterans, women and children. He liked everyone who was honest and worked hard.
Instead of going to some nice relaxing beach on his vacations to rest his battered body, he would be off to Nicaragua to monitor an election and bring baseball equipment to the kids there.
He helped train Israeli soldiers over the years and was a friend to the Kurds and their plight. They loved him in South Korea and he was known and respected by United States presidents and world leaders.
Back in his beloved Silver State of Nevada, he was simply Mike.
For such a common name, if you said “I worked for Mike” or “I’m gonna go see Mike” or “I’m a friend of Mike’s” everyone knew who you were talking about.
I am so damn proud and honored to have known and learned so much from this wonderful man.
Above all, he showed me that key elements of true strength are compassion, loyalty and understanding.
Thanks Mike. You will always be a hero to me.
Good night and joy be with you.
