I've not read the official obituaries because they are predictable. "Billionaire." "Reclusive." "GOP donor." "Swift Boat Vets." "Industrialist." "Controversial." "Dallas, Texas." And there you have it: the death of a sinister figure driven by greed, the puppeteer manipulating the political process, a 21st century J.R. Ewing. (Or is it Mr. Burns?) If this is what you've read, it’s written by someone who didn't know Harold Clark Simmons.
I never knew a man quite like Harold Simmons.
I met him in 1981 while pan-handling for some political cause or another. Back then he kept a ledger of his political donations on 5 x 7 cards. You'd make your pitch. He'd open the file and examine his giving to you. He'd give you his answer. His answer was as crisp as each of these sentences.
To
not know Harold was to be intimidated by his curt responses. On one
visit, after a Shakespearean presentation by this writer, Harold looked
down at his (my) file, then looked up at me and snapped in his adopted
Texas slang, "No, I gave you [$X] in January. That's all you're worth to
me." Another time a colleague traveled 1,300 miles just to visit
Harold. After cooling his heels in Harold's vast lobby, he was ushered
into The Office. He walked in with a smile, hand extended for a
handshake, bade Harold a cheerful hello and prepared to settle in for a
talk. But Harold had other plans. As he shook my friend's hand he
stopped him dead in his tracks. "What do you want?" Out came the
request. Back came the response (in the affirmative, if I recall). Out
went the guest. Total meeting length for a trip half-way across the
country: two minutes.
My colleagues and I laughed for years recounting these and other
"Harold" visits. We expected nothing less. He was a blast of fresh air, a
man who was decisive; and if your presentation had value, virtually
unrivaled in his generosity.
In 1986 I set out to form the Board of Directors for an organization I
was endeavoring to launch, The Media Research Center. I visited Harold
and made my request. Harold's classic answer: "OK, but only if I don't
have to go to any meetings." And he never did, not in the 27 years he
served on the board, ultimately as its Chairman. His participation was
by phone or by proxy, and my visits were always in person. I'd bring him
up to speed on things, he'd offer comments only if he felt it
absolutely necessary to do so, took special interest in the financial
reports, and always thanked me for the visit.
Harold gave vast amounts of his fortune to hospitals and universities.
In the days to come we'll learn more as his estate is settled. I suspect
we will be stunned. But why the millions upon millions to political and
public policy causes? What could a man worth such a vast fortune --
billions -- stand to gain? Nothing, really. Except the satisfaction
knowing he was helping the most important thing to him after his faith
and his family: his country.
Ronald Reagan used to refer to the average American who did his bit for
his country as the "American hero." As average billionaires go, Harold
was an American hero.
I last visited Harold a few weeks ago. Several people had warned me that
recently his health had deteriorated dramatically. I saw nothing of the
sort. He was as sharp and pleasant as ever. He looked good too. I laid
out my thinking for an ambitious new political adventure, one which
would require tens of millions of dollars. Could we have that
conversation? I asked. Not yet, he answered. He needed to tend to some
business concerns. But he wanted me to know he was definitely
interested. Come back in six months.
That meeting will never happen. How does one react to that? Let us put it in perspective.
There is a wonderful story told about Philip II of Spain, who in 1588
had already bankrupted his country twice to build the most formidable
navy in history to defeat the Protestant forces of England's Queen
Elizabeth. He awaited news at his massive imperial compound in El
Escorial. The courier finally arrived with the worst news imaginable.
All is lost. The navy had been destroyed. Philip's reaction was one for
the ages. If he was crushed, history did not record it. Instead we know
he immediately ordered a Te Deum Mass to be offered, giving glory to
God, accepting without question His will.
I will miss Harold. He cannot be replaced. There is sadness, yes, but
there is also immediate gratitude owed Providence. It was willed that
our nation be given Harold Simmons and that some of us would be honored
to know him. That gift continues forever.