I was 16 years old when a tall attorney looked at me and smiled. “You don’t know it, Don, but I do: you are a salvageable human being.” That didn’t seem likely since I had just landed on a two-year district court probation.
He continued, “Don, I was a rebel too. I did some bad things and landed in a hole deeper than yours. I shot mailboxes with stolen ammo. I was on federal probation.”
How had he become a respected attorney? I asked.
“Don, probation helped me embrace “creeping maturity.” You can do that too. It’s a lot better than where you are headed.”
That conversation with Al Simpson 64 years ago changed my life. It guided decisions and eased challenges.
Years later, I was a television news director interviewing Al, then a candidate for the U.S. Senate. Trying not to show favoritism, I said, “Mr. Simpson, if you are elected, you might become the lowest ranked senator. How can you do much for your state if you have no seniority?”
“Mr. Hardy,” he laughed. “Remember this. The Senate seniority system is like a cesspool system. It doesn’t take long before the biggest clumps float to the top.”
After the live interview concluded, Al’s wife Ann walked up and said, “Al! I thought you wanted to be elected.”
Within minutes the phone lines lit up with people praising the candidate who had the guts to say it straight.
Not long after, Simpson debated his Democratic opponent.
When it began, Ray Whittaker grabbed the microphone, faced the cameras, and went on an extensive rant against Simpson and his father, a former senator and Wyoming governor. When Whittaker wound down, the cameras panned to Al. Laughing, he said, “Spirited rascal, ain’t he?”
Simpson won his election and hired me to be his press secretary, and later, chief of staff. I rented a large U-Haul truck, loaded his furniture and mine, and drove it through wretched winter weather to Washington.
In the Russell Senate Office Building, we were assigned a storage room in the basement until our first office was ready. Simpson desk was against a concrete wall.
Above was a small window, and above that a sidewalk grate. Al looked up as people passed by and laughed, “This is like working in the sewers of Paris.” Another senator sent a plant to the office, saying it matched its opulence. The plant was dead.
No one in our tiny first staff really knew what to do. Al had this directive. “Do what is right. Be honest and do what is right for the people we represent.”
In that first year and the 17 that followed, Al Simpson grew in stature. He read every bill he was asked to co-sponsor, beginning to end.
No staff person was to release anything from the office that he didn’t know about and had read.
It wasn’t long before he drove the staff crazy. He worked every minute of every day, then at home well past midnight. He flew to Wyoming for “town meetings” and similar events two weekends of every three.
In the office, as staff of 22 people drafted responses to incoming letters, drafted legislation, and provided summaries of news stories, with Wyoming’s first. Simpson returned most of them with changes, questions, and demands that everything be checked for correctness.
Still, they admired Simpson’s work ethic and bipartisanship. Over the years, he was served by 525 employees, including interns. In all, we only had to relieve 25 people of their positions.
Don Hardy served for 18 years as Senator Alan K. Simpson’s Press Secretary and Chief of Staff, then served as Director of Government Affairs at the Smithsonian Institution.
