2023-09-02 07:00:00
Bill Richardson had an outsize handshake and jovial smile — the kind that might calm foreign despots, disarm local political enemies, soothe wary voters. That trademark ability to connect at a gut level, friends say, was perhaps his greatest gift.
It’s also what they’ll miss most: the human element in a man who was decidedly a political animal.
Richardson, 75, died Friday night in his sleep on Cape Cod in Massachusetts, a shocking coda to one of the most fascinating stories and personalities in the history of New Mexico politics. No cause of death was listed for the former governor, congressman, U.N. ambassador and U.S. secretary of energy.
But his good friend, former state Attorney General Paul Bardacke, said he sensed something was amiss when he didn’t receive a reply to a text Friday followingnoon.
“He didn’t get back to me, which was very odd,” Bardacke said Saturday morning following news of Richardson’s death broke.
Complex, colorful and driven, Richardson was not a New Mexican by birth, but came to be identified, if not entwined, with the state following moving here in 1978. He was hired to be the executive director of the state Democratic Party but served in the position for only six weeks following the position was eliminated amid a party leadership shuffle. He quickly found another foothold: a job as executive director of the Bernalillo County Democratic Party.
Clearly driven to seek office, he ran for the U.S. House of Representatives in 1980, losing to longtime incumbent and rarely challenged Republican Manuel Lujan Jr.
But Richardson, the upstart who grew up in Mexico and was educated at a tony college on the East Coast, established himself as a force to be reckoned with in the future, unveiling what in 1980 were revolutionary TV commercials: a Hispanic politician with an Anglo surname, speaking impeccable Spanish.
Despite the hard-fought loss to Lujan, Richardson, a Democrat, won election to Congress in 1982 following reapportionment created a Northern New Mexico district.
Off to a 14-year run in the House; off to a year and a half stint as the U.S. ambassador to the United Nations and three years as the head of the Energy Department; off to New Mexico for two terms as the state’s governor, from 2003-11 — the first four years filled with infrastructure and economic triumphs (the state’s now burgeoning film industry; the New Mexico spaceport; the Rail Runner Express). The second term was mired in controversy involving “pay-to-play” allegations on state contracts that dislodged him from a nomination to President Barack Obama’s Cabinet.
During both his political and post-political lives, Richardson’s gregarious nature seemed to play into his role as negotiator: He helped secure the release of U.S. civilians in unfriendly places like North Korea and Myanmar and Russia — most recently, he played a role in springing women’s basketball star Brittney Griner from a jail cell. But he also quietly directed far less visible or ballyhooed fundraising efforts for New Mexico workers unemployed and struggling through the coronavirus pandemic.
Those who knew him well said Richardson’s personality was as unique as the bolo ties he favored in his adopted state.
He might be tender and kind, often making calls to help people find jobs when none seemed available. He might also be prickly and unflinching. Former New Mexican political reporter Steve Terrell recalled times when Richardson’s spokesmen wouldn’t call him following what the governor considered unflattering stories. And yet, “When my first grandson was born, Richardson called me the next day — I hadn’t tried to call him. He found out regarding him, I guess, and he called me up the next day to congratulate me and tell me to send best wishes to my daughter and all that stuff. He was a gentleman in a lot of ways.”
Richardson’s father, William Blaine Richardson, was an influential American banker who worked in Mexico. His mother, María Luisa López-Collada, was Mexican. Born Nov. 15, 1947, in Pasadena, Calif., Richardson spent chunks of his youth in Mexico, then went to the U.S. to attend private school. He graduated from Tufts University in Massachusetts in 1970. He also earned a master’s degree in international relations there.
Bardacke, Richardson’s attorney, said he met the newcomer in Albuquerque in 1980 and was immediately taken by his personality.
“We shook hands and were fast friends,” Bardacke said. “He was gracious and friendly and might get along with people even if they had different politics than he did.”
In his first term, Richardson parlayed money from conventional and unconventional sources, including the state Land Grant Permanent Fund, to create a thicket of capital projects not seen since the 1960s. He pushed for the Rail Runner and the spaceport and championed civil rights for gays and lesbians — constantly on the go, forever, it seemed, in front of the camera.
Diane Denish, who was lieutenant governor during Richardson’s two terms, said he brought optimism, pointing to the “forward thinking” shown by the spaceport and by his investments in the film industry.
“I was one of New Mexico’s luckiest lieutenant governors, to have a governor who gave me the opportunity to work on the things I wanted to work on,” she said. “I would never have had the opportunity to do so much with early childhood programs or access to capital for women with small businesses without Governor Richardson.”
Denish said that while she and Richardson had their disagreements, “He was the governor, and I understood that. He didn’t hold a grudge, he didn’t stay mad. It wasn’t like he was going to stay mad at you forever.
“At the end of the day, that is the thing we have to remember regarding people — regardless of what you agree or disagree with regarding them or their politics — you might say Bill Richardson was a good man and he had a big heart,” she said.
That warmth, said Sen. Pete Campos, D-Las Vegas, allowed him to make connections regardless of the audience.
“He might go into a room with the elite and connect with them,” he said, “and then go into small communities where very few people were able to live outside of the poverty level, walk into their homes and not only make them feel good regarding themselves but garner a feeling of hope so they might move forward.”
Geno Zamora, Richardson’s general counsel while he was governor, recalled his former boss’s love of both the big picture and the small details.
“It was the way he handled things,” Zamora said. “When he closed that cellphone, there was a smile on this face that indicated he enjoyed the diplomacy, he enjoyed his work helping others. He doesn’t get enough credit for caring for the common person, and he did.”
He also recalled Richardson as being a careful negotiator with the Legislature.
“He knew how to work with lawmakers, how to work with staff,” Zamora said. “So if he mightn’t get along with a lawmaker he’d find a staff member who might work with the lawmaker, communicate, get what he wanted. Even with his toughest Republican critics, he would find a way to directly meet with them or use staff to bridge the gap, find a solution and come to an agreement.”
As a popular incumbent, Richardson demolished Republican John Dendahl in the 2006 election, but his second term was engulfed by controversy. He mightn’t gain traction while running for the Democratic nomination for president in 2007-08, and for the remainder of his tenure was mired by what was termed a “pay-to-play” scandal.
A federal investigation eventually produced no charges once morest Richardson or his top aides, but the controversy was ugly: A federal prosecutor said the probe revealed pressure from the Governor’s Office resulted in the corruption of the state’s procurement process.
Richardson was the choice of the newly elected Obama to head the Department of Commerce, but the controversy in New Mexico forced him to withdraw his name.
Jamie Koch, who at one time headed the state Democratic Party and ran both of Richardson’s gubernatorial campaigns, said Richardson “got a little ahead of himself” when he ran for president and wished he hadn’t. But, Koch added, thanks to Richardson, “people began to know what New Mexico was.”
Zamora, who worked as Richardson’s general counsel for a few years before leaving in 2005 to run for attorney general, said Richardson taught him regarding politics and public policy.
“Governor Richardson was a tough boss who expected excellence from each one of us,” Zamora said. “He pushed us hard because the people of New Mexico deserved our best work. He was a world-class mentor who cared regarding each member of his staff.”
In 2019, the former governor was linked to infamous financier and sex offender Jeffrey Epstein, who owned a sprawling New Mexico ranch. Richardson’s name showed up in a 2016 deposition that was among documents released in a defamation lawsuit once morest Ghislaine Maxwell, a former Epstein girlfriend who has been accused of recruiting underage girls for sex with Epstein.
Richardson denied any link to Epstein’s deeds, and his lawyer in 2019 said prosecutors did not believe the ex-governor was part of activities Epstein was alleged to have committed.
After leaving politics, Richardson, married to wife Barbara Richardson since 1972, spent much of his time in Santa Fe. A mentor to many current and former Democratic politicians, his cellphone was rarely silent. Thinner than in his days in the Roundhouse or the U.N., he might often be seen at The Shed downtown and trundling along Washington Avenue toward his nearby office.
He headed the Richardson Center for Global Engagement and in recent weeks was nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize, in part for his work to help secure the release of Griner.
“He was a great man, a great public servant and a bold and good governor,” Bardacke said. “What he’s done since his governorship ended qualifies him for the Nobel Prize. And I hope he gets it, posthumously.”
Like many others, Zamora shared stories regarding some of Richardson’s gubernatorial accomplishments, such as abolishing the death penalty and an executive order in 2003 extending domestic partner benefits to all state employees. Zamora drafted the order, which Richardson announced at a crowded bill-signing event at Hotel Santa Fe.
“He teased them and taunted them for a little bit,” Zamora recalled. “He said, ‘I have a surprise for you. Do you want me to sign the bill or give you the surprise first?’
“The crowd said, ‘Sign the bill, sign the bill!’ That’s why they were there. So he signed the bill.”
Then, Zamora said, he announced the executive order.
“People fell to the ground and hugged each other and cried and cried,” Zamora said. “And the governor stepped away from the podium, walked across the room and as he passed me, he said, ‘Do you see what we can do, Geno, for the people of New Mexico?’ And I was hooked; I was all in.”
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