The Jim Guy I knew

I was 12 years old when I first “met” Jim Guy Tucker. I didn’t really meet him, but I saw him in a TV ad running for the U.S. Senate in that epic 1978 race involving Tucker, David Pryor and Ray Thornton. I don’t remember what he said in that commercial, but I liked him the best of the three candidates I knew of.

I officially met him the night of Nov. 3, 1992. I was overseeing America’s Watch Night Party, the street party in downtown Little Rock around the Old State House where Bill Clinton would walk out on the lawn as the President-elect.

Tucker was the lieutenant governor of Arkansas, and Clinton’s election would elevate him to governor. I knew I wanted to stay in Arkansas and work in state government to fill the void of Clintonites who were headed to Washington, D.C. I noticed Tucker and his wife, Betty, were on the west side of the crowd’s edge, and they were supposed to be at a VIP reception on the east side of the perimeter. With the crowd as packed as it was, I knew there was no way for the Tuckers to make it to their destination easily.

I hopped down from my Secret Service perch and navigated them through back channels and got them where they needed to go. As we departed, I asked Gov. Tucker to remember my name because I was going to ask him for a job about a week after I finished cleaning up the streets of Little Rock from the presidential party. 

A week later, he remembered me, and I helped through the transition and served his administration as a legislative aide and an assistant in the press office, which afforded me opportunities to travel and work closely with him.

Jim Guy Tucker was incredibly smart. Harvard-educated, he had book smarts and street smarts. I remember once we were flying over the Ozarks to an event in Booneville. I commented that the mountains were beautiful, and it was amazing they were formed from land shifts over millions of years. The governor corrected me: The Ozarks were formed from the ocean’s retreat and millions of years of erosion.

He had studied geology at Harvard before changing his major to government. During his speech in Booneville, he referenced the beautiful mountains surrounding the crowd and noted how they were formed. He used to do that every time I traveled with him — he’d use one small footnote we had discussed in his talk to the larger audience. He was a gifted extemporaneous speaker, good with minutiae and big picture thinking.

Another time he gave a speech to journalism students at Arkansas State University on the subject of ethics. I was expecting the speech to discuss hard work, honesty and self-discipline. Instead, the speech was about the ethical choices he pondered when putting a state budget together. He said something like this:

“If I put more money into prisons, I’m protecting people, but there will be less funding for children in public education. If I steer more into Medicaid, I’ll have to sacrifice funding for economic development and higher education, which could lead to more jobs and opportunities and help raise us out of poverty.” He thought about the budget in ethical terms; it was a document that reflected his morals.

I’ve visited with a lot of former staffers and supporters as well as other media pundits in the time we’ve had to reflect on this extraordinary Arkansan’s life. Jim Guy was fearless when it came to decision-making. 

Right after he took office in December 1992, he wasted no time calling a special session to institute the soft drink tax to shore up Medicaid funding, which was in desperate neglect. In January 1993, his first session since being promoted from lieutenant governor, he brought an ambitious package of legislation to reform sentencing standards, economic development, education, and find savings in state government. He could have been more cautious and found his footing. He had a honeymoon to coast, but wasted no time pursuing important improvements in policy.

He later tried to rethink how school funding was conducted, but his plan failed to gain legislative traction as it was sure to lead to small school closures. Lake View came shortly after his time in office and forced the issue for lawmakers. Jim Guy pursued an overhaul of the state constitution in an effort to modernize it, and he pushed for a $3.5 billion highway bond program. Both of those efforts failed, but in retrospect, I can appreciate the fact that he didn’t wait to take action. 

Jim Guy was a Marine, and I have to believe he had some Gen. Douglas MacArthur in his veins. MacArthur was once attributed as saying, “Upon the plains of hesitation, bleach the bones of countless number who paused, waiting for a better moment.”

Jim Guy Tucker was not a man who waited for a better moment. He seized the day from his earliest years throughout his career. When his health wouldn’t allow him to serve his country as a Marine in Vietnam, he became a war correspondent and recorded the stories of those Arkansans on the front line. He went undercover into Cummins prison to expose corruption. He served as a tough-nosed prosecutor, attorney general, congressman, and challenged for the U.S. Senate. His political comeback included lieutenant governor and governor.

In all of those elected offices, and in life, he never paused.

Editor’s note: Roby Brock is the Editor-in-Chief of Talk Business & Politics.