She traded one-liners with Bill Cosby and zinged President Bill Clinton. She teased Arnold Schwarzenegger and accidentally kissed Colin Powell right on the smacker. On a dare, she once called Ronald Reagan "Ronnie." But Olene Walker's favorite moment during her long political career might have been an exchange with a nameless boy.
She was being driven out of the airport parking lot when she spotted a school bus full of children. She asked her driver to stop the car and approached the bus to say hello. Just then, one of the students yelled, "Hey, it's the governor who makes us read!"
Walker, who has stressed school reading programs during her brief term as governor, delights in telling this story. "That's the best success you can have," she says, laughing. "You wonder if you've made a difference."
That's Walker for you. Successful or not, she has tried to be more than a caretaker for the office since taking over for Mike Leavitt when he left to become director of the Environmental Protection Agency, but it was a lot to ask. Her term as governor will total only 14 months, and she was relegated to lame-duck status for eight of them after Republicans eliminated her in the May state GOP convention.
"I feel like I've got to make every day count," she says.
She points to her work on initiatives that improved the quality and quantity of watersheds across the state, and public lands legislation whose effectiveness won't be known for years. Her literacy programs — perhaps the hallmark of her brief term — have been successful. But her pet project — the appointment of a task force to reform Utah taxes — has stalled. Released in late November, she believes ultimately it will provide a blueprint for Utah's future.
"When I became governor, I felt some stress over the fact that I had a very limited time to accomplish a lot of things," she says. "I didn't want to be known as a caretaker. It would be easy to slip into that mode where you didn't work hard."
There are probably many reasons she didn't get the Republican nomination. She is a moderate and an independent thinker by party standards. Her gender also was undoubtedly a factor, as was her age (she turned 74 on Nov. 5).
So ends a remarkable political career by an accomplished woman who has somehow managed to have it all — the big family, career, education, church and community service — and she's done it with grace, humor, intelligence, hard work and, well, fun.
The only question is: Does this woman sleep?
Answer: Rarely.
The accidental politician
Walker, once a housewife with seven kids, now the grandmother of 25 and the great-grandmother of four (with two on the way), is the accidental politician (and now the accidental governor) who never saw a political career coming.
"What was I thinking?" she says. "I don't know! Looking back, the ideal was to say you had some grand plan. I didn't."
Her only plan was to keep moving. Along with mothering kids and attending ballgames and dance recitals, she tended to be the one who drove the carpool and served as PTA president. She stayed out of the work force for more than a decade, because, she says, "I felt I needed to be home."
She used to stay up late sewing for her daughters, but sometimes she simply ran out of time. Once she had to staple a gown together to get it ready in time for a school dance. Sometimes she even sewed the neighbor girls' dresses because their mothers were supposedly too busy.
"With seven kids you learn to hit the tops of the icebergs and do things fast," she says.
She eventually took part-time work during the hours her kids were in school, usually related to education. Over the years, she also collected other duties, serving on committees for the Utah Symphony, United Way, Red Cross, the homeless, child care, domestic violence, Ballet West, the budding Sundance Film Festival, Salt Lake Education Foundation, children's health insurance, the Weber State advisory board, Brigham Young University's Marriott School of Management advisory board.
"She was late a few times picking us up with that hectic schedule of hers," says Walker's daughter, Nina Slighting.
Eventually, she added another role to her agenda: student. At nearly 50 years old, with seven kids and a full-time job in the Salt Lake School District, she started her doctoral program, writing her dissertation nightly between the hours of 11 p.m. and 3 a.m.
'Something to be done'
Where does such drive come from?
"I don't know," says Walker's husband, Myron. "I've often wondered about that. Her parents were hard workers."
She was raised on a farm near Ogden, one of five kids born to Thomas and Nina Smith. Education, church, community service and hard work were just part of the routine. Thomas was superintendent of Ogden city schools for 24 years and a stake president for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for 30 years who also served on boards for hospitals, the symphony and United Way. Instead of playing golf or fishing, he called his work on the farm his "recreation." The kids worked with him, topping beets, hoeing weeds, planting and picking tomatoes, and baling hay on the 140-acre dairy and beef-cattle farm.
"We grew up where there was always something to be done," says Walker.
Walker brought the same industriousness to school, where she seemed to belong to every club and organization. She graduated with honors and attended Weber for a year on a debate scholarship and was a finalist for Miss Weber. After transferring to BYU, she was student body vice president, served on the pep club and was first attendant to the homecoming queen. ("She was a great beauty in her day," says former legislator Afton Bradshaw, a close friend.) Although not a formal member of the debate team at BYU, she was recruited for the big matches anyway and usually returned with a first- or second-place prize. She took a degree in political science with a minor in history and won the Provo Chamber of Commerce's annual Outstanding Graduate Award based on scholarship and leadership.
Myron, who had recently returned from a church mission, also attended BYU. While serving as marshal of the homecoming parade, he asked friends to point out a girl for him, one who "had substance and personality." They pointed to Olene Smith in the homecoming parade.
They began dating. He graduated a year ahead of Olene and reported for Army duty in California. She won a scholarship to Stanford and moved to California and the courtship continued. Eventually, she was offered a fellowship to study abroad in Italy. Myron gave her an ultimatum: Marriage or Italy; he wasn't waiting. They survived a serious car wreck (three barrel rolls) en route to Utah to get married. She finished her master's degree in political theory at Stanford, commuting 90 miles each day, then the couple packed up and moved to Boston, where Myron had a scholarship to Harvard. The kids began to arrive, seven in 11 years.
After taking an MBA from Harvard, Myron was vice president and general manager for food-industry companies until he bought his own business, Country Club Foods, which he grew from 17 employees to 600 employees and representatives.
Balancing act
Over the years, the couple's schedules and lives seemed to balance the other's. There were times when their lives seemed to revolve around his career, and later it revolved around hers.
"It's very charming and refreshing the way they've managed everything," says Vicki Varela, Leavitt's former deputy chief of staff for communications. "It's interesting for (people) of their age and generation to have raised seven kids and they had their careers and lead independent lives in a lot of ways, but they're obviously very bonded."
Walker pursued a doctorate in education thinking she might like to teach at the university level or pursue public school administration, but several people suggested she run for an open seat in her Utah House district.
A Republican campaigning in a Democratic district, she knocked on doors every evening after work and then again on weekends, and she recruited help from university students after convincing their teachers to give them credit for working on her campaign. She won the election and served in the Legislature from 1981 until her defeat in 1988, rising to a leadership position in the House of Representatives, where she served as majority whip.
Walker ran for Congress in 1992, but when two gubernatorial candidates, Richard Eyre and Mike Leavitt, asked her to run as their lieutenant governor, she dropped out of the race and signed on with Leavitt.
"Being a woman at that time was an asset, not a liability," she says. "It was the beginning of a movement in that direction. There were only six female lieutenant governors in the nation at the time — now there are 21."
With her wide-ranging background in education, business, homemaking and the Legislature, she was uniquely qualified. She became Utah's first female lieutenant governor.
"First, I wanted someone who was capable of being governor," says Leavitt. "Second, I wanted someone who could carry a substantial part of the administration, and she had extraordinary experience in some areas I didn't."
Eleven years later, Walker became the state's first female governor.
"She may be among the hardest workers on the planet," says Leavitt. "I don't know that she ever sleeps. She is relentless and yet good-humored about it. I don't recall in the 11 years we worked together a single moment when a harsh word passed between us."
What he had in Walker was, as Bradshaw puts it, "one of the most beloved legislators in the state among her peers." Leavitt agrees: "I suspect some of that is attributable to a personality that wears well."
A sense of humor
Undoubtedly, Walker's relaxed, kind and often humorous way with people has served her well, and at times it has lightened up the serious business of government. During a ceremony to make Cosby an honorary citizen of Utah, she held her own with the comedian. They made the presentation in front of the House and Senate, and Cosby began to ad-lib one-liners.
"Hey, these guys look pretty sleepy," he said. "They probably need a coffee break. . . . Maybe we could put some caffeine in their Jell-O."
"As long as it's cold, it's OK," Walker replied, referring to the caffeine. Cosby didn't get the joke, but the Utah crowd roared. After exchanging playful banter, Cosby told Walker, "I'm going to send you a contract."
"They just hit it off," says Myron. "They enjoyed each other. She was relaxed enough to enjoy it, and he recognized it."
During a national governor's meeting last winter in Washington, Walker attended a dinner at the White House and found herself seated at the same table as President Bush and Schwarzenegger. At one point, a silver plate with a fork, spoon and finger bowl was delivered to their table.
"Olene, vat is this?" Schwarzenegger said.
"The finger bowl is to wash your hands," she said. "I don't know what the fork and spoon are for. Watch the president."
More laughs.
Presidential encounters
Once, when his wife was about to attend a White House reception in which President Reagan would be present, Myron dared her, "Olene, I'll bet you $500 you won't tell the president, 'Ronnie, do you think Nancy will mind if I call you Ronnie.' "
"Don't be ridiculous," Walker replied, but later that night when she returned from the event she told Myron, "I want my $500." While waiting in the reception line that night she thought the comments by the people in front of her "were so fawning and ridiculous," that she decided to take Myron's dare.
"Mr. President, would Nancy mind if I called you Ronnie," she said.
"No," he said, smiling and taking both of her hands in his. "I'm sure she wouldn't."
Later, as she was leaving, Walker saw the president again and, feeling guilty about what she had said, announced, "President Reagan, I really enjoyed being here. Thank you for inviting me."
"That's all right," he replied. "Just call me Ronnie."
There is one incident that is a favorite among Walker's fans — the time she landed a verbal jab at Clinton. It occurred about a month after Clinton had gone to Arizona to announce the designation of the Grand Staircase-National Monument, which made 1.7 million acres in southern Utah off limits to development. Many considered it cowardly that the president didn't come to Utah to make the controversial, much-maligned decision, or that no one ever told Utah's leaders about it before the announcement.
When she met Clinton at the White House with other lieutenant governors, she says, "I was still hot." When introduced to Clinton, she said, for all to hear, "You should come to Utah, especially the next time you want to dedicate a park in Colorado or Arizona." There was a brief pause. "Good one," he said, smiling. (Several lieutenant governors later told Walker they couldn't believe she had the nerve to say it, but they loved it.)
Funny incidents
Things haven't always gone smoothly for Walker, though.
Myron tells this story, but only after he says, "She will be unhappy with me for telling it":
Several years ago, Powell visited Walker and her husband at her office. As Myron tells it, "As he greeted her, he went to buss her (a light peck on the side of the cheek), and we just don't do that. She didn't know what to do. She didn't turn her face. They kissed on the lips. They were totally embarrassed. They knew they had done it wrong."
During the Olympics, Powell visited Walker again and bussed her again, this time correctly.
"Olene, we did it right this time, didn't we," he said. He had remembered the embarrassing incident for six years.
Powell can be forgiven for the exchange. Those close to Walker say she seems to exude such warmth that people are constantly hugging her.
"Most governors are very formal in public, but people like to hug her," says Amanda Covington, the governor's deputy for communications.
To promote her reading program, Walker once appeared at a school, as did an eight-foot Cat-in-the-Hat mascot. When the mascot walked into the room, one little frightened boy screamed and ran into the governor's arms, where he was soothed — "It's OK, little one," she told the boy.
"And he ran right past his mom to get to her," says Covington.
Before a group of 18 Muslim leaders from Africa visited her, Walker was coached not to touch or make eye contact with them, but when they showed up, the visitors touched her and shook her hand and finally applauded her.
"That's just her," says Covington. "They were enamored with her."
'She wears us out'
This is what else you'll discover about the governor: She's as active and energetic as a roomful of teenagers. It's not unusual for her working day to last 14 to 16 hours. In the Walker family, her energy is legendary on vacations with extended family members.
"She'll invite us on a little hike," says Slighting. "We end up going five miles, and the teenagers are dying and she's leading the way."
Walker, the great-grandma, shredded the floor while dancing during legislative meetings in New Orleans. She stole the show at the closing banquet of the Western Governors Association by belting out a rendition of "I Can't Get No Satisfaction" and "Wild Thing."
Varela recalls that during the Olympics, Walker was on the go from 6 a.m. till midnight every day. "They had to assign two shifts of security to keep up with her," says Varela.
Slighting recalls that when her mother was asked to carry the Olympic Torch to Delicate Arch over the red rock in southern Utah, security worried that she couldn't handle the hike. "They took back every word they said," says Slighting.
When anyone hints that age is an issue for the governor, staffers laugh.
"Age!?" says Covington. "Oh, my word. She wears us out. We fall into bed."
Not Walker. Something had to give all those years she was a mother and career woman and community servant, and that something was sleep. Walker accomplished much of her work done late at night. Now she is an insomniac. She has slept about three or four hours a night most of her adult life, although she says she has improved to four or five lately. Somehow, she has had just one sick day in 11 years.
Before she became governor, she spent her sleepless nights doing laundry, reading, cleaning, catching up with her e-mail and watching the news. "I can tell you every news station there is," she says. "I can tell you that the business news is on at 4 a.m. I do have a hard time sleeping. I wish I could sleep more."
During the Republican Convention in New York this year, where she was forced to wander a tiny hotel room instead of the house while Myron slept, she finally dressed and went down to the hotel lobby, where she met other politicos. They wound up wandering around New York at 1 a.m.
"Security wasn't very happy with her," says Myron.
"She has always been famous for roaming the house, from bed to bed and couch to couch," says Slighting. "One time when I was dating my husband we had stayed up late studying for a test and fell asleep. When we woke up, we found her sleeping on the couch by us. The amazing thing is, she doesn't wake up grumpy. She can function."
Nice . . . but driven
Sleep isn't the only thing she gives up to keep pace with her schedule. Vanity took a back seat to practicality. She no longer wears earrings — "Takes too long," she says — and sometimes applies makeup in the car. She claims she can get ready for anything in five minutes, including a shower, and Covington verifies this. "I have pulled up in the car many times, and she'll be down in five minutes."
Which explains why Walker has been known to stick her head out the car window to dry her hair en route to some ceremony, sometimes showing up with her 'do literally frozen in place.
"She's not at all about trappings," says Varela. "She's just not vain. We were always reminding her that she was a person of stature, and if she was giving a speech she should have her hair dry."
Despite the pressure-packed pace and demands of her schedule and the lack of sleep, Walker maintains her famously mild temperament. "I can never remember her getting mad at me," says Slighting. "She is the most patient person. She holds her own in a tough situation, but she doesn't let things bother her."
Says Bradshaw, "I've watched her go toe to toe on issues with people on the Hill and stand her own ground and explain things in ways they could understand (she's just smarter than most people up there). And yet she's so nice about it."
Nice, but driven, too. Walker's even temper belies a fierce competitive streak. When she golfs with Myron she handicaps the game and insists on keeping score. Ditto when she plays games with the grandkids.
"They know Grandma's not going to let them win unless they can actually beat her," says Myron. "As long as anyone will stay up to play with her she's there."
"She is so competitive," says Slighting. "My daughter kept beating her at a game, and after she went to bed my mother stayed up dealing her a ghost hand to try to beat her and still lost. She was practicing all night."
'More we can do'
What's next for the grand lady of Utah politics? She has received several job offers.
"I keep thinking, what are they thinking offering a woman my age a job?"
She vows not to work as many hours as she is now, but that's not much of a concession.
Recently, the governor was asked during a radio interview if she was leading the life she was meant to live. After a pause, Walker replied, "Well, there's always so much more we can do."
"That was powerful to me," says Varela. "It described her as well as anything I've seen."
Asked to elaborate later, Walker says, "You can't help but think you could do more — because I've had a good life. These are not unique feelings. We all have those."
Looking back at her political career as the end nears, Walker admits there have been times when she has had to pinch herself, sitting among the nation's leaders, "the housewife from Utah sitting in Washington with leaders of the country," as she says.
"She typifies the great things that can come to politics and public policy by the extensive involvement of women," says Leavitt. "She is one of the truly great stateswomen in our history. Her status as first woman to serve as governor is an appropriate honor."
When she walks away from politics at the end of the year, she will spend more time with Myron and maybe get another red convertible sports car. (She gave one up at the behest of security. "I haven't had a whistle since then," she says.) She says she assumes she will continue to work on homeless issues, economic development and affordable housing.
For Walker, there is always so much more she can do.
E-mail: drob@desnews.com