It was a big day for me. I was going to meet Gov. Cal Rampton for the first time. I was a young community activist organizer in the '60s in the Central City area of Salt Lake and wanted to make an impression. So, for one day, I took off my jeans and sweatshirt and dusted off my one suit, shirt and tie. The receptionist escorted me to the boardroom where I met the man. He was gracious and invited me into his private office.

As I started talking with the governor, trying to be professional, I realized that, in my excitement to meet him, I'd worn one black and one brown sock. Obvious as it was, he never said a word. It was the beginning of a relationship with one of the finest and most thoughtful individuals I have been fortunate to have come into my life. That first meeting demonstrated the traits that he had in all his relationships and public policies; he treated everyone with dignity and respect regardless of their station in life.

Much has been said about his great accomplishments; but, for me, the legacy he left was a model of what it is to be a thoughtful and caring public servant. He exuded confidence, yet humility. He surrounded himself with strong-minded people. He was a listener, and no matter what was said, he always dignified it with a thoughtful response, often short, candid and to the point.

Gov. Rampton came into office at the height of the civil rights movement and the war on poverty. He hit the ground running. He established the state Office of Equal Opportunity (now the community development agency), Community Action, Head Start, migrant farm worker programs and legislation regarding public housing. Characteristic of his leadership, he invited several of us activists in the Black and Chicano community to sit with him and advise him of the problems of minorities and what state government should do to help solve them. The meetings were frequent, informal and frank. The governor listened and acted. Some of us, at his request, drafted an executive order that created the Black and Chicano Advisory Councils, with two comparable ombudsmen that reported to him directly. When his tenure ended, the councils were removed from the governor's offices and morphed into today's minority councils.

His greatest asset was Lucybeth, his lifelong partner. Theirs was a close and loving relationship that shared the same values and mutual respect. Both were always eager to help at a moment's notice to advance the cause of the Central City Neighborhood. It was not uncommon for both of them to come to the street dances held on 400 East between 600 and 700 South. They participated in neighborhood cleanup campaigns and became part of the community. They were both dedicated to serving the less fortunate and did so with dignity.