Where I Stand -- Mike O'Callaghan: Las Vegas orphan and Indiana farmer make a difference

RECENT DAYS HAVE BROUGHT news that I would rather not have learned and as a result I am writing a column I would rather not write.

First came an e-mail telling me that Tom Modisett of Camden, Ind., had died. Then came a Friday evening phone call from Cy Ryan in Carson City informing me that Bill "Wildcat" Morris had a heart attack and died when traveling to the annual Nevada Wolf Pack Dinner at the Governor's Mansion.

Tom was a farm boy from Indiana and Wildcat was an orphan from Las Vegas. When these two men died they took part of me with them and left behind hundreds of warm memories for their thousands of friends to cherish. They were so important to those of us fortunate to know them that it's difficult to think of a world without either of them being within the reach of a telephone call.

I first met Wildcat at Fort Ord, Calif., and trained at the Ground Leadership School before returning for a third tour of duty overseas with this one ending in North Korea. Arriving in Korea, I joined a company that was pretty well beat up and its commander was in the hospital. Capt. Tom Modisett was badly burned when he used his bare hands to get burning white phosphorus off his radio man. Charlie Shields from Tonopah, who had been at Fort Ord with Wildcat and me, like all of the soldiers knew that Tom would return, and he did. "You'll like Captain Modisett," Shields told me.

Shields, an accomplished mortarman, was right about Tom. During the coming months with the calming influence of the commander from Indiana, our company was reinforced and performed proficiently in combat. He cared for his troops and they responded. The commander who later replaced him found a good combat outfit that continued to function smoothly even after Captain Tom had departed. Actually he never left us, because when he came to Tokyo and San Francisco he visited the military hospitals to see that his men were being cared for properly. That relationship has carried on with all of us for almost 50 years. During those years, Tom and I worked together for Sargent Shriver in the Job Corps and I visited his farm.

Wildcat was part of the permanent cadre at the Leadership School and was one of the bright lights for all who were assigned there. Although most of the men had only recently completed basic training, they were as old as, or older than, me. They were draftees who had no plans to make a career of the military. It was Wildcat who helped make things just a bit easier for those who were struggling and for those who eventually washed out of the school.

Someplace up in Reno, Charlie Shields still has a pass to get off the military base that was signed by John P. Foley, 1st Lt. Inf. I also had such a pass but didn't meet John Foley until several years later when moving to Southern Nevada. John wasn't at Fort Ord at that time, so it must have been somebody from Las Vegas who had signed his name for guys like me to get off base for a few cold beers once in a while.

Wildcat's sense of humor followed us into Korea. Late one afternoon, when we were resting behind Old Baldy waiting for darkness to cover our movements, Charlie came looking for me. "Look at this," he laughed. He had a card sent by Wildcat that told of how tough things were at the 1952 Olympics. That gave all of us exactly what we needed -- a laugh from Wildcat.

The Wildcat I found in Las Vegas years later was the same man. Deep concern for the welfare of his family and friends and the willingness and ability to fight for those things he knew were right and fair continued to be his trademark. He not only helped UNLV build a football stadium and basketball arena and encouraged athletes to attend the school, he also never forgot those athletes as individuals. Wildcat didn't overlook the value of any person, super athlete or physically handicapped. People were important to him. For example, over the years, dozens of kids have gone to the Sun Summer Camp because of his generosity. Yes, and when he was a hotel owner, thousands of people who couldn't afford it ate their way through his buffet line at no cost to them. Wildcat was raised poor and he appreciated the value of the men and women who were facing some of those same difficulties.

There were times that I thought this kind and enthusiastic man overreached the realms of reality. When I was governor, he came to my office with the idea of building a first-class facility that could house first-class basketball teams. He had already proven his ability to build a football stadium out near Henderson. He had figured out how to fund the dream facility, so I made him the chairman to develop what we now know as Thomas & Mack. His pal, Don Carano, carried out the same job up north and from his efforts UNR has the Lawlor Athletic Center.

I hadn't seen Wildcat in recent days, but every time we met he made me feel good. As my colleague Ruthe Deskin said, "His eyes smiled with that impish grin." If I didn't see him for more than a month or two, I would always find some reason to call him or he would call me just to chat.

Ending this column on a cheerful note is impossible, because I don't feel cheerful. Part of me, an orphan from Las Vegas and a farmer from Indiana, is no longer.

archive