Mourning the Passing of Kit Bond
By Kenny Hulshof Chairman KBS Group
I dreaded returning the call to my business partner, Matt Roney. He had called while I was on a zoom. “Is it about Kit?” I texted. “Yes,” was the one-word reply. And I knew. The day we had all dreaded was upon us. Christopher S “Kit” Bond had left us.
I was in my early teens when I first heard the name “Kit Bond.” It was just after Christmas 1972. My folks were excitedly prepping to leave our farm in southeast Missouri for an out-of-town excursion. That—in and of itself—was unusual.
I watched as Mom retrieved her well-worn hardback Samsonite suitcase from the attic. “Where are you guys going?” I asked. Mom paused her packing long enough to burst out, “Your father and I have been invited to attend the inauguration of Governor-Elect Kit Bond in Jefferson City!” “Where is Jefferson City?” I asked. “And who the heck is ‘Kit Bond’?”
Who indeed? A longtime friend. A legislative colleague. A business partner. My mentor.
How does one describe an iconic, historic political figure? Other than perhaps Harry S Truman, has there ever been another Missourian who has impacted our State and nation so thoroughly for the better?
Within minutes of Governor Kehoe’s official announcement of Kit’s passing, my phone began blowing up. Even that small fact isn’t lost on me. The immediate reaction and outpouring of emotional texts and emails were similarly parallel to last week’s euphoric announcement that our new Pope was an American. Only the texts related to Kit’s death were both anguished and salutary. “Oh man…” a powerful congressional chairman responded, “I hate to hear it. What a great man!”
Other deserving accolades followed: “An absolute legend.” “Hardest working man in Missouri politics.” “A legislative giant.” “Great civil servant, a friend, and an exceptional, fun human being.” “End of an era and one of a kind.” “A work horse; not a show horse.”
It is this last descriptor I’d like to highlight. How does one who was raised from not-so-humble beginnings become the nation’s leading advocate for reforming public housing for the less-fortunate in our inner cities? How does a decorated Ivy League grad end up being the strongest champion for our state’s land-grant college and greatest friend to Missouri agriculture…ever? Full stop.
Every August for the dozen years I was in office Kit and I would each attend and “work” the Missouri State Fair in Sedalia. The annual ham breakfast under the “big tent” could have been renamed the “Kit Bond Annual Homecoming and Reunion.” 600+ attendees knew and loved Kit. The feeling was mutual. Watching Kit deftly glide through the crowd and warmly greet the crush of enthusiastic well-wishers—one-on-one—was a marvel. No one was better at working a crowd. And it was genuine.
Kit was an old school pol. He remembered your name. He called you on your birthday. He combed through the stack of staff-prepared newspaper clippings when he boarded a plane. He dictated letters after climbing into the front seat of his waiting car, enroute to the next small, but important, event somewhere in rural Missouri that few have heard of.
He hand-wrote thank-you notes to contributors and others he believed deserved recognition. He called into local talk radio shows and his unmistakable baritone voice reassured us that Washington, D.C. wasn’t actually that far away and that he had our backs. His work ethic was legendary and he set a bar that none of us following in his shadow could reach. Kit was like a Super-Hero with an Everyman’s persona.
Many recent tributes have lauded Kit’s “passion.” I think a better word for the man I knew and admired was “relentless.” But always with the best interests of our State in mind. Here are just a few examples:
Kit’s defense of navigation on the lower Missouri River against up-river stakeholders and environmental groups and his fight for levee districts which protected local farmers? Relentless.
His pursuit of “congressionally-directed” spending on projects like ag school research on soybeans, “Parents-As-Teachers”—a program he established in his first term as Governor and elevated nationwide, cutting-edge life science genetics and genomics, and projects for safer highways and bridges all across Missouri? Relentless.
Kit’s strong advocacy for the National Guard, Army Corps of Engineers and all service branches and intelligence agencies that keep us safe? Relentless.
His laser focus on eradicating regulations that stifled Missouri-based companies like Briggs and Stratton in southwest Missouri and countless others? Relentless.
Kit’s fight for the F/A-18 and F-15 production lines and workers at Boeing’s St. Louis facility and the sale of our American-made warplanes to foreign allies abroad? Relentless.
Here’s a testament to the above: In 2004 President George W. Bush flew into the Columbia Regional Airport for an event in Jeff City to tout his recent signing of Medicare Part D into law. The motorcade awaited the President’s arrival, and I was fortunate to catch a ride in the presidential limousine with the President, Senator Jim Talent and, of course, Kit. After exchanging a few pleasantries, the motorcade was soon southbound on Highway 63 for the 20-minute ride to our state capital. Kit wasted no time. “Mr. President,” he began, “we need to discuss F/A-18s and the integral part you have to play in keeping that production line open.” For the next 19-and-a-half minutes Kit worked President Bush over in the small confines of the limo’s back seat. The Leader of the Free World was—literally—a captive audience. The President was first smiling and nodding, then began looking beleaguered as the trip wore on. Jim Talent would offer a word or two—just to allow Kit to catch his breath—and then Kit would continue. As we were turning into the parking lot at the event center in Jeff City, the President was finally able to recover. “Alright, Hulshof, what do you want?”
In retrospect I recall the United States did, in fact, requisition enough F/A-18s and F-15s to keep robust production lines going in St. Louis for several years. No telling how many working men and women and their families in that region owed their livelihoods to Kit. He was brilliant. And relentless.
Like his baseball hero, Ozzie Smith, Kit retired from politics at the pinnacle of his game. Looking back, his timing could not have been better. As we know, modern-day politics has devolved into a morass of vitriol and social media angst. Kit would have been like an Alaskan Salmon out of water. In casual conversations during our time together as business partners at Kit Bond Strategies, he and I would sometimes discuss whether either of us could have enjoyed electoral success in the modern era. No matter. He was a legislative giant during his 40-year tenure in Missouri politics. Pragmatic. Bipartisan. Solutions-oriented. Thoughtful. Effective. Humble. Words that are foreign to some in today’s body politic.
On a recent radio interview about Kit’s life, I was asked to tell one story that encapsulates Kit as I knew him. There’s one that stands out among all the others. My last campaign for public office was in the fall of 2008 when I squared off for Governor against my former boss, Jay Nixon. Kit often reminded candidates seeking campaign advice that they should write two speeches for election night—one accepting a win as a humble victor and the other conceding defeat as a gracious loser.
Alas, it was the latter that I had to pull out of my suit jacket as a throng of disappointed supporters awaited my concession speech in the hotel ballroom where we had gathered to watch election results. My prepared remarks concluded with the famous excerpt from President Teddy Roosevelt’s speech in April 1910—“The Man In the Arena.” I grabbed Renee’s hand and the two of us made our way to the small temporary stage where a lonesome podium stood. Before beginning, I quickly surveyed the room. The ballroom was still packed. Multiple television crews were ready to go live with the speech that would be covered statewide. A close friend had our two young daughters in tow. Kit stood just off to the side, next to the stage on the floor.
Renee had been a fierce campaigner on my behalf during the nine-month odyssey and was trying to keep her emotions in check as the two of us stood alone. When I got to the final excerpt of my last political speech—“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better”—my voice caught in my throat and Renee—standing just behind me—started sobbing quietly. I paused. In an instant, Kit ascended the stage, put his comforting arm around Renee, and quietly began reciting from memory the rest of the Roosevelt quote. We finished the speech together.
Well done, Kit Bond, for a life well-lived! “[You] have fought the fight. [You] have finished the race. [You] have kept the faith.” 2 Timothy 4:7. You have been an inspiration for many—especially those of us who have tried to emulate your example of selfless service.
Your legacy is legion and well-deserved for “[t]he credit goes to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory or defeat.” (Taken from “The Man In The Arena.”)
Rest In Peace.
P.S. I’m sure that even the gold-plated streets in Heaven could use a good earmark!
