A cold beer, a late-night drive and what I learned from Dirk Kempthorne | Opinion

Most people called him Governor Kempthorne. Years ago, I started calling him “Mr. Secretary,” since it is my title now, and his highest title was United States secretary of the Interior. From then on, whenever we saw each other, it was always the same greeting.

“Mr. Secretary.”

“Mr. Secretary.”

Always with a knowing smile.

Like so many Idahoans, I grew up admiring Dirk Kempthorne. I grew up in southeast Boise, close in age to his son Jeff, and I watched his career from nearby, first as Boise mayor, then as United States senator, Idaho governor and finally as secretary of the Interior. His career was extraordinary, and there will rightly be many tributes that tell the story of all he accomplished.

This one is a little different.

This is a story about a cold beer, a late-night drive and the unexpected gift of learning from someone I had admired for most of my life.

Gov. Kempthorne was an extraordinary public speaker. His daughter, Heather, once wrote that her dad was the best speaker she had ever heard. She was right. He had a rare ability to command a room, but more than that, he could make a room feel. He used his hands, his pauses, his emphasis and his words with such intention. He could paint a picture, lift a crowd and call people toward something bigger than themselves.

That was one of the great gifts of his leadership. It was not simply the work he did. It was the work he inspired others to do.

In 2024, I had the opportunity to drive with him to Twin Falls, where he was the keynote speaker for the Twin Falls County Republican Lincoln Day dinner. I had spoken at the event the year before, and they invited me back to say a few words. I was not sure I could make the time, until I learned Gov. Kempthorne would be speaking.

Then the answer was easy.

If Dirk Kempthorne was speaking, I wanted to be there. And if we were both going to Twin Falls, I figured we might as well ride together.

I picked him up at his home that afternoon, and we spent the two-hour drive getting to know each other better. For me, it was already a special opportunity. He was someone I had admired from a distance for years, and now there I was, driving across southern Idaho with him, talking about life, public service and the state we both love.

When we arrived, a high school student was waiting to interview him for a school project. In true Kempthorne fashion, he made her feel important and fully seen. At one point, he gave her the state seal lapel pin I had just given him. It was a small gesture, but it said so much. He did not just meet people. He noticed them.

That evening, I spoke first. I introduced myself as the governor’s Uber driver, and of course, worked in my usual “Mr. Secretary” reference. I felt good about my remarks. As a speaker, you can feel when something lands.

Then Gov. Kempthorne stood up.

He started with a few jokes that played off mine, even offering me a tip for my work as his driver. Then he delivered one of those speeches that reminded everyone in the room why he was Dirk Kempthorne. Sitting there, I felt like a pretty good minor leaguer watching an All-Star hit it out of the park again and again.

He was at his best that night.

But the speech was not the part I will remember most.

After the dinner, we still had a two-hour drive back to Boise. Having just watched and listened to each other speak, we began comparing notes. We talked about our openings, our jokes, the pacing of the room, what worked and what could have been stronger.

Then he began coaching me.

He told me what I had done well, where I could have done a little more and where I could have done a little less. Then he reached into his breast pocket, pulled out his notes and began walking me through how he prepared. How he organized his thoughts. How he marked his remarks. How he thought about a room. How he had learned, over decades, to connect with people in a way that was both disciplined and deeply human.

It felt like being invited into the workshop of a master craftsman.

There was a joy in it. There was energy in it. There was the excitement that comes when two people who love the same craft start talking about the tools, habits, instincts and small details that make the work come alive.

For a political nerd like me, it felt like a dream.

We got back to Boise a little before midnight. As I was about to drop him off, he mentioned that his wife, Patricia, was at their cabin. Then, almost casually, he said he was enjoying the conversation and asked if I wanted to come in for a beer.

I could hardly believe it.

This was someone I had grown up admiring. Someone who had always seemed larger than life and, in some ways, just out of reach. And now there we were, two friends sitting together late into the night, enjoying a cold beer and talking about life, leadership, speeches, Idaho and the calling of public service.

I will never forget that night.

I still try to incorporate the lessons he shared with me. Every now and then, when I am speaking and I feel the room lean in, I think of him. I think of his hands, his pauses, his warmth and his remarkable ability to make people feel seen.

Gov. Kempthorne’s leadership shaped Idaho in countless ways. But for me, his legacy is also found in that late-night drive home from Twin Falls, in a conversation between two “Mr. Secretaries,” and in the generosity of a master craftsman willing to share his trade.

My life is better because I knew him. Idaho is better because he served it.

Patricia, Heather, Jeff and the entire Kempthorne family are in my prayers. May we honor him not only by remembering what he accomplished, but by carrying forward the way he made people feel, seen, valued and called to something greater.