It was the early 60’s — ‘63 or ‘64 as I recall — I was the nightside reporter in the Morristown bureau of the Newark News when a young preppy looking guy walked into the office to tell me he intended to seek a local council position and wanted to introduce himself to the region’s reporters and answer any questions they may have.

I was the only reporter in the office — working a 7 p.m. to 4 a.m. shift — and back then before keypads, swipe cards and security doors it wasn’t unusual for people to drop by with news tips, to share gossip or simply because their curiosity about what was happening got the best of them.

When I asked my evening visitor and would-be candidate where he intended to launch his political career and in which party, he replied he was a Democrat running for council in Mendham Borough.

Like reporters everywhere and despite my fairly young age, my acquired skepticism rose to the surface and I recall saying something snarky like “well, you’ll get two votes — yours and the only other Democrat living in Mendham.”

By the way, I said, what’s your name?

“Bob Mulcahy,” he replied.

So much for my wisdom and insight. He not only won the council seat at age 23, he went on to become the borough mayor and begin a nearly 60-year career in public service that took him to a governor’s office, administering a wildly successful multi-million dollar sports and entertainment agency and guiding an athletic program to prominence at the state university.

Bob died earlier this past Monday at age 85.

From a quiet unassuming young man who believed he could achieve elected office despite insurmountable odds nearly 60 years ago, Mulcahy rose through the New Jersey political system to a cabinet position before serving as chief of staff to Gov. Brendan Byrne.

It should be noted that as staff leader, he worked side by side with a deputy, Harold Hodes who went on to become legendary in his own right.

Mulcahy was the velvet glove; Hodes the iron fist. Mulcahy from the genteel suburbs of Morris County and Hodes from the mean streets of Newark formed perhaps the most effective executive office staff duo in memory.

For 19 years, Mulcahy served as executive  director of the Sports and Exposition Authority, overseeing the New Jersey Meadowlands complex of a racetrack, arena and professional football stadium, establishing it as one of the nation’s preeminent athletic and entertainment venues.

In 1998, he assumed the role of athletic director at Rutgers University and guided the sports program to prominence until leaving in 2008.

He was elected to the Rutgers Athletic Hall of Fame in 2017 and the New Jersey Hall of Fame in 2020.

In my career path — nine years as a staffer in the Assembly and 11 years serving two governors — I had frequent contact with Mulcahy, discussing policy and politics in equal measure and navigating through potentially controversial issues which could involve the governor’s office.

He possessed finely tuned political instincts, leavened by a quick grasp and understanding of how the public and political world might react to a particular development.

He was also a person of compassion, regard and concern for those around him, providing a sympathetic ear and steady shoulder to lean on in times of travail.

My first thought, though, upon hearing of his death was that visit to the newspaper office where he announced his future to an audience of one — me — and my cynical observation that he’d have better luck scaling Mount Everest in the middle of January dressed in shorts and a T-shirt.

I recall a number of years ago a conversation with a political friend about legacies of prominent public figures and what was usually referred to as “ordinary people.”

His observation: “Live your life so that when you’re gone people will remember you were here.”

I, and a good many others, will remember Bob Mulcahy was here.

Carl Golden is a senior contributing analyst with the William J. Hughes Center for Public Policy at Stockton university.