by Charlie Roberts

GUEST COLUMNIST

Bob Swan's talents and experience took him to executive boardrooms, back rooms of the state Capitol, and the halls of Congress, but his heart was always in his hometown of Tooele.

While I was growing up, my mom always went to Swan's Market. Over the years, when the wide aisles, fresh paint, and neon signs of a newly opened grocery store in town would lure other shoppers, there we would be pushing a cart at Swan's. They had everything we needed, plus Frank the Butcher. Our family's loyalty was embedded at Swan's.

Last night I found out why.

In the 1960s, my father was hospitalized from a heart attack. A young, compassionate Bob Swan went to my mom and told her that he had just opened a charge account at the store and she did not need to worry about placing food on the table.

The first vote I ever cast was for Bob Swan in 1973. The 26th amendment to the Constitution was ratified two years earlier, and as a college freshman I drove home to vote for the incumbent mayor. He lost.

I've been told there were three reasons Bob fell short in his re-election bid: 1) bachelorhood; 2) a broken snow plow during a heavy December winter storm; and 3) he was out of town when the dam overflowed and refused to follow the old Settlement Canyon creek bed.

In 1965, his term of office was cut short as a City Council member when voters approved a hometown charter and the form of city government changed. Expert legal advisors told Bob he could mount a firm legal challenge to losing his council seat. But rather than march to court, Bob hiked a higher plateau as he watched five new council members take their oaths of office.

Golf was among his greatest loves, and was part of his life as a mayor. I now know why -- a few hours of no phones and no faxes.

At least once a year, Bob would drop by the mayor's office and discuss financing options for the golf course expansion with me. He believed that a properly managed 18-hole golf course nestled at the mouth of Middle Canyon would be less of a financial burden on Tooele taxpayers than nine holes. He was right.

Charlie Brown, our former City Council chair, and I spent the better part of one day about 10 years ago traveling along the Wasatch Front visiting golf courses and clubhouses. Bob felt Tooele City would be wise to construct a multi-use clubhouse.

"Why not have golfers use it during the day and the public enjoy it for receptions in the evenings and winter months?" he reasoned. Revenues would exceed expenditures and the city would provide an unmet need for its citizens. He was probably right on that count as well.

If you knew Bob, you knew where he stood on a particular political topic. As a news reporter, I watched Bob address elected leaders in public forums on a wide range of local public issues. Whether it was a property tax hike for the schools, proposed sewer system for the city, or recreational needs, you could count on Bob to be at the microphone articulating his position.

In addition to being direct and to the point, Bob always had a reasonable solution to the challenge, regardless of its complexities. He quietly pushed for consolidation of the sheriff's office and the city police department. It only makes sense and it will save taxpayers some dollars, he felt.

Several years ago, after Tooele opened our Boys and Girls Club, the area executive director asked if I had any suggestions about someone representing us on the board of directors. I scratched my head and furrowed my brow for about 7.2 seconds, then he blurted out, "How about Bob Swan?" Two thumbs up.

Like everything else he did, Bob demonstrated dedication to that responsibility while always looking out for the best interests of the kids from Tooele.

I express my deepest sympathies to Jan, Karl, Allen, and their families at the loss of one of Tooele's greatest ambassadors. His lifetime of service leaves a legacy and deep imprints on the hearts of Tooele citizens and the fabric of his hometown.

Charlie Roberts is a former mayor of Tooele and a former editor of the Transcript-Bulletin.