I met Robert N. Stewart while stuck with him in a tiny elevator between the second and third floors of the Columbia Club in Indianapolis in 1964.
He was a big man in those days — both physically and politically. He weighed in excess of 250 pounds and I was a chubby 190. The lift evidently decided to give up on lifting us.
We stood belly to belly for about 15 minutes as the maintenance crew worked to get the elevator back in operation.
Stewart was the Republican State Chairman and a member of the GOP National Committee. He would one day be a three-term mayor of Columbus, 1984-95. I was a fledgling newspaper reporter/intern trying to figure out how to cover the convention.
I had asked Stewart a question as he was waiting on the elevator. Before he could answer, the doors opened and he invited me to join him in the tiny compartment to hear his answer during the trip upstairs. Seconds later, the elevator shook and came to a stop.
What a lucky break for a 19-year-old, would-be reporter. A lot of seasoned journalists were trying to talk to Stewart, but I had him trapped for a personal interview.
I don’t recall what question moved us into the elevator, but I do recall it was the only question I got to ask. Not known as a man of few words, Stewart answered my single query for the entire time we were stuck.
Years later, when I was publisher of The Republic and Bob was retired, we often sat at the same table during noon meetings of the Columbus Rotary Club. He had physically slimmed down a lot since our elevator days, but had suffered no reduction in his encyclopedic knowledge of state and local politics.
Bob also had a deep and expansive knowledge of Bartholomew County — its history and its people. Mention someone’s name and he likely would launch into a narrative.
His details were amazing. He would sort of look up over my head and say such things as “John’s grandfather had a farm out in Harrison Township. Liked to hunt raccoons. Six kids. Jake was the only Democrat. A very nice guy and smart as a whip.”
If I had taken notes, I could have written a socio-political history of the county.
I once asked him how he decided to be a Republican.
“I don’t think that is something most people consciously decide,” he replied. He said most people in Bartholomew County are not Republicans or Democrats because of some political philosophy but because that’s what their parents were. He added that “somewhere back in the family tree” someone had a reason to side one way or the other, but tradition usually trumps thought as the generations go by.
He said over time the views that were once Republican philosophy can become Democratic views and vice versa, but the changes are so slow few voters notice. They stay with the label they grew up with.
As Bob talked about his own political views, I quickly learned his philosophy was not anchored in textbook definitions of conservative, liberal or any of the shades in between. His anchor was his love for the people in the community he served.
He certainly was not a warrior in any kind of culture war. Throughout our many conversations, I never heard an unkind remark about anyone, regardless of political party. He would criticize the views of some — even members of his own party — but he never spoke ill of the person who held the views.
Bob died in 2015 at the age of 86.
If he were alive today, I am sure Robert N. Stewart would still be a Republican, but not a Republican caught up in any personality cult. He would be a Republican still caught up fearlessly in doing the “right thing” for his city, country, state and nation.
That is who he was. Our nation needs more politicians like him.
