Generally Speaking, He Was Everyone’s Friend to the End

The General was my friend.

When your reporting assignment is to cover the Board of Supervisors, your readers have a right to the highest of objectivity. They must be confident that you are covering the supervisors with just enough suspicion not to be taken in by any of them.

But how could you not love Thomas F. Riley? Though I covered county government just a brief portion of the two decades Riley served on the board, his warmth and graciousness was something you never forget. He was always just “the General” to those of us assigned to write about the Board of Supervisors. The term was a reference to his status as a retired Marine brigadier general.

The first day I met him, in the spring of 1981, he cracked me up laughing. I was newly assigned to cover the board, replacing my colleague Leo Wolinsky, who was moving on to another role at the paper. That first week I was just observing as Leo covered the board meeting.

Riley sat on the end seat at the supervisors’ elaborate table in the board meeting room at the Hall of Administration. His seat was immediately next to what was called the press table. Quite often, while the other supervisors talked with staff or members of the public, Riley used his vantage point for a running commentary with reporters. He had little patience with some of the more long-winded speakers (including fellow board members) and would let us know it.

That first day I laughed when he turned toward the press table after some boorish bureaucrat spoke. “Write that down, Leo,” the General said in jest. “There’s your lead for tomorrow.”

I could tell by Wolinsky’s chuckle that he was used to these Riley one-liners.

Sometimes, if someone addressing the board ran a little too long, or spouted off some ludicrous idea, Riley would turn to the press table and roll his eyes. Or he’d yawn behind his hand where only we could see him.

Within a few months, it was, “Write that down, Jerry. You just got your lead.” And, as always, I couldn’t hide a smile.

*

At first, I thought the General was pretty savvy about getting the media on his side. As I got to know him over the next few years, I realized he just loved people of all kinds, even newspaper reporters.

I also learned Riley kept up his homework. Other board members didn’t always agree with his position, but none of them doubted he had thoroughly checked his facts before he spoke. I didn’t think all his ideas were great, but I never doubted his motives. Riley loved Orange County with the same kind of fervor that he loved--and served--his country. To Riley, being a supervisor wasn’t about wielding power--though he knew how to do that too. It was about public service. I’m sure he would have run for the job even if there had been no salary.

I quickly learned in my stint covering government that Riley would return all my phone calls--and on the same day. Sometimes it was by car phone as he was on his way to another meeting. And sometimes he knew your questions weren’t going to make him very happy. He would return the call simply out of good manners. Riley was unfailingly polite to everybody I ever saw him deal with, even a few who were undoubtedly his political adversaries.

Some supervisors consider the social side of the job something that must be done grudgingly, one of the required duties. Not Riley. Whether a late-night political dinner or some function for a nonprofit group, Riley would work the room with joy. I doubt he ever saw a hand at one of these events that he didn’t want to shake. Riley loved being a supervisor.

Two years ago when I was a new columnist and wanted to write a Valentine’s piece, I tried to think of which couple’s love story I’d like to tell. The General and Emma Jane Riley, married 57 years at the time, immediately came to mind.

Emma Jane Riley was a little reluctant at first to talk about how they met. But she warmed to the subject. The General was just a young, raw Marine then, she told me. They met on a blind date.

Said Emma Jane Riley: “My sister had a date with another Marine and made me go to make a foursome. I’d just been in a car accident; I had two black eyes, stitches everywhere. I guess curiosity made Tom come back to see me again.”

About a year ago I tried to call the General about some issue, unaware that he had quietly slipped back into the hospital. Though I had told his wife what I wanted wasn’t important enough to bother him, he returned my call from his hospital bed.

*

I have to confess that when I heard that gravelly voice of his, it was no longer reporter-news source. I was just glad to hear him in good spirits. I asked, of course, how he felt. He had a whole host of physical problems, and was in pain most of the time. But he could still make me smile. Though I cannot remember his exact words for quotation, he said something about being too busy to lay around in a hospital bed; he was anxious to get out.

Just about anyone who covered the Board of Supervisors during the two decades when Riley served will probably tell you on the sly that the General was their favorite. When I heard the news that the General had died, I immediately thought back to those early 1980s, the General sitting on the far end behind the board table, whispering asides to crack up the reporters.

Though I’ve rarely seen him in recent years, it’s easy to say he was my friend. He was a friend to all of us in Orange County.