Lindsey Graham was a consequential senator. If there was an important issue, he was right there on top of it. But that’s not the whole story. The essence of his character, the shaping of his background, the joy he found in people and in the political process, and the joy he brought to those around him, is the big story.
Over the years I had an opportunity to see Lindsey at work on many occasions, and to hear his passion for the issues. He could be the most entertaining person at any dinner table, but his wit was matched by a razor-sharp mind that was always considering how to solve the next problem. He never stopped working. The night he died he’d just returned from Kyiv, Ukraine, where he’d met with President Volodymyr Zelenskyy.
Lindsey’s love for people shined through. He had a special appeal and was socially gifted. Maybe that came from his early years hanging out in the back room of his parents’ bar, where he learned the fine art of schmoozing. People from every walk of life crossed his path, and he was interested in them all.
Lindsey also learned early in life the meaning of commitment. His mother died when he was 20, followed by his father months later. Lindsey became the legal guardian for his 13-year-old sister Darline, who once called him “a brother, a father and a mother rolled into one.” He raised her to adulthood, and they have always been extremely close. With Lindsey’s death, Darline has been appointed by South Carolina Gov. Henry McMaster to finish her brother’s term, which expires at the beginning of 2027.
Lindsey’s death on July 11 at the age of 71 capped a congressional career that began in 1992 in the South Carolina House, then the U.S. House for eight years, and the U.S. Senate since 2003. From 1995-2015 he simultaneously served in the Air Force Reserves. His passing brought a flood of tributes, including tearful memories from his colleagues on both sides of the aisle. Their disputes melted away as they recalled their friend. What struck me most was how so many of them had stories about Lindsey’s passion for finding common ground so he could get things done.
I often observed that Lindsey loved to make a deal. He could work with anybody and threw himself into the most challenging public issues, laboring alongside people with whom he differed on other issues. He never let the differences get in the way—although he never pulled his punches when he disagreed, and he did passionately disagree with the left on many occasions.
Yet those same people summoned up sincere praise for him in the days following his death. Illinois Democrat Dick Durbin spoke with obvious fondness when he recalled emotionally, “Lindsey, for many years, was the only Republican willing to co-sponsor the Dream Act, a bill that I introduced over 20 years ago and reintroduced in successive Congresses, providing protection to undocumented immigrants brought to this country as children, his support took guts. At a time when issues surrounding immigration were becoming politically toxic, Lindsey stuck his neck out for me and for these young people. I will never ever forget.”
New Jersey Democrat Cory Booker shared a similar experience, recounting their collaboration on important legislation. He admired Lindsey and appreciated his uniqueness. Booker recounted how a White House negotiator had once told him that “Lindsey Graham was like an unguided missile. That God, he never knew which way he was going to go, whether he would come back and hit you, but when he was aligned, when he would be in the right place at the right time, man, he could get things done that other people couldn’t, and bring a lot of light and new possibilities to the efforts.”
The day after Lindsey’s death, Senate Majority Leader John Thune spoke in the Senate. With tears in his eyes he said, “I come to the floor today with a heavy heart. I look to my right, and I see a desk which we in the Senate refer to and know as the John Calhoun desk is covered with a black shroud, and on top of that shroud is a bowl of white roses. That is present at Lindsey Graham’s desk. It’s difficult to believe that Lindsey Graham is no longer here with us. That we won’t run into him at a media day or share a joke with him at this afternoon’s vote. The halls of the Senate already feel empty without him, and I know I’m not alone in that feeling. He was a friend to so many of us on both sides of the aisle.”
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One of my favorite interactions with Lindsey came in 2022 at the Edward M. Kennedy Institute in Boston, where an exact replica of the U.S. Senate chamber had been erected. There I hosted a debate between Bernie Sanders and Lindsey Graham, who were fierce ideological rivals, but who shared that common chord of civility and respect.
I remember well Lindsey’s opening remarks: “This place is awesome!” he declared, looking around the Senate chamber replica. He explained, “We’re here to honor Ted and Orrin—Ted Kennedy and Orrin Hatch, who were great friends. They fought like tigers, but they could work together. And I have a different take on things than Bernie, but I like Bernie.” I was struck by Lindsey’s reference to Kennedy and Hatch. They were lions in the Senate, and Lindsey was too, all belonging to an era when legislative disputes did not carry over into personal grudge matches.
People like Lindsey were working toward a return to that idea, and the debate with Sanders was a step in that direction. The debate displayed their differences, but also surprising areas of commonality, such as on gun control. At the end, they were both smiling, and they agreed that the debate had been fun.
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Lindsey was a big believer in getting along, no matter what it took. During his short-lived campaign for president in 2015, he noted approvingly how Republican President Ronald Reagan and Democratic Speaker of the House Tip O’Neill met together regularly for drinks at the White House, even though they were on opposite sides. “That’s the first thing I’m going to do as president,” he promised. “We’re going to drink more.”
Those who knew Lindsey understood that one of his great loves was golf. I played with him many times.
Was he a good golfer? Not particularly. But he was extremely fun to play with. He recognized the importance of the game as a social bonding activity. He’d make you feel good to be with him. Which is one of the most important qualities of a golf partner, a friend and a statesman.
It’s a big reason we’ll miss having him in our lives.
