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Virginia C apitol C onnections, Fall 2015
28
Remembering
Chris Spanos
By Charles Nance
I remember the Sunday afternoon in
the “Watergate summer” of 1974 when I
met Chris Spanos. I happened to be the only
one volunteering in the Herb Harris for
Congress headquarters that afternoon—a
rarity—when he came into the campaign
office to check on things.
Chris quickly introduced himself and asked how I ended up
there. I explained that I was right out of William and Mary and
eager to help out. He teased me about being a “Richmond-type”
and later gave me an even worse Spanos moniker, labeling me “a
In Memoriam mushy Moderate.” But I had started a friendship that would last
until Chris’ death in Charlottesville on September 11.
Chris was just 28 when we met but he seemed to me then at least
a generation older, because he had done so much in his few years.
He’d gone to college in his native Maryland and married Anne Reed
in Norfolk. They had an adorable toddler, their daughter Courtney.
Son Stephen would be born a month or so later. He and Anne had
already bought their first home in Mt. Vernon. Chris was a decorated
veteran of the Army Medical Services Corps in Vietnam. He’d been
executive assistant to Virginia Lt. Governor Henry Howell, and a
prime mover in Henry’s razor thin loss to Mills Godwin in the 1973
gubernatorial campaign. He had an important behind the scenes role
in the election of his close friend, state Senator Joe Gartlan. And
Chris was just four years older than I was. His had been—then, and
always—an impressive life of accomplishment. Of always doing.
One thing that struck me in that first campaign we shared
was how influential Chris was, even though he seemed to have no
official role. He had the candidate’s ear and respect. He asked the
right questions in campaign meetings and kept people on track. And
he took great notes and prepared and distributed next-day memos
about everything that was decided. (As he explained to me later,
“If you are the one who writes the memo,
you have more influence over what
happens later.”)
Herb Harris won that congressional
election; Chris became his chief of staff
and I signed on as a legislative assistant.
Other lessons of politics and life
followed.
“Here’s how you drive on Lee
Highway,” he said once, and he showed
me.
“The first rule of politics,” he told me
early on, is “if you don’t want to read about
it on the front page of The Washington
Post and the Richmond Times-Dispatch,
you don’t do it, you don’t say it, you don’t
even think about it.”
I reminded Chris that he’d already
told me the ‘first rule’ was to ‘Know your
base and don’t cross it.’
“Yeah, that too.”
It’s sad how cynical people are now
about politicians and people in politics.
“They are all the same.” “They’re just out
for themselves.” “They’re all crooked.”
You’ve heard it all. Chris’ civic and
professional life proves just the opposite.
Chris’ work in Virginia politics was
always for causes he believed in. That’s
why he worked so hard in politics.
Whether working for a candidate, an
office holder, a business, non-profit
or government entity, Chris fought
to provide a safety net for the most
vulnerable Virginians.
• For the Federal VISTA program, he
helped start 23 child development
centers in Tidewater.
• In Alexandria and across the state,
Chris worked with Community Services
Boards, mental health centers, and
clinical social workers to improve
mental services.
• Chris lobbied the General Assembly
and various governors to transition
the state’s mental health system to a
NANCE