New Mexico's cowboy governor, most-loved leader and friendliest dignitary died Friday, almost a month after surgery to boost his pacemaker.

Bruce King was 85.

A cattle rancher who served a trio of non-consecutive terms over three decades, King had been ill and died at his ranch home near Stanley, surrounded by family.

King is survived by brothers Sam and Don, sons Bill and Gary, daughter-in-law Yolanda, four grandchildren and eight great-grandchildren.

Funeral arrangements are pending. Instead of flowers, the family is asking for donations to the New Mexico Children's Foundation.

Many who remembered him Friday described King as a far cry from today's slick politicians, someone who stuck close to his country roots and his cowboy hats, once riding his horse to the state Capitol in a move to both save gas and attract a little publicity for the state's tourism industry.

He served as governor from 1971 to 1974, again from 1979 to 1982 and finally from 1991 to 1994, the only governor in state history to serve three separate times.

Those terms in office included some major moments in New Mexico's recent history, including the 1980 riot at the state penitentiary, its recruitment of Intel to build a computer chip plant here and its budding relationship with Mexico.

King suffered a heart attack in 1997 but had been in fair health since then. Doctors in September performed surgery to improve the function of his pacemaker.

His wife, Alice, died last December. The Kings were married 61 years.

Attorney General Gary King said in a statement, "None of us in the family thought this day would come so soon after we lost my mom Alice King, but we are comforted by the thought that Bruce and Alice can be together once again," he said.

For all they did for the state, for the power and the positions they held, the pair — who joked that voters got two Kings for the price of one — remained as down-home as possible.

Bruce King until recently stuck to simple traditions such as coffee with friends and family in the mornings at El Comedor in Moriarty, always shaking hands with nearly everyone in the diner.

His personal approach was just part of the King style: heartfelt greetings, backslaps and hugs. Big hugs.

"Everybody felt he knew them on a personal basis," said former Lt. Gov. Roberto Mondragón, who served with King from 1971 to 1974 and from 1979 to 1982.

"He had a way of communicating to people. ... just real friendly. He would make the comments that are the down-home kind of comments. He'd talk about the weather, your family, were you getting any rain," Mondragón said.

Many who spoke about King used the same word to describe the emotion that connected New Mexicans to their governor: love.

"He was genuinely loved and respected, which in the New Mexico political field is really something," said Fabian Chavez, who defeated King for the gubernatorial nomination in the 1968 Democratic primary.

"That's why he elected so many times as governor," Chavez said. "He was loved by the public."

Growing up country

When King graduated from Moriarty High School in 1942, there were 13 people in his class. Just as few were in his sweetheart Alice's class.

Stanley and Moriarty were just little blips out east of Albuquerque, which wasn't so big itself.

But from a small town came big ideas, even if King's first goal in running for public office, the Santa Fe County Commission, was to get better roads for the southern part of his county.

King in many ways seemed to be from a time where political affiliation didn't matter as much — or divide as much — as it does today.

In his book, Cowboy in the Roundhouse, King wrote about his governing style, and about how much of it came from the way he was brought up.

"Folks seemed to think I had a knack for bringing people together, even around divisive issues, and for building consensus among diverse groups. I worked hard to keep New Mexico headed down the middle path, without swinging too far one side or the other," he wrote.

"You might say that my political philosophy grew out of my upbringing on the homestead, where any traveler in need was welcome, whatever their background. My parents never asked a passerby whether they were Democrat or Republican before watering their stock at our well."

King, too, had a natural knack for uniting people, said former Gov. Toney Anaya, who grew up near King and worked as his chief of staff during King's first term.

"He had the laid-back personality that was very disarming, the good old cowboy approach that put people at ease in his presence," Anaya said.

Despite King's years in office, that cowboy stamp never wore off. When he and Alice first moved to Santa Fe in 1971, the city's elite were skeptical, the pair said in an interview at their ranch home in 2008.

"People were worried because they hadn't had a rancher as a governor," Alice King said at the time. "He was very outgoing, as you know, and people learned to like him very much and so he was elected. ... When things got a little difficult for him, he'd come spend a day at the ranch and refresh his energy and things to go back to work on problems that were going on in the state ... he'd come and spend a day riding around the ranch with (brothers) Sam and Don and he was ready to go again. He enjoyed ranching as much as he did politics and vice versa."

Bruce King also was from a time of true grassroots campaigns, of always remembering the rural parts of the state many have never heard of.

In a chapter of his book called Corny Jokes and Baloney Sandwiches, King wrote about his 1970 race against Republican Pete Domenici for governor.

He pulled into the town of Pep, a tiny enclave in Roosevelt county, and tried to strike up a conversation with the man who ran the store and post office.

"You, know, I'm from the little community of Stanley that's very similar to Pep," King told the unnamed man. "I'm just running for governor and I thought I'd stop in see if I could get y'alls' help, because I understand your situation in the rural areas. I'm a farmer and rancher myself."

The man, according to King, didn't warm up much to the out-of-town politician. So the would-be governor bought a soda pop and a candy bar and kept chatting.

Ten or 15 minutes later, King asked if he might leave three or four of his campaign stickers and four or five pieces of literature.

The man quickly pointed out that Pep had more voters than that and he'd need one of King's campaign cards for each one. King later wrote that he got 99 of 99 votes from the area, something he watched closely on election night.

The other campaigns — in 1978 and 1990 — were much of the same.

They also gave King a chance to practice what he seemed born to do: shake your hand, chat you up over a cup of coffee.

Even as King in September of this year was seeing doctors for his heart condition, he was still clinging to that old routine that became just part of what happened in Moriarty: He'd go over to El Comedor nearly every morning for coffee.

On his way to the table seemingly permanently reserved for the family, however, King would stop and chat with nearly everyone seated in the diner, appearing to know everyone's name.

Everyone certainly knows his: The pictures of him and various family members on the restaurant's wall don't need name tags underneath.

Role model

Many a New Mexico politician has wanted to model themselves after King, hoping his popularity and charm — and perhaps his true enthusiasm for endless handshaking — might be passed along.

King, by contrast, seemed never to model himself after others, even though he enjoyed the friendship of world royalty and former presidents including Carter and Clinton.

Early in his career, for example, King took some political heat for his rancher ways.

"I went through my share of that. They always claimed, 'well the cow kicker, he'll have to leave those cowboy boots and cowboy hat at home if he's going to be governor,' " King recalled during a 2008 interview. "Well, I made it crystal clear I wasn't going to do that, so I never did till I finally had the heart operation.

"I still wore the cowboys boots and went right on, and they said 'he'll go back to the national governor's conference and be looking like a cowboy.' Well, I noticed this time back at the national governor's conference, (in 2008) a lot more guys were wearing cowboys boots and stuff, even more than the first time I went."

Boots aside, those who knew King said he was inimitable, and from a time in politics that won't be repeated.

"He was one of the last people who could shake hands and get into office," said former Gov. Dave Cargo.

"Nowadays, they shake the bushes for money and get in."

Cargo, a Republican who preceded King as governor in the late 1960s and early '70s, described him as unparalleled.

"He was one of a kind, we'll never have another one," Cargo said.

Legacy

In the end, King's legacy might turn out to be something very broad, like the amiable way he treated people, or the way he united diverse groups.

Or it could be something specific like getting a cattle crossing at the Mexican port of San Jeronimo, just across from Santa Teresa. Or it could be his move to double funding for public schools or reforming liquor laws. Or a hundred other accomplishments. Both Bruce and Alice were shy in interviews about picking just one thing, saying that when you serve for as long as they did, there are literally too many things to chose from.

The Kings did say that part of their legacy has to be their family.

Both of their sons, and a niece and nephew are in public service.

The Kings' dedication to public service is what Anaya, who was governor from 1983 to 1987, said defined Bruce King.

"He was one of kind in that he continued to want to serve. Many governors, me included, you serve your term, you walk away. He kept coming back," Anaya said. "He kept coming back."

As for trying to define what the Bruce King legacy is, the retired rancher, his voice enfeebled by asthma and softened by old age, took a stab at the question last summer.

"Well, I guess our legacy would obviously be the family-type friendship of all New Mexicans. ... I guess just getting New Mexico to realize that if we were going to be successful, we were going to all work together and be one large family. And I think we did a pretty good job of that," he said.

"I guess that would be the legacy we'd like to leave."

Contact Kate Nash at 986-3036 or knash@sfnewmexican.com. Read her blog at www.greenchilechatter.com.