By Monica Jones

I caught him in the car.

Between stops. Between obligations. Between fifty years of service and a television crew waiting downstairs.

And somehow, in that in-between space, Calvin Smyre was calm. Grateful. Reflective.

The Columbus Museum is currently presenting The Puzzle of Politics: Calvin Smyre in Service, 1975–2025, honoring fifty years of public service. Forty of those years were spent in the Georgia Legislature. He later served at the United Nations General Assembly as a presidential appointee and on the President’s Intelligence Advisory Board.

It is a significant body of work.

But speaking with him, what stayed with me wasn’t the résumé. It was how he defines service.

“I plant seeds to trees for the shade I might not see,” he told me, crediting the words to his mentor A.J. McClung.

He says that philosophy has guided him since he first stepped into public life in the early 1970s. Service, he explained, is not about applause. It is about long vision. It is about planting something that may not bloom until long after you are gone.

Over five decades, those seeds have taken shape in tangible ways. He was involved in legislation establishing Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s birthday and Juneteenth as state holidays in Georgia. He carried the bill that replaced Georgia’s 1950s-era state flag. He chaired the committee that helped bring the RiverCenter for the Performing Arts to life — a nine-year effort that helped anchor Uptown Columbus and reshape the cultural and economic energy of downtown.

He shared that none of those efforts were easy. Some were controversial. Some brought criticism from home. Some required navigating dramatic political shifts as Georgia’s majority and minority parties reversed roles over time.

“I know what it is to have the steering wheel,” he said. “And I know what it is to only have the windshield wiper.”

He has worked in both positions.

But the story of how he was built starts much earlier.

Before there was a state representative, there was a young man watching his mother give. Military bases across the country and overseas. A father who flew helicopters. A mother who did not work outside the home but worked constantly for others.

He describes her simply: “She was a giver.”

He told me he did not initially see politics as service. In 1972, he formed an organization called Leaders of Today and Tomorrow, bringing together young people to meet with business leaders and elected officials. He says he wanted to focus on community work, not politics.

His mentor reframed it.

“What do you think politics is?” he recalled being asked. “That’s public service.”

That shift changed the trajectory of his life.

He even spoke candidly about his own early missteps. He told me he once “cheated himself” in school and made a decision “not to do that again.” He often shares a poem called The Guy in the Glass with young people as a reminder that you can fool the world, but you cannot fool the person in the mirror.

“It’s not how you drive,” he says. “It’s how you arrive.”

When I asked what makes him proudest about Columbus since 1975, he paused thoughtfully. He spoke about growth in the arts and culture, about entrepreneurship, about young people stepping into leadership roles. He described Columbus as a three-legged stool — Columbus, Phenix City, and Fort Benning — and emphasized the role public policy plays in shaping daily life.

“If you are not at the table,” he said, “you could be the menu.”

The exhibition’s puzzle metaphor feels personal to him. He told me he loves jigsaw puzzles not for decoration, but for reflection. He says puzzles give him solitude and clarity — a quiet space amid decades of negotiation and noise. He compares passing legislation to assembling a puzzle: identify the edges, build patiently, fit the right pieces together.

There were sacrifices. Tough assignments. Public pushback. Long years. He shared that carrying major initiatives required endurance and coalition-building. Yet what came through most clearly was gratitude. He says he is thankful the people of Columbus gave him the opportunity to serve for nearly half a century.

After we hung up, I kept thinking about seeds.

About how many parts of our city — from cultural anchors to symbolic milestones — began as long, steady efforts. About how much of what we now consider woven into the fabric of Columbus was planted decades ago.

None of it happened overnight.

It was assembled.

The Puzzle of Politics: Calvin Smyre in Service, 1975–2025 is on view now at the Columbus Museum through March 1, with a public reception and moderated conversation on Thursday, February 19, from 5:30 to 8 p.m.

If you go, don’t just look at the accomplishments.

Look at the seeds.