Editor’s Note: Earlier this week, Rep. Charlie Rangel died. He was 94 years old.

Why was Charles Bernard Rangel, the legendary Congressman from Harlem who served in the House for more than 40 years, so beloved on and beyond Lenox Ave?

It really isn’t hard to understand.

For the people of his congressional district, no matter where he went or how famous he might have gotten, there was always the sense that this was a local kid who did good. 

And he was. 

The Congressman never forgot where he came from, not just geographically, but also relationally. That’s why he connected with so many people from different walks of life, especially immigrants and first-generation Americans like me. 

Congressman Rangel’s story was legendary. A high school dropout who became a decorated Korean War veteran and then returned to school, he earned multiple degrees and carved out an impactful legislative career that helped bring an end to apartheid in South Africa and bend the tax code to economically support communities, not just corporations.

Even with such a hard-earned legacy, he never forgot the doors that were once shut to him, the institutions and systems that overlooked and underestimated the potential of talented youth like himself. He understood the common rhythm of those who traveled from the South and beyond, determined to build a better future for children and generations they would never meet.

His support of human rights at home and abroad was deeply personal, borne of knowing what it was like not to have them and the difference made by those who stood up against the injustice of exclusion. 

His was a dedication to paying forward his blessings not just through his policy work, but also through the work and internship opportunities he extended in his Washington, D.C., and New York offices. High school interns from the district, semester-abroad students from Puerto Rican universities, graduates from CUNY and Columbia University, American Political Science Association Fellows, Congressional Black Caucus Foundation and Congressional Hispanic Caucus Institute (CHCI) Fellows. The list was endless. He worked hard to get these and other young people involved in government agencies and the foreign service, becoming a major force in creating the State Department’s efforts to better reflect the nation's and the world's demographic makeup.

Young and old. Those with multiple degrees and others with multiple careers. Traditional and "non-traditional" life experiences. He was consistently proud of his work family, inviting staff to important meetings and rarely missing a graduation or ceremony honoring an employee or alumnus of the office. He never brought you along for wall decoration and never looped you into a conversation to just agree and stroke his ego.

He assigned meaningful tasks and assignments regardless of whether it was your first day on the job or your 500th. You always had to be prepared and present to the former Staff Sergeant and U.S. Attorney the bold ideas and fresh takes that he often demanded. Regardless of whether he used them immediately, the practice of defending it to him is what made you a better strategist, public speaker, and project manager. 

That’s why so many people who got their start —or made a stop— in his DC, Harlem, and campaign offices have gone on to blossom into accomplished leaders in their own right.  

It wasn't an easy place to work. Politics, especially in the city of New York, is a constant improvisation of managing expectations and deliverables, played before a live studio audience of community events, private meetings, and cross-cultural relationships. Yet his energy was limitless, as he artfully danced between the idealism and pragmatism of leadership with charm, humor, and the ability to make you feel like you were the most important person in the room. 

A masterful storyteller, he was an even better poker player, always a step or two ahead, so that he could remain fearless and loyal to his friends, family, and community. If change happens at the speed of trust, then loyalty is what helps grease the road. 

For a first-generation child of Dominican immigrants who was raised to believe in the power of public service to improve people's lives, it was a dream come true to work for my local congressman, especially one who accomplished so much for so many. It gave my parents particular joy in Washington Heights to tell relatives that I worked “para el Congresista”

Cause there was only one Congressman. 

Being the Congressman of not just Harlem, but all of Upper Manhattan meant embracing and engaging not just people of different faiths and backgrounds, but also all kinds of community institutions whose full value often went beyond standard metrics, such as budgets or size.

For every Columbia University or City College, there was a Yeshiva University, Boricua College, and Touro College. For every Harlem Hospital or Columbia Presbyterian, there was a St. Luke’s or a Roosevelt Hospital. And there’s no choosing between spaces like the Apollo Theater or El Museo del Barrio or restaurants like Syvia’s, Rao’s, or El Malecon. More than one influential house of worship besides the Abyssinian Baptist Church, Masjid Malcolm Shabazz, or the Hebrew Tabernacle. 

Culturally, Harlem wasn’t just Black, and Black wasn’t just African American. Puerto Ricans weren’t the only Spanish speakers, not all Latin@s came from the Caribbean, and not all immigrants were Latin@s.

The personal histories and influences of staffers from my era, like Annie Minguez, Miosotis Muñoz, Maritza Sanchez, Johnny Rivera, and Socrates Solano, as well as old school staffers like George Dalley, Jim Capel, and Emile Milne, were a testament to the understanding of our shared diaspora. They helped build a foundation of Latin@ community engagement, further strengthened by people like Edwin G. Suarez, Mara Luna, Zenaida Mendez, Moises Perez, Arelis Tavares, Josiel Estrella, and countless others whom I continue to learn about even today.

And while the Congressman’s own well-known personal Puerto Rican identity was rarely discussed, his determination to fight for economic respect of Puerto Rico and cultural preservation of East Harlem institutions like El Museo del Barrio was never in question. As the community’s Latino population became more diverse, he supported the needs and aspirations of the burgeoning Dominican and Mexican communities in Washington Heights and East Harlem.

His staff reflected the diversity of his community because the definition of public service and the greatness of this country demanded it. Leadership was not just opening the doors of opportunities for future generations, but also ensuring that others had the resources to follow and keep those doors open. Countless pieces of legislation (including the Low Income Housing Tax Credit, the Earned Income Tax Credit, the Affordable Care Act), his work internationally with the Caribbean Basin Initiative and development in Puerto Rico and the Dominican Republic was all part of his effort to move constituents closer to their piece of their understanding of the American Dream. A dream that was also firmly transnational, constantly stretching conversations across borders. 

Connecting that work to every resident who walked through his offices was the expected work of every staff member. We were an extension of him wherever we went and whenever we answered the phone, which was strictly supposed to be in three rings or less. Even if they lived in another congressional district, even if their concern was a city, state, or private sector matter. Even if we didn’t speak the language. Our job was to get them an answer—either immediately or to connect them with the right person who could do so.

And we did. Understanding friendships were developed across staff turnover with USCIS, HHS, and other federal agencies to get resolutions about Medicare coverage or updates on immigration cases. We walked others down to their state and city representatives, even recruiting translators from other offices in the building to ensure that people were understood. We did it so well that other offices, both in and out of NYC, would sometimes call us asking for guidance on what to do. Constituent loyalty often extended beyond their address, as former residents of East Harlem would regularly call from Puerto Rico or Florida to see if the Congressman could help them with something. 

And if he were in the office, he would sometimes personally take it. 

The Congressman’s understanding of the practical lives of his immigrant residents looped back into not just the legislation he supported, but also the conversations and networking that he convened among different groups. From securing the Dominican Republic a seat in trade conversations to lobbying for better treatment of Haitians in the DR and across the Caribbean, and supporting Korean small business exports between Queens and Seoul, no one would ever be surprised if they mistook his office for an overflow room at the United Nations. 

For a long time, that convening and mentoring power extended to keeping the peace among the area’s leaders and influencers. As the Dean of the New York delegation, he did his best to ensure that city, state, and federal policy worked towards shared goals. That meant knowing when his words could be helpful, but also when his silence could achieve more.

He gave numerous individuals access to influential spaces and places, significantly contributing to the district’s nonprofits by securing not only direct federal funding but also letters of support for public and private sector proposals. He helped make sure that local accomplishments were memorialized forever in the Congressional Record, another victory over an American system that too often looks to erase the everyday lives and histories of people of color and the working class. 

He also tried to normalize Black, Asian, and Latin@ leadership co-working successfully. His staff, his network (yes, even his political enemies) came from all corners of the world. A lot of that community organizing and relationship maintenance work was often led in and out of the office by women who were just as strategic and strong as his wife, Alma. He, we, they made it all work. Of course, some days were better than others. However, it’s hard to imagine walking away from any interaction with him or his office and not wondering why more spaces couldn’t reflect the multiracial, multicultural, multireligious, and multilingual potential of America that he so regularly tapped into. 

In fact, as he overcame primary challenges in the last stages of his official career, it’s hard not to see the overall quality of his opponents as a testament to the leadership that he inspired and helped grow. 

At the end of the day, what still resonates is not just what Congressman Rangel accomplished, but how he accomplished it. Public service meant never being too big to learn, listen, and act on behalf of the voters. Yes, he played to win –both the short game and the long game— But he also treasured the relationships he had, no matter where they started or how it was going. Every day was an opportunity to not just do good, but to sow the seeds for future growth. 

For five years, I had a chance to walk in every day with a chance to be a part of, or even have a hand in shaping, the frontlines of history. He was a tough boss, a thoughtful mentor, and, most of all, considerate of my wife, my daughter, and whoever I called family. 

It’s hard to believe that there will ever be another one like him. Although I think he would say, with a wink and smile, that it didn’t mean that we should stop trying.  

Elbert Garcia is a veteran communications strategist, consultant, and multimedia producer. Born and raised in Washington Heights, he served as Congressman Charles B. Rangel's Press Secretary and Latino Policy Liaison from 2006 to 2011. 

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