Let me tell you about Nick Owens

There’s so much that I want to tell you.

On Saturday, Oct. 24, 2020, Nick Owens died. He was only 45. Cancer was the cause. Very few people knew he’d been sick.

I’ve known Nick since the summer of 2003.

I arrived in Washington, DC the day after college graduation without a job, but met him very early on in my time there.

His magnetism could be felt immediately.

After you met Nick, he would always say the same thing the next time he saw you, no matter where or when.

“It’s good to see you,” he’d say, in his booming, southern accent.

He must have repeated this dozens of times every day.

In those days we had a rat pack of young Capitol Hill and Bush administration staffers. We went out every night.

As Bill Nelson, Jr. told me when I arrived in Washington, “The weeknights are better than the weekends,” and of course he was right.

So a group of us would meet up after work 5–6 times a week.

Nick Owens was the elder of the group. He was our leader. Our roving band of brothers included Brack Hudson, Nic Lott, John Nolan, Bill Briggs, Tom Wharton, Tom Bezas, Zead Haddad, the list went on and on.

We’d spend the day in reconnaissance mode — where were the best receptions that night? We’d share the intel, develop a plan, and meet up. And the nights were glorious.

Nick always knew what was going on. Every night he’d have 3–5 ideas.

Everywhere we went, he knew everyone. Members of Congress, Bush administration officials, senior Hill staff, all the way down to new interns.

There are so many things I want you to understand about Nick.

But the first thing is that he was such fun to be with.

All we did was laugh.

And there was no better feeling in the world than making him laugh. It felt like a real accomplishment to bring him joy, when he was the one making us laugh most of the time.

Part of the fun with Nick is you never knew where the night would lead. It might start at 701 Restaurant at the bar with the piano playing in the background, then migrate to Austin Grill or Signatures (when it was around), then up to Capitol Hill bars or receptions, and end at the Hotel Washington on the rooftop overlooking the White House or at Shelley’s having a cigar.

When you’re 23 right out of school and arrive in DC, you don’t know anyone. But neither does anyone else. Having a new friend like Nick take you around, school you about life, make you feel like you are on the inside, it immediately makes you comfortable and confident. He did this for hundreds of people.

Nick was a singular story teller. He always had a kicker at the end. You knew it was coming, like a freight train. And it never let you down.

Nick’s life was a story and he was adding to it, every minute, every day.

He loved gossip. He traded it, collected it, shared it, and remembered it.

He followed the news closely. He understood politics better than almost anyone I’ve known.

But at his core, he really just wanted to know how you were doing.

“Tell me what’s on your heart.”

He wanted to know about your job, your family, your love life. He wanted to help.

Nick was the guy who might be a third wheel at a bar for a bit and when you go to the restroom, he spends a few minutes testing your date, then telling her what a great guy you are. Yep, he was that type of guy.

There are other things about him that you need to know.

One of Nick’s other go-to phrases was ‘I appreciate you’, spoken as, “I uh-appreshiATE yuh”.

Raul Julia’s character in Tequila Sunrise says, “Friendship is the only choice in life you can make that’s yours.” Nick chose his friends carefully. And he really did appreciate his friends.

In life you are lucky to have 2–3 really close friends. Nick had hundreds. Literally hundreds. How was this possible? Because he cared about his friends and they knew that. He bonded with them immediately. He checked in. He picked up the tab. If you were hurting, he sensed it and tried to help. He was like a grizzly bear and his friends were his cubs. You could go months or even years without talking, and if you saw him somewhere you would pick up with him right where you left off. Nothing changed.

When we were young in DC, he was always game for something fun.

During Kennedy Center Honors weekend, a few of us would dress in tuxes and go to the hotel bar where the celebrities stayed, usually on Embassy Row. We’d go to the bar around 10 or 11. A few would wander in. They’d think we were there at the gala also.

He’d always start the same way, “Great show tonight!”.

We talked to Ron Silver (of The West Wing) for a couple hours one night. We met LL Cool J and took a photo. One of the high points for Nick was meeting Garth Brooks. He loved doing stuff like that.

For a few nights, Brack Hudson and I wore earpieces and sharp suits and pretended he was a Middle Eastern ambassador and we were his security. It was hard not to break character. He played it up. Took it as far as it could go.

Nick was a character. He was an original. There will never be another.

His favorite word was fellowship. He loved convening groups and connecting with people. He drew energy from it. He drew oxygen from others.

It is no overstatement to say that Nick knew thousands of people.

He was so proud of his home state of Mississippi, and or New Orleans and Atlanta, his two adopted home towns.

He was so proud to have served at the National Credit Union Administration (NCUA) in President Bush 43’s first term, and then as National Ombudsman at the Small Business Administration (SBA) in the second term. He was a fierce advocate for credit unions and small businesses. He served them as a consultant after the administration ended.

Winston Churchill said, “ We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give.”

Nick gave a lot. To everyone. All the time. And it brought him great joy.

After word of Nick’s passing came, I grew deeply sad for several hours. I never got to say goodbye. I never got to tell him how much he meant to me. I’ll have to live with that, as so many others are.

But quickly my thoughts migrated to something else. I am grateful for his life. I am so thankful to have been his friend.

How do I know Heaven exists?

Because there is nowhere else for Nick Owens to spend eternity.

As he arrived at the Pearly Gates, I imagine Nick approached St. Peter, likely through the VIP lane, and his first words were, “Good to see ya.”

St. Peter must have responded, “I appreciate ya.”

Farewell my friend.

To donate to St. Jude’s memorial fund in Nick’s honor, click here.