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On Monday, the Hawaii Supreme Court held a special session paying tribute to Patricia Mau-Shimizu, executive director of the Hawaii State Bar Association and former chief clerk of the House of Representatives, who passed away earlier this month.

In his statement, as a “one-of-a-kind” and “widely-respected leader who used her vast knowledge of state government and countless friendship to bring people together for the common good.” And, of course, I agree.

To me, Pat was also one of the first people to greet me in the Legislature as a person interested in public service, rather than a Republican interloper. As a staff member dabbling in politics, she took the time to teach me where to draw my ethical boundaries and wrote my recommendation when I considered leaving for law school. She made me feel like someone was always on my side, reaching out to offer support at every new phase of my professional journey, including when I started writing this column.

She’s the second mentor of mine to die while I’ve been away from home, unable to pay my respects in person. The first was Richard Rapoza who was the director of communications in the state Senate, a staff member for former Congresswoman Colleen Hanabusa and the first person to ask me to run for Congress. Despite his correct opinion that I had no chance of winning once Congressman Ed Case entered the race, he promised to be the last person standing next to me with a sign.

Like Pat, Richard was a voice in my ear helping me find my way when I felt too new, too tired or too frustrated to keep going. Their absence is an important reminder of the key role the State Capitol and political staff play in a politician’s life though they often remain the unsung heroes of democracy. In this column, I’d like to do my small part to correct that.

Since the day I announced my plan to switch parties included many of the most ridiculous requests I’ve ever made, I’ll start there.

The decision happened quickly; in the time it took for me to walk from one of the Republican members’ offices to my own. I gathered my staff, announced my decision, and described the plan – holding a press conference and mailing letters to every constituent asking for their opinion within the next 24 hours. It should have been impossible.

But everyone stepped in to help. Glenn, from the House Sergeant-at-Arms’ office, found me all the envelopes he could spare. Office managers gave us unused portions of their copy allowances to supplement the letters that Tammy in the House Printshop was printing as fast as she could. When I went in the next morning, I found my staff and others sitting on the floor stuffing envelopes and delivering boxes to staff from other offices that offered to lend a hand.

Soon, House Sergeant-at-Arms Rod and his deputy Grant were checking in and posting their own staff outside my door to make sure we didn’t have any problems during the press conference. My office manager switched from licking envelopes to crowd control while others ran through my talking points with me, fielded phone calls and set the day’s schedule.

It was an extraordinary circumstance, but it was my usual experience at the Capitol in a drastically shortened timeframe. At the end of every month, the printshop deals with rush requests for items that representatives really could have approved earlier. Supply offices are managing runs on pens, envelopes, and colored paper or complaints from legislators who preferred the pen that the House used to stock (not me). And Sergeant-at-Arms responds to everything from threatening letters, to sorting hundreds of postcards to opening doors because a representative forgot their key or, in one instance, just turned the knob the wrong way (all me). Thank you, Kevin and Paulette.

I know you should keep a line between yourself and your staff, but it’s hard not to become lifetime friends when you’re standing next to each other for all the best and worst moments.

Office managers regularly stuff an unreasonable number of envelopes with newsletters they’ve written themselves. They spend their days answering calls and emails from sometimes rude or erratic people who aren’t constituents. During sessions, they are tracking bills, hearing notices, and meetings with lobbyists to make sure nothing falls through the cracks. And, during the interim, they’re scheduling school visits, planning travel, and handing all the constituent requests that their representatives have collected while walking their districts.

Additionally, our Chief Clerks, Pat, CJ and Brian, each helped me learn to be a better manager, resolve staff complaints, and handle unruly caucus members. Their teams, particularly Rupert, Neal and Roger, approved last-minute certificates to honor constituents, newsletter requests, bill filings, payroll, lost reimbursement checks, and the occasional weird purchase like thousands of chopsticks for constituents to test their yards for little fire ants (also me). We once received a phone call from the Clerk’s Office who had to check to make sure I had eaten both pizzas on my travel meal reimbursement form myself. Yes, indeed I had.

And, I can’t forget the partisan research agencies, where I worked as staff, and the Legislative Reference Bureau, that spend both interims and sessions drafting reports for legislators with an obscure question or sudden interest, summarizing legislation, and trying to find legitimate legal paths for bills that a representative dreamed up during their morning run.

Each staff member that I worked with embodied hard work, integrity and commitment. For the most part, they are underpaid for their roles and receive very little credit even though our government couldn’t move without them. Most importantly, they work to protect the Legislature out of respect for the institution that existed long before and will exist long after its current office holders. It’s a mindset we should all learn from.

On a personal level, my office and campaign staff were also the people I trusted most in the world. They heard every rumor or criticism and defended me the best they could. And I tried to do the same for them whenever they needed help.

This summer, a quarter of the guests at my tiny beach wedding were my former staff. One of them even made my bouquet by following online instructions simply because it was still on my to do list. I suspect he’d prefer not to be named, but he’s a great example of the resourcefulness, creativity and kindness I was lucky to find in every person on my team.

I know you should keep a line between yourself and your staff, but it’s hard not to become lifetime friends when you’re standing next to each other for all the best and worst moments.  I often point out the difficulties legislators face, but for me, these were the people that helped make it all worthwhile.