My brother Max, who then worked for a Washington think tank, had reached out to him on a whim about a “Go Fox Yourself” fundraiser he was hosting to raise money for Parkinson’s disease research.

Our father, Barry, died in 2013 after a decades-long struggle with the disease. And Isakson had a year earlier revealed his Parkinson’s diagnosis – along with a promise that it would not deter him from running for a third term in 2016.

Almost as soon as Max contacted the senator, he offered to appear in-person at the Penn Social bar, attach his name to the fundraiser and even raffle off a one-on-one lunch as a prize.

File

File

When I asked Max on Sunday what he remembered about that event, he said he was struck by how Isakson seemed to carry the room, taking the time to listen to attendees like him who lost family members to the disease while stopping for dozens of selfie pictures.

“I was amazed at the unflinching support he offered after just an email,” Max said.

“But it wasn’t until I watched him circulate the crowd, personally thanking almost every attendee, that I realized how touched he was that we were actually there to support him and others in their battle with such a terrible disease.”

Isakson, who died Sunday at the age of 76, left an outsized imprint on Georgia politics.

He was the only Georgian to serve in both chambers of the Legislature and in Congress. He helped build the state Republican Party into the dominant power in the 2000s.

He was beloved on both sides of the aisle as a champion of the Isakson Way ideology that meant finding compromise where possible – and not vilifying his political adversaries when it was not.

But he might be most remembered for exemplifying his motto: “There are two types of people in this world – friends and future friends.”

For some, that was an empty promise. For Isakson, it was a way of life.

‘Double chairman′

Since the news of his death broke on Sunday, there has been a flood of appreciations from the Gold Dome, the halls of Congress and the White House. I’m just as struck by the remembrances of Georgians who recalled how his simple acts of kindness stayed with them.

I’ve heard stories about Isakson showing up at Bible studies and Cub Scout meetings, even as Parkinson’s inflicted its devastating toll. Others shared recollections of tear-jerking speeches he gave at leadership conferences and Sunday school classes.

Joan Carr, one of his closest deputies, recalled how he beat her to the hospital when her mother suffered a heart attack. A friend of mine recalled that the senator showed up on his doorstep, unannounced, to cry with him to mourn a lost family member.

Brian Robinson, the veteran strategist, noted how Isakson was so omnipresent that it seemed he would be at the airport with a Coke and bag of peanuts whenever a Georgian landed at Reagan or Dulles. He showed up, too, at town halls to face questions from Georgians when many of his colleagues wouldn’t.

Phil Skinner

Phil Skinner

It was his Parkinson’s diagnosis that seemed to refocus his mission. Whenever I saw Isakson, on the campaign trail or in Washington, his shuffling gait reminded me of my father during the last years of his struggle. So did his attitude toward the disease.

My father always like to say, “the world has no use for a man with an excuse” while he continued to work as a pulmonologist as his symptoms worsened. Isakson did the same, keeping a schedule that most half his age couldn’t match.

He was the Senate’s only “double chairman” for a time – leading both the Ethics and Veteran Affairs committees. He was a mainstay at GOP gatherings around the state. Bumper stickers labeled “Johnny 2022″ were handed to attendees at the state GOP’s annual meeting in 2019.

‘The best interests’

An avalanche of medical problems forced him to reconsider those plans. Beyond the Parkinson’s complications, he suffered a torn rotator cuff and fractured ribs after a fall that hospitalized him for days. An MRI revealed a growth on his kidney had nearly doubled.

After Isakson resigned, he channeled his energy toward raising money for Parkinson’s and other neurocognitive diseases. The University of Georgia launched a research program in his honor to develop new treatments for the disease.

And the senator, with the help of his devoted allies, started the Isakson Initiative to find a cure. At his last public appearance in September, Isakson drew a crowd of hundreds at the Piedmont Driving Club who dug into their checkbooks to raise roughly $1 million for the cause.

It was a testament to the Isakson Way. Attendees at the swanky ballroom included U.S. Sen. Roy Blunt, a Missouri Republican, and U.S. Chris Coons, a Delaware Democrat. Gov. Brian Kemp was there. Former Gov. Roy Barnes, a Democrat, gave a video address.

Isakson didn’t speak at the event. By then the disease was inflicting its worst on him.

But a few months earlier, during one of his final in-depth interviews, I asked him on Georgia Public Broadcasting’s “Political Rewind” whether he worried his criticism of Donald Trump would jeopardize his legislative agenda.

He said he wasn’t concerned with backlash so long as he was following his moral compass. Then, without prompting, he reflected on his legacy, saying he wanted to be remembered as a leader who made his words count.

There was one more thing, Isakson added, he wanted on his epitaph:

“That he always worked for the best interests of the people,” Isakson said. “As long as that’s the case, I’m happy.”