In my “days,” Ronald Reagan was president and Michael K. Deaver held the title of deputy chief of staff.

But anyone who knew the inner workings of the White House knew that MKD, as he was known in memo-speak, was really deputy to no one. Chief of staff James A. Baker III and counselor Edwin Meese directed policy, but it was Mike who really knew what Reagan was thinking.

He knew how to position the president in situations where Reagan’s strength as the “Great Communicator” allowed him to shine.

He rarely missed the opportunity to push the Reagan agenda through words and, yes, photographs. I am not sure who coined the term “photo-op,” but Mike Deaver’s name should be included in the definition. He was the master.

He oversaw the White House’s Office of Presidential Appointments and Scheduling and the Office of Private Sector Initiatives. I was in my early 20s and had worked in both offices. Mike was in his early 40s. Little did we know then how young we really were!

It did not matter that Mike and the president were separated in age by decades. Their friendship was cemented by trust, an understanding of basic values and a willingness to do the right thing. Mike and Reagan were veterans of political battlefields where there were often no rules of engagement, yet they followed a moral code more important than winning and losing.

I remember a time when I had been scheduled to meet with Mike on an upcoming presidential event for the Office of Private Sector Initiatives.

He saw me standing outside his West Wing office and, in his glib way, said, “We had another Russian die,” referring to the recent string of deaths of Soviet leaders. “Wait here while I run these draft remarks in to the president.” In a few minutes he was back, carrying two pieces of paper. As I began to question the brevity of the meeting, he said, “Take a look at this, the president has already written his own remarks.” It was truly uncanny how closely the two letters resembled one another. No question MKD knew what RR was thinking.

On another occasion, my assistant told me she had just seen Mike in the hallway looking confused. I poked my head out and there he was, looking at the numbers on the doors of the long corridor of the Old Executive Office Building. “Are you lost?” I asked him. “Not anymore,” he responded. “I was looking for you.”

“Me?” I said. “Why didn’t you call? I would have come right over to the West Wing.”

“I came to say goodbye and wish you good luck in grad school,” Mike replied. “May I come in, or do you keep all of your guests standing in the hallway?”

“Oh, sorry,” I stammered. Not only did he come, he stayed for 20 or 30 minutes, despite my feeling guilty that I was keeping him from more important things. For the duration of the conversation, he let me feel as though I was the most important item on his docket that day.

But Mike also had his Achilles’ heel. Unbeknown to us at the time, Mike was the son of alcoholic parents, and he, too, had a drinking problem. After he left the White House, his success got the better of him.

A Time magazine cover story with a photograph of him sitting in a chauffeur-driven vehicle appeared to be the beginning of the end for Mike Deaver, who faced various counts of perjury and the revelation of the addiction.

It took a few years, but ultimately we saw the return of the Mike Deaver we had known and loved.

It was April 30, 1992, when I saw that firsthand. Mike and I were in Los Angeles for a project we were working on for former President and Mrs. Reagan. Our meeting was abruptly cut short by the Los Angeles riots triggered by the Rodney King trial. It was 5:15 p.m. and the city was going into lockdown at 6 o’clock.

Interrupting a telephone call, Mike said, “Go pack.” I asked where we were going and he repeated, “Go pack and meet me downstairs at the front desk in five minutes.”

We met in the lobby, where I learned we were driving to San Diego. He had made arrangements to return the rental car there and had already booked hotel rooms and flights to head back east the next morning. (Once an advance man, always an advance man!)

By 5:30 p.m. we were driving south, and for the next several hours we watched the entire panorama of Los Angeles burn. He drove, I took pictures and we talked. Mike spoke candidly of his days after the indictment, admitting his concern about the embarrassment he inflicted on the former president and first lady, and his fears he may have done the same to his wife and children. He had feared the worst and yet everyone stuck by him.

Mike told me how his finances had been depleted by the legal fees and lack of income and how the first thing he got rid of was the now-infamous Jaguar. He was humbled beyond belief. He matter-of-factly stated, “I am a convicted felon. I bet you do not know too many of those.”

Yet he spoke proudly about his rehabilitation and his hours of community service. Among the places he had been working was a soup kitchen in downtown Washington. Mike went on and on about the new “friends” he had made there and was overjoyed by the fact that he was making a difference in their lives.

His voice became more emotional as he told me, “I can really help these people. I look forward to seeing them. And at the same time, they are helping me. I do not need the big, fancy cars or all the extras anymore. I am blessed to have had my moments of fame. Now it is all about family, helping others and doing what I can to restore my reputation.”

“The old Mike Deaver is back,” I thought at the time.

He kidded me, saying, “I guess the president’s private-sector initiatives program really did work.”

I asked him why he did not leave Washington and go back home to California.

Washington had become his home, he said. “But most of all, what I learned about Washington is that it is probably the most forgiving city.

“Despite all the enemies I made while in the White House, they became my support network. It is a city which is used to rises and falls of prominent people. In a strange way, after you get knocked down, it lifts you back up and dusts you off and points you on your way again. I am not sure many other cities would have been so protective of me.”

“When did you know you had made it back?” I asked.

He smiled and said, “I know exactly when it was. A senator I know had been asking me to come up to the Capitol to have lunch in the Senate Dining Room. I kept turning him down, thinking, ‘I cannot go back there. I will get eaten alive by those guys. They hate me.’”

Mike continued, “The senator insisted and we agreed to meet in a few days. I was a nervous wreck. But when I walked in, the head steward recognized me and said, ‘Mr. Deaver, it is so nice to have you back. The senator is waiting for you.’ The room was not too crowded, yet by the end of the luncheon, at least six senators from both sides of the aisle had come over to say hello, and most said something to the effect of ‘Mike, it has been too long. Welcome back.’ I left the Capitol thinking life was going to be OK.”

The hours in the car flew by and we continued the conversation through dinner in San Diego. In these days of tight business schedules and family obligations, a day like this would never have been scheduled. I was blessed to have had the opportunity to work with Mike Deaver way back when and will always cherish the escape from Los Angeles.

Only recently I had the chance to tell Mike how much I had learned from him. I also told him I had added his name to a prayer list where he would have thousands of people praying for him. His response was “Wow! Thanks, Michael. ... This is truly a gift.”

No, Mike, you were truly our gift. Thank you for sharing yourself with us. We will miss you greatly. Godspeed, old friend.

Michael P. Castine served in the Office of Presidential Appointments and Scheduling, the White House Office of Private Sector Initiatives and the National Security Council under President Ronald Reagan.