Some of my best laughs, and most interesting times, over the last 21 years in Raleigh happened in the Wake County jail. I was not therein a resident, but on occasion, Sheriff John Baker had me down for a chat. Anyone who ever had a talk with the sheriff in his office remembers it.

His voice was as deep as a West Virginia coal mine. His stare was like two beams shining into your eyes. Sometimes he would pound his desk for emphasis, one of his hands landing right in front of you -- the size of country hams, they were. Baker was mad at me over some editorials through the years, but after those chats, we'd go to lunch. Sometimes to a local restaurant that had a corner featuring photographs of him from his pro football days.

Today, with the news that Sheriff Baker (I never called him anything else) has died at 72, the memories flooding in are not just of that overpowering presence. Oh, it's what a lot of people will remember, but there was more to the man than that. So much more. He was a family man (his wife, Juanita Baker, was chairwoman of the state Parole Commission), a doting grandfather -- how he loved being a grandfather -- and a community leader here on so many levels that it really is hard to comprehend. It would be up for a mild debate, I suppose, but for a time John Baker was the most popular politician in Wake County, bar none. And certainly for a couple of generations as a public figure and after his departure from the stage, he was a force for good in this city and Wake County and a strong and beloved symbol for the African-American community.

He tried to make a difference in his home town, once the football days were over. He cared, it was true. Probably the concern was so deep because he remembered his own childhood and its marks of discrimination. He never talked about that much, but once, in a quiet and reflective moment, he remembered. I still can recall what he said: "When I was growing up, there were places I was not allowed to go. Water fountains I couldn't use. Restaurants I couldn't go in. My father [the equally admired John Baker Sr., Raleigh's first black police officer] was the same. I could have been bitter, but that wouldn't have accomplished anything. There are things in this world that you just have to get past, and then you go on and don't let that change who you are."

Even when Baker came home from his pro football career, he had for a time some difficulty getting a job. It was preposterous -- a well-educated and accomplished native son who had brought glory to his hometown, returned to a cold shoulder, on the part of some. But he carried on. And he served six terms as sheriff. He was a good one, too. He once single-handedly brought down a man who was holding on to a deputy. "I used my old football technique," he said. "I just tackled him."

As sheriff, he would go into housing projects and talk to people. If he saw young people acting up anywhere, he would raise that voice and tell them to straighten out. He talked to young mothers about having hope for their children. He talked to drug addicts, to prisoners in his jail for any number of reasons. He visited schools. He spoke to elderly citizens active in local issues.

He was a tremendously intelligent person, possessed of sound judgment. When there were problems in his office, he stood up for his deputies while at the same time issuing punishment when appropriate. His humanity always figured in those decisions.

He did not like it, to put it mildly, when he lost a re-election bid in 2002. He sought a return to office in 2006, but the man who had defeated him in the previous election, Donnie Harrison, had become a popular and solid sheriff. Still, Baker remained a hopeful and kind man in touch with old friends. (He understood when I told him before those elections that I had to recuse myself from writing about them because of our long association.)

It was an honor to know him. He was a great man. His most lasting monument, he would say, is the family he left behind, a good wife and children and grandchildren. But John Baker's imprint back at home is large and deep and permanent. The words that describe him will be oft-spoken in these next days, but they bear repeating -- honor, courage, fortitude, strength, compassion, humor, love, generosity. He left us all these remembrances, and precious gifts they are.