George Abbott had just announced his resignation as the province's education minister and now he was in our Victoria studio a few minutes later, making like a stand-up comedian.
Or, more precisely, a sit-down comedian.
He sat in a chair in front of our camera in the studio just behind the legislature and was asked to do a sound check before going on the Noon News with Sophie Lui.
Abbott put on a fake anchor voice. He became Ted Baxter of the Mary Tyler Moore Show as our Vancouver production crew set the audio levels.
"Hello and welcome. This is George Abbott reporting exclusively for the Noon News. Giving you my very special insight on the big stories in Victoria," he quipped.
He warmed to the task. "This is George Abbott, your new Noon News anchor, because I really need a job.
How's that, guys?" He looked over at me in the corner of the office. "Did I pass the audition?"
Keith Baldrey, our Victoria bureau chief, hovered off to one side in a bizarre outfit - golf shorts and dress shirt. He'd been called in from vacation to cover the latest on the Liberal government resignations, but the camera would only see him from the waist up.
"Should I wear a tie?" Baldrey asked me.
"I'm wearing a tie," said Abbott. "I look like a professional. I'm going to tell everyone you're only partly dressed. I could do this job."
For 10 minutes or so I saw the George Abbott the public rarely sees. Funny, self-deprecating, a man with a sharp wit and a good mind, at ease and kibitzing with those around him. The behind-the-scenes version.
He'd been relaxed and tongue-in-cheek in his office, surrounded by media, as he announced his resignation. He mentioned the Eagles, Sinatra - regrets, he'd had a few - talked about his four years in the Health Ministry as "the longest 40 years of my life" and came across as human and affable.
The George Abbott we've seen on camera these past few years has been a stiff, wooden bobble-head of a man, bordering on the pompous. A decent man, but not a winner. He finished third in the race for the Liberal leadership in large part because he couldn't galvanize the masses. He could captivate a small room, but lose a convention hall.
Christy Clark, the charismatic broadcaster, and Kevin Falcon, the openly ambitious minister, connected more easily with the voters. Abbott, universally admired in Victoria, had tough portfolios and handled them efficiently, even if teachers would argue otherwise, but quiet competence doesn't translate to public euphoria.
I don't write much about politics in this column, leaving it to more astute political commentators, but I'm always fascinated why some very good politicians are brilliant in private and terrible in public.
Yes, we will always be seduced by charismatic, attractive leaders. Perhaps we're just shallow. Bill Vander Zalm might not have been the greatest politician in the history of mankind, but he sure wore a tan with panache and a smile worthy of a Pepsodent commercial, and most of us fell for it.
Abbott is a perfect illustration of a public underperformer. The performance, exhibiting leadership and strength - and a connection to the electorate - is part of the full-meal deal, and crucial for the man or woman who wants to govern.
That was true of Winston Churchill, of John F. Kennedy, of Pierre Trudeau. They could inspire and galvanize millions of people.
Later Thursday, I watched Mitt Romney accept the Republican nomination and give a lacklustre speech, short on content or specifics. He underwhelmed, and Clint Eastwood's bizarre, rambling conversation with a chair stole the show.
Most Americans, certainly those in the larger cities, connect to the easygoing charm and natural charisma of Barack Obama. Romney seems plastic, artificial, too rich, too good-looking. Obama is the better performer.
I have a sense, even though America is hurting, that Obama will be able to speak directly to Americans and win in November. The man can connect. Romney always falls short.
Right now, I'm guessing Christy Clark wouldn't have minded George Abbott winning that leadership race, even with that lack of charisma. He left us laughing. This week, Clark didn't have too much to joke about.
