Fife Symington has worked two decades to reinvent himself after a fraud conviction forced him from office. He’s still not sure how he’ll be remembered.
By Alden Woods | Arizona Republic
Fewer people notice him now, but when somebody does, it’s because Fife Symington looks just like they remember. “I guess maybe my DNA’s favored me a little bit,” he said. The hair is the same off-white color, still swept perfectly to the side. The smile still draws a straight line. The eyes are the same periwinkle blue. He spends every day in sartorial symmetry, from the button-down shirts stamped with his initials to the non-slip chef’s shoes that he wears everywhere. He never smoked, rarely drinks and is always plotting his next outdoor adventure, heading off to fish and ski with the men who used to work for him, back before everything self-destructed.
But Symington is 73 now, and time is undefeated, so on a cold February morning he drove downtown to have his hearing aids fixed. Afterward, he stopped by the culinary school he co-founded, where the students didn’t seem to recognize him but a frizzy-haired woman named Peggy von Moll spotted him from across a busy kitchen.
“Is that Governor Symington?” von Moll whispered, interrupting a tour of the Arizona Culinary Institute. She giggled and covered her blushing cheeks with both hands.
Symington smiled and reached out a hand. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Fife.”
