Richard Codey: Jersey’s Accidental Governor Who Never Backed Down

Paul Riverbank, 1/12/2026Richard Codey, New Jersey’s longest-serving lawmaker and an “accidental” yet admired governor, leaves a legacy of truth, grit, and compassion. Revered for his candor and deep community ties, his passing marks the loss of a leader whose impact extended well beyond the halls of power.

Truth-telling has always been part of the Codey lore. His family puts it simply: “He spoke the truth when others wouldn’t and fought tirelessly for the people of New Jersey during his record-setting 50 years in the Legislature.” There was grit there—matched with a sense of humor that could pop up at odd moments, sometimes at his own expense.

Codey had a peculiar habit of stepping up when things were about to hit the fan. Most folks remember the times he was suddenly handed the governor’s office—not once, which would be enough for most, but twice. The first time was in the late ’90s, after Christine Todd Whitman left; the second, in 2004, when Jim McGreevey resigned in a storm few could have predicted. Some dubbed him “the accidental governor,” a title he shrugged off, noting, “Most importantly, I did it the right way, in my opinion.” And, true to form, he’d go back to the Senate afterward, just as happy to get back to the legislative grind.

Folks in Trenton saw the public servant. Home, though, Codey was also a husband, father, grandfather—someone who never lost the neighborhood touch. You could find him checking in with aides and adversaries alike, or sharing a coffee with a stranger in an all-night diner, baseball cap slightly askew. “He lived his life with humility, compassion, and a deep sense of responsibility to others,” his family wrote, and few would dispute it.

Strange as it seems, sports played nearly as big a role in Codey’s life as politics—maybe more, some would say on the right day. If you’ve set foot in MetLife Stadium to watch the Giants or Jets, a little of that is thanks to Codey, who jumped into frenzied negotiations to keep both teams playing in New Jersey. “Obviously I’m more involved (in sports) than the previous governor,” he once laughed, catching up with sportswriters at a Seton Hall basketball game. He carried that energy onto the court, too, and it didn’t go unnoticed. Former Seton Hall star Jerry Walker still remembers the championship game where Codey, then governor, hollered at the refs, “You’ll never referee in the state of New Jersey again!”—all in the same breath as a stinging loss. Even his state troopers couldn’t help but crack a smile.

Loyalty to Seton Hall ran deep, and it wasn’t just about being a fan. As former coach P. J. Carlesimo put it, “He would do anything he could do to help the program, our players or just people in Jersey in general. He never said no. He was so good to so many people.” That seemed to be the heart of it—doing what needed to be done, mostly offstage, whether it meant calling in a favor for a struggling athlete or quietly paving the way for Greg Schiano’s return to the Rutgers football program.

Then there are the small moments. After a bruising primary fight in 2023, reporters pressed with rumors about his health. Codey, never one to waste time with nonsense, shot back, “I’m not sick. I’m not dying or any of that bulls-t.” It wasn’t just bravado—it was the voice of someone who genuinely loved the work, and maybe loved the people more.

Now, with his passing at 79 after a brief illness, the State House and the basketball seats at Seton Hall both seem a notch emptier. The marathon debates, the gritty negotiations, the long after-midnight talks in diners—all these, too, are missing a regular. But Codey’s imprint will stay, stitched in with the grit, heart, and dry humor that got him through half a century of New Jersey’s rough-and-tumble political life. Not many can match that.

For half a century, Richard Codey stirred the pot in New Jersey politics, rarely content to just blend in. He started out in the State Assembly way back in 1974, when bell-bottoms were still a thing, and stuck it out—long enough to eventually become the state’s longest-serving lawmaker. Anyone who shared a hallway, or a late-night diner booth, with him has a story.Truth-telling has always been part of the Codey lore. His family puts it simply: “He spoke the truth when others wouldn’t and fought tirelessly for the people of New Jersey during his record-setting 50 years in the Legislature.” There was grit there—matched with a sense of humor that could pop up at odd moments, sometimes at his own expense.Codey had a peculiar habit of stepping up when things were about to hit the fan. Most folks remember the times he was suddenly handed the governor’s office—not once, which would be enough for most, but twice. The first time was in the late ’90s, after Christine Todd Whitman left; the second, in 2004, when Jim McGreevey resigned in a storm few could have predicted. Some dubbed him “the accidental governor,” a title he shrugged off, noting, “Most importantly, I did it the right way, in my opinion.” And, true to form, he’d go back to the Senate afterward, just as happy to get back to the legislative grind.Folks in Trenton saw the public servant. Home, though, Codey was also a husband, father, grandfather—someone who never lost the neighborhood touch. You could find him checking in with aides and adversaries alike, or sharing a coffee with a stranger in an all-night diner, baseball cap slightly askew. “He lived his life with humility, compassion, and a deep sense of responsibility to others,” his family wrote, and few would dispute it.Strange as it seems, sports played nearly as big a role in Codey’s life as politics—maybe more, some would say on the right day. If you’ve set foot in MetLife Stadium to watch the Giants or Jets, a little of that is thanks to Codey, who jumped into frenzied negotiations to keep both teams playing in New Jersey. “Obviously I’m more involved (in sports) than the previous governor,” he once laughed, catching up with sportswriters at a Seton Hall basketball game. He carried that energy onto the court, too, and it didn’t go unnoticed. Former Seton Hall star Jerry Walker still remembers the championship game where Codey, then governor, hollered at the refs, “You’ll never referee in the state of New Jersey again!”—all in the same breath as a stinging loss. Even his state troopers couldn’t help but crack a smile.Loyalty to Seton Hall ran deep, and it wasn’t just about being a fan. As former coach P. J. Carlesimo put it, “He would do anything he could do to help the program, our players or just people in Jersey in general. He never said no. He was so good to so many people.” That seemed to be the heart of it—doing what needed to be done, mostly offstage, whether it meant calling in a favor for a struggling athlete or quietly paving the way for Greg Schiano’s return to the Rutgers football program.Then there are the small moments. After a bruising primary fight in 2023, reporters pressed with rumors about his health. Codey, never one to waste time with nonsense, shot back, “I’m not sick. I’m not dying or any of that bulls-t.” It wasn’t just bravado—it was the voice of someone who genuinely loved the work, and maybe loved the people more.Now, with his passing at 79 after a brief illness, the State House and the basketball seats at Seton Hall both seem a notch emptier. The marathon debates, the gritty negotiations, the long after-midnight talks in diners—all these, too, are missing a regular. But Codey’s imprint will stay, stitched in with the grit, heart, and dry humor that got him through half a century of New Jersey’s rough-and-tumble political life. Not many can match that.