FAIRMONT — Bob Gunther describes his long stint as a state lawmaker as a wonderful experience.

“I think of my relationships with people the way my dad (Herb) did looking at a picture of his second grand opening,” said Gunther, whose family was iconic in the grocery business in Fairmont. “He said there were a lot of people from the first grand opening, they were his friends, and that he sure liked people. That’s how I feel. I sure like people.”

Then he added, with a laugh, “Even when they disagree with me.”

The 25-year veteran of the Minnesota House will serve his last year in St. Paul in 2020. The Republican gained his political longevity and built his success by forging relationships with fellow lawmakers from both sides of the aisle, and by taking care of constituents, pointing them in the right direction or getting them needed help.

For the most part, he has done it all with an affability that has earned him many friends. But he also has purposefully wielded power when he thought it necessary. And, known to almost no one, Gunther has hidden regular nervousness, saying he has learned to “live being uncomfortable.” He described, for instance, having to speak at a rural electric cooperative annual meeting in front of 700 people. It’s a big crowd and not exactly his area of expertise. Yet such experiences are the norm for a lawmaker.

Gunther, who will be 77 when he steps down, says the time is right for him to retire. Both he and his wife, Nancy, have battled through health issues and injuries in recent years. His district — 23A — extends from the west of Jackson nearly all the way to Wells. It includes the cities of Fairmont, Blue Earth and Jackson, and extends north, almost to St. James. It’s a lot of miles, a lot of summer parades, a lot of homework, a lot of travel back and forth to St. Paul. All in service of nearly 40,000 people who expect help when they call.

Gunther plans to spend more time with his wife, visit his daughter more, play golf, fish and enjoy his new home, a condo in Fairmont that he and Nancy recently occupied. He is ready, he says, to just relax.

He acknowledges he will miss being able to help constituents. He will miss the people he works with in St. Paul. And he says no one should be surprised if he still tries to wield a little influence where he can, when he can. But he says that too will end at some point.

Gunther’s journey in state politics began in 1995, when former state Rep. Gene Hugoson resigned to become the state agriculture commissioner, a job he held until 2011. Gunther had an interest in Hugoson’s House seat, but there were several competitors lined up. Some backed out, and it soon became clear that the “Gunther” name was a force all its own, a factor Gunther readily acknowledges. He says his father’s reputation as a grocer, and one who gave credit when people were desperate, was well known. And Gunther grocery ads appeared regularly throughout the area.

In the Republican primary in 1995, Gunther received 80 percent of the vote. He subsequently defeated his DFL opponent with 70 percent of the vote in a special election that year. In the dozen elections since, Gunther has routinely pulled in 60 percent or better.

Getting elected, as it turned out, may have been easy, but becoming a state lawmaker was not. Gunther raised a shaky hand to demonstrate how he felt about speaking on the floor of the House of Representatives the first time. When not in the public spotlight, he had a lot to learn, from things as simple as where to get supplies (pens, paper) to deciphering the intricacies of a vast state government. He gives credit to the people who work behind the scenes in St. Paul to assist lawmakers. These include those in constituent services and research, committee administrators and those who help with media relations.

“All of those people are waiting for [lawmakers] to call them,” he said.

Gunther says it took him his first five years in office to learn what he needed to know to feel as though he had a grasp of the totality of the job.

He also learned to make productive connections with other lawmakers, and eventually to exert power as a committee chairman, not only to get things done but to get them done the way he wanted. Gunther noted occasions when he threatened to take issues to the media, whether that involved a fellow lawmaker’s hometown newspaper or all the media outlets statewide. Often, he found just the threat did the trick.

Looking back, Gunther noted two things as highlights of his career.

The first was a veto override he pushed against former Gov. Jesse Ventura, who had nixed a $1.1 million outlay for the St. James library. Gunther organized an override that included funds for the Pelican Rapids library and a business incubator in Minneapolis. His effort garnered 95 percent support, achieving his goal. It also opened up the floodgates on Ventura, who subsequently became the governor with the most veto overrides in state history.

The second highlight is what is known as the Challenge Grant, a measure Gunther helped pass in 1998. It leverages state and federal dollars to help businesses and communities create more local housing, an issue still prevalent in today’s rural economy, along with affordable child care. Both issues affect the ability of businesses to hire workers.

While his job is complicated and can be stressful, Gunther said that in the end he has tried to live by a simple philosophy. It is: “I have 40,000 bosses,” he said. “Make sure they get what they deserve out of state government.”