I can't improve on the great Sam Hodges, who in 1993 described Milton McGregor this way in the Mobile Press-Register:

MONTGOMERY -- The American Dream takes many forms, and a conspicuous one afoot in Alabama these days is a jowly, drawling, workaholic good ol' boy with an Eighth Wonder of the World haircut and a wallet that's something of a wonder, too.

He's Milton Earl McGregor, 53-year-old majority owner of the over-achieving greyhound track in Macon County and the rapidly improving horse and greyhound track in Birmingham.

McGregor also owns a charter plane business, various other businesses and rental properties, a mansion in Montgomery, a luxury condo atop Red Mountain in Birmingham, a 2,500-acre farm in Macon County and his family home place in Geneva County.

Some people say he owns the Alabama Legislature. No bill of sale has surfaced....

That was, without doubt, the Milton McGregor of 1993.

Much changed in 25 years - like the fate of that "rapidly improving horse and greyhound track" in Birmingham. And some would argue a bill of sale never surfaced, but a rental agreement turned up year after legislative year.

So much has been said of the man since his death Sunday at the age of 78, but it seems like there's much more to say. He was a likable rascal and a formidable foe, an angel and devil who was never fully either one.

He changed Alabama politics - make no mistake about that -- if not always in the way he wanted.

VictoryLand owner Milton McGregor at the attempted reopening of VictoryLand in 2012. (Julie Bennett / al.com)

McGregor's power grew and waned over the years, but he was always a man who buzzed with his own energy, who held a vision of towering casinos that could pay for schools and roads and things Alabama needed. In his vision he saw that he, Milton McGregor, would be the man behind the glass in those places, the man rolling wheelbarrows of cash to his very own vault.

He was beloved by those who were touched by him, and the money he spread around as "investment" in his dreams. He was accused at times of being a "reverse pickpocket," a man who might clap a would-be supporter on the back - a friend, as he'd call them - leaving a few bills to be found later.

He was the only person I've ever known who was bestowed with the title "magnate." He didn't ask for it, but he wore it well. He was Alabama's gambling magnate, but he'd have preferred "gaming magnate." It sounded more fun, less morally debatable. He made it sound like sport.

Like politics was to him. McGregor wanted to win, and he knew how to play the game. For years - decades - he picked politicians like a pro GM picks athletes, and he paid them almost as well. He poured millions into Alabama campaigns, funding a Legislature that ensured bills threatening his interests found their way to friendly committees, where they died without a vote.

But he always flew close, so close to the sun.

Back in 1993, then-Lt. Gov. Jim Folsom - who would become governor after the conviction of Gov. Guy Hunt - took his family to the Cayman Islands on a plane owned by McGregor. It was investigated by then-Alabama AG Jeff Sessions, but no charges were filed.

Langford and McGregor, Scott Stantis style. (Stantis)

When McGregor sought changes in the bingo laws, and a domed stadium in Birmingham to go with them, former Mayor Larry Langford became his greatest advocate. At the same time Langford won dozens of jackpots worth hundreds of thousands at McGregor's VictoryLand casino. The odds of winning those jackpots were so long that it wasn't akin to finding two identical snowflakes, one statistician said, but like finding two identical snowflakes that look exactly like your mother.

Neither Langford nor McGregor was charged in that matter. Langford went to trial on unrelated bribery charges as the bingo winnings made news. He was convicted and remains in prison.

McGregor was charged with a different set of crimes. As a McGregor-backed gambling bill neared a vote in 2010 - one that would finally give him the win he wanted -- the FBI announced a major vote-buying probe into McGregor and others. The bill died, and a federal grand jury indicted McGregor on charges he conspired with lawmakers and lobbyists to buy votes.

But the feds did not prove their case, and McGregor was ultimately acquitted. Hours and hours of taped conversations showed him close to the line, but not across it. As close as it got was when McGregor met with gambling ally Ronnie Gilley and then Sen. Scott Beason.

In the conversation, taped by Beason, McGregor sought Beason's support.

"Ronnie and I have a bad habit of supporting our friends," McGregor said.

Milton McGregor with his lawyers during the vote-buying trial. (AP Photo/Dave Martin)

That was McGregor. Smart. You think you know what he's saying. You know you know what he's saying, but you can't prove he's saying it.

He was smart enough to not play it too smart.

When Gilley and others who wound up in prison asked in conversations if he was on his burner phone, McGregor told them no, he had nothing to hide. It was persuasive, and he walked free.

But McGregor after the trial - after the bingo wars with former Gov. Bob Riley forced him to close VictoryLand in Macon County - was a diminished man.

He tried in recent years to re-open VictoryLand, but it never really worked out.

He had long been seen as a funding source for Democratics - though he gave to Republicans too. But without a lucrative casino his reach was limited. Ultimately Republicans found it more convenient to oppose McGregor and quietly accept Indian casinos that competed with him. And their political contributions.

But McGregor was always a force in Alabama. You could never count him out. He kept coming, with plans and ideas and strategies for changing Alabama and wheeling away carts full of cash. He was a character for sure. No matter what you thought of his character.

There is something literary about his passing.

He was a man who for decades controlled the Alabama Legislature, but he never quite got all he wanted. He was the one who bought and sold Alabama politicians.

But in the end, perhaps fittingly ...

No bill of sale ever surfaced.

John Archibald's column appears in The Birmingham News, the Huntsville Times, the Mobile Register and AL.com. Write him at jarchibald@al.com.