An Uncommon Man

By TAD BARTIMUS

The death of liberal Democrat Sen. Paul Wellstone of Minnesota in a plane crash just 12 days before this year's mid-term election offers a sad occasion to celebrate a public life guided by character and conscience, rare and precious virtues in American politics.

As former Senate Republican leader Bob Dole told a television interviewer in a choked voice, Wellstone was "a decent, genuine guy who had a different philosophy from almost everyone else in the Senate."

Consider that high praise.

The Senate is an insular institution steeped in antiquated ritual, massaged by special interests and cloaked in comfort. Its mostly well-heeled members belong to America's most exclusive club, where rank not only has its privileges but extraordinary power as well. It is the Senate, after all, that writes the nation's checks.

Wellstone was the antithesis of Strom Thurmond or Orrin Hatch or Robert Byrd, old guard traditionalists adept at backroom maneuvering. The maverick from Minnesota was a poor compromiser who shunned pork-barrel politics and always defended the little guy, no matter how unpopular his stand. He supported labor unions and farm workers, advocated national health insurance, cast one of his first votes against the Persian Gulf war and, in one of his last acts, opposed unilateral U.S. force against Iraq. With the strong support of his wife, Sheila, he also shepherded into law groundbreaking legislation to protect victims of domestic violence. Mrs. Wellstone, along with the Wellstones' daughter, Marcia, two pilots and three campaign aides, also died in the crash.

Most of his congressional colleagues disagreed with Wellstone's '60s ideology; some called him an ineffective extremist and obstructionist. But nearly all his fellow senators have eulogized him as an honorable public servant who worked hard for his constituents and stayed humble through two terms.

Wellstone's beliefs were at odds with the right-leaning, lock-step conservatism of our time. In an era of corporate excess, ostentatious lifestyles and eroding personal values, the senator lived off his salary, stayed married to the same woman for 39 years, wore rumpled, off-the-rack suits and kept his self-deprecating humor in a town that takes itself seriously. He did not see his liberalism as a political risk, but as a moral duty.

Wellstone overcame a learning disability to earn a doctorate and, as a senator, to decipher complicated bills. Weighing just 126 pounds, he became a champion collegiate wrestler. As a political neophyte, he drove an old green school bus to victory in 1990 against Republican incumbent Rudy Boschwitz, who out-spent him 7-to-1. Earlier this year, he announced he had multiple sclerosis, but assured reporters: "I have a strong mind ... a strong body ... a strong heart ... (and) a strong soul."

Paul Wellstone believed that public service was an honorable profession and routinely exhibited the courage of his convictions. He never flinched from voting his conscience, even if it meant political fallout.

After casting his ballot against giving President George W. Bush the power to declare war on Iraq, Wellstone dismissed the possibility that his anti-administration position could cost him re-election.

"What would really hurt," he told a reporter, "is if I was giving speeches and I didn't even believe what I was saying. Probably what would hurt is if people thought I was doing something just for political reasons."

Isn't that what candidates do? Apparently not Paul Wellstone. Taking the high road frequently left him stranded alone on a philosophical cliff, but he believed Minnesotans had twice sent him to Congress to fight for his principles. Pollsters believe that, had he lived, voters would have done it for a third time.

The saddest footnote to the Wellstone tragedy is the dearth of candidates worthy of replacing him. When the state Democratic party frantically cast around for a ballot substitution, not one name measured up.

For all his protestations that he was just an average guy, Paul Wellstone was a most uncommon man.

© 2002 The Women Syndicate

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