Political handicappers were ready to write off the 46-year-old college professor as a leftover flower child who would never fit into the Senate’s clubby culture. I first interviewed Wellstone when he was trying to clean up the wreckage from his noisy arrival in Washington. Freshman senators aren’t supposed to talk out of turn or shatter the comity of a social occasion. Wellstone was unapologetic. He was going to do things his way; if that meant upending some traditions, so be it. “I will never make my mark as a consummate insider,” he told me. “Without trying, I’m different.”
What neither of us knew then was how those differences would make Wellstone, who died last week in a plane crash with his wife, daughter, three aides and two pilots, one of the most beloved figures in the Senate. One Democratic staffer said that when a tragedy like this strikes, there are all the usual tributes–but in Wellstone’s case, they happen to be heartfelt. The emotional outpouring from Republicans and Democrats alike underscored the affection felt for him and for his tenacity. He was a genuinely nice guy, admired for his Middle American values, his lack of pretense and his willingness to stand up for what he believed whatever the political consequences. Nothing incensed him more than the suggestion that he needed “political cover” for anything. He voted as he damn well pleased, whatever the consequences.
Wellstone was a progressive in the best sense of the word. He wasn’t simply adhering to an old party line of tired liberalism. He was interested in political power, because that’s how change is made. But he knew it wasn’t just a matter of satisfying this or that interest group or pleasing the unions. He was one of the only reliable voices of the principled left. He didn’t agonize about whether he would offend swing voters if he opposed President George W. Bush’s tax cut last year, and he didn’t twist in the wind like some liberals over whether to support Bush’s war resolution because of the vote’s impact on future ambitions.
When his colleagues worried that Wellstone’s “no” vote on using military force against Iraq–after a decade, the issue was the same, this time with a different President Bush–could hurt him in his campaign for re-election, Wellstone did not bother to hide his irritation. He would vote his conscience, and he believed the voters would reward him. Recent polls seemed to bear out that judgment. Even those who support Bush’s proposed action in Iraq liked the fact that Wellstone, who was short of stature, stood tall in the face of power. Wellstone counted many friends who were political opposites, teaming with Jesse Helms on applying sanctions against China for human-rights abuses and partnering with Republican Sen. Pete Domenici in support of parity for insurance coverage for mental health.
Wellstone never intended to be in government for more than two terms and had run on a pledge to limit himself to 12 years in office. But with control of the Senate at stake, Wellstone did not think he could walk away. Some supporters felt betrayed by his decision to stay, but he argued that leaving would be a greater betrayal. As a former political-science professor, Wellstone saw the electorate as his classroom. And like all memorable teachers, he projected himself into the lives of his students, and left them better for the experience. Wellstone will be missed because of who he was as a person but also for what he represented. There are few people in public life who stand for something that makes voters proud to vote for them. The most eloquent and most respected voice in progressive politics today is gone.
