A VIEW FROM METRO EAST

A freshman congressman
moves into the 'people's house'

by Patrick E. Gauen

There is a fine distinction between ambition and foolishness that bedevils those of us who try to foretell the true contenders of politics from the also-rans, the professionals from the perennials. It is a slightly embarrassing, but true, fact of this process that the candidates who are too nice or too idealistic or too innocent find themselves too often categorized with those who are just plain nuts.

Some pundits still doubt you can click your heels and whistle the national anthem all the way to Washington. Talk to John Shimkus.

Nobody I know thought John Shimkus was nuts. But there were plenty who once found his innocent ambition foolish. I don't know of any who clung to that beyond January 7, however, the date when Shimkus, 38, recited the oath of office as a freshman congressman for southern and central Illinois' 20th District.

Taking this particular past as prologue, I ruminate here on the ascent of an ordinary guy with extraordinary ideals who did what many doubted. Shimkus was long ago cast in the mold of the modern young Republican, pondering the fork between serving God in the Lutheran ministry, his brother's path, or serving his country in the military. The venerable Congressman Mel Price helped with the latter by appointing Shimkus to West Point.

His eight years in the Army were distinguished by qualification as one of the elite Rangers, and by the little known exasperation of having had a truck driver under his command blunder through a checkpoint into East Germany. That was in those unpleasant days before crumbling walls. It is partly because he was not hanged by his superiors for that episode (which ended peacefully) that Shimkus found the confidence to take some risks in life.

Once discharged and teaching civics at the Metro East Lutheran High School in Edwardsville, Shimkus set himself toward a political career that was rejected by the voters (for Madison County Board member, 1988) before he found success as Collinsville Township trustee (1989) and Madison County treasurer (1990). That last one was a fluke, owing mostly to a stumble by the incumbent, who tried to intervene in his kids' troubles with the law.

So Shimkus got elected as a Republican in a county that nearly never elects one. Less a fluke: Shimkus got along so well with everybody that he was re-elected without trouble.

In 1992, Shimkus ventured into a congressional race against an entrenched Paul Simon protege, Dick Durbin of Springfield. Shimkus lost, predictably. But it gave him a foundation on which to build in 1996, when Simon was retiring from the Senate and Durbin moving up.

So came the all-Collinsville general election, with hometowner Shimkus pitted against Highland transplant Jay Hoffman, a former prosecutor anointed by Durbin for the Democratic nomination. In the end, it was Shimkus by one-half of 1 percent, a humble mandate for a humble guy who fortunately has almost no ego to crush.

And so he proved to be the perfect specimen to follow to Washington for his first week, the centerpiece of a story for my newspaper on the D.C. adjustment of about as green a freshman as ever gets to Congress.

If there was someone more sinister in Shimkus' clothes — someone besides the guy I dubbed "Saint John" in print years ago — I sure couldn't find a hint of it. "This is really the people's house, the House of Representatives, and I feel I truly do belong here," he said several times, in words that never rang hollow.

Before you accuse me of being a shill for the guy, let me mention that there is plenty for critics to take hold of: He's a down-the-line conservative and strong supporter of a balanced budget amendment. He voted for Newt Gingrich's second term as speaker. He is the only candidate who ever told me he opposes abortion even to save a mother's life. ("Let God decide," he said.) Someday Hoffman or another challenger might knock Shimkus off, based on those stands. The new congressman invests some of his precious few free hours finishing an MBA to sweeten his resume for that day.

Some pundits may still doubt you can click your heels and whistle the national anthem all the way to Washington. To them I say go talk to John Shimkus. He's probably helping a little old lady across Independence Avenue right now.

Patrick E. Gauen covers Illinois politics for the St. Louis Post-Dispatch.

Illinois Issues March 1997/ 45