In between “giving thanks,” and “celebrating a life dedicated to universal salvation,” is a moment to ponder blessings. One comes to mind: the miracle that is the United States of America.
No, I’m not talking about manifest destiny or biblical American exceptionalism. Rather, on my life’s pathway, there is a place of small comfort and deep appreciation for my country.
That path started right out of college, driving my ‘72 Datsun pickup from Rexburg, Idaho, across America to an internship in Washington, D.C. My first cross-continental solo trip was also my first visit to the nation’s capital.
On the radio, Dan Rather reported how Vice President Bush’s spouse, Barbara, had placed an ornament atop the national Christmas Tree. I wanted to see that tree.
The Shenandoahs were snowy and treacherous, so my nerves were frayed upon hitting D.C. traffic. Suddenly the Iwo Jima Memorial rose up on my right. My eyes opened so wide my face hurt. Coming into view were the Lincoln and Jefferson Memorials, the Washington Monument rising behind them.
U.S. Solicitor General Rex Lee, a BYU alumnus, addressed our intern group describing the “three phases of work in the Capitol.” “The first,” he explained, “is awe and wonder at the power, majesty, history and spectacle on the world stage.” He nailed it.
Granite buildings and marble façades line the streets, along with monuments celebrating courageous soldiers, heroic acts of valor and altruistic principles. The Jefferson Building of the Library of Congress became my preferred haunt, and Smithsonian tours my favorite pastime.
On our third date, my girlfriend and I toured the stalagmites and stalactites forming beneath the Lincoln Memorial. When standing directly under Lincoln’s chair, I hung back and switched my flashlight off. There I first kissed the woman with whom I would share the next 40 years.
“Phase I” kept me enthralled for three years. “Longer than most,” I was told. Probably right for a naive kid just off the spud truck.
But when it ended, the crash was hard. “Phase II,” Solicitor Lee had said, “arrives when you realize the inspiring façade hides a massive amount of vice and greed and corruption.”
That became obvious once my job was to effect change. D.C. is a city powered by money, and little of it is “earned.” There even the rich still fight and scrap for D.C.’s other commodities: the potent aphrodisiac of “power,” and the fleeting pleasures for which aphrodisiacs are needed.
My boss was Idaho’s then-junior Senator Steve Symms. A political “moderate” might have been easier. But Senator Symms sought change — clear limits on the reach of government, with tangible benefits for Idahoans. That pitted me directly against the “Iron Triangle.”
The Triangle is (1) the permanent bureaucracy, (2) lobbyists and special interests (a.k.a. “K” Street), and (3) 80,000 legislative staff, many of whom remain while Congressmen come and go.
In times of difficulty and despair, I would cross the street escaping to the quiet of the National Botanical Gardens. One evening I came across another Capitol worker seeking the same tranquility.
We chatted for an hour before, to my embarrassment, I recognized Massachusetts Senator Paul Tsongas, just diagnosed with non-Hodgkins lymphoma. A sincere, but liberal “do-gooder,” he and Symms rarely agreed. He shared how his diagnosis and “the system” would defeat his “doing good.”
That conversation helped me reach Phase III: appreciation for the intricate design, rigorous checks and balances, and insight into human nature built into our government. Its designers were no strangers to vice, greed, or corruption. In fact, they assumed it.
And their system works, just as it did in 1800 when Jefferson did the unthinkable, unseating the pinnacle of D.C. power without “a lot of people dying.”
Politics in 2024 will not be pretty, and the fight against corruption will not be over, but the miracle of government “by the People” is still possible. For that I am grateful.
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