Jerry Moran: One of the good guys

My freshman year at Fort Hays State University, I was assigned to write a paper about a controversial topic. I picked "compulsory military service."

During my research, I decided to e-mail my representatives in Congress to ask if there was much chance of the idea being implemented into national law, and how they'd vote on it if the debate came to the floor.

The first response was from Sen. Sam Brownback: It was a short form letter thanking me for corresponding, and (in a way that was understandably bland) briefly explaining his opposition.

Sen. Pat Roberts trumped that vanilla response a few days later, with a more personalized e-mail. Mr. Roberts included the following inside information: "I have spoken with the chairman of the relevant committee. He has not scheduled any hearings on the matter."

Then, about a week later, in my mailbox I found a big document-stuffed manilla envelope. Inside was a form letter like those from the Senate. But this package also included a thick, detailed report, recently commissioned by Congress to help members decide if "compulsory military service" was worthy of discussion. As it turned out, that report was the best source for the paper.

The manilla envelope came from Congressman Jerry Moran.

I'll share one more anecdote, and I hope it illustrates that Mr. Moran is — in addition to being an excellent congressman — a genuinely good man.

One night a few weeks before the 2006 election, a group of FHSU students organized a voter registration rally at a bar in Hays. Knowing the kind of intense effort it takes to orchestrate such an event, Mr. Moran decided to attend.

It was when I was a reporter for The Hays Daily News. I covered that rally and — political nerd that I am — I was disappointed in the turnout. That stereotype about young people being apathetic is true; only about 20 people attended the registration drive, and most of them were political science majors who participated all the time anyway. It was an election year, but with such a paltry crowd it was obvious that no lucrative vote haul was available that night.

Based on the size of the group, Mr. Moran clearly was not just politicking; that night, he was not just trying to win votes. But he visited with the political science nerds about electioneering. He visited with other students about national policy. He even visited with me about the type of coverage he'd seen from other newspapers in the state.

Mr. Moran stayed at that small rally for hours.

Any western Kansan who pays even a moderate amount of attention to current events can see that Mr. Moran has been a top-notch congressman for the last decade. He took Kansas common sense to Washington and, applying it at different times, knew enough to vote for enormous tax cuts, and against No Child Left Behind, the over-expensive Medicare Part D, umpteen stupid "stimulus" bills, every immoral taxpayer-funded bailout, and Obamacare. Mr. Moran's conservative common sense is exactly what we need in the U.S. Senate right now.

And he's one of the good guys. That'll make it fun to vote for him.

Why I donated to Marco Rubio

Though I'm relatively politically active, I've never donated money to a candidate for office.

Until now. His name is Marco Rubio, and he understands what America is.

* * *

My abbreviated story: I was born to lower-middle class parents, neither of whom graduated college. Through their hard work, they climbed deliberately from near-empoverished upbringings. When I was a child, my mom held four jobs; occasionally, my dad still talks about those years when he worked 90 hours a week.

But, by my senior year in high school, they'd risen to middle-middle class. Dad could finally buy a new pickup. They built their own house. And they could afford to offer moderate help with my college education (and that of my brother and sister).

Today my brother is an engineer, my sister is a high school teacher, and I'm in law school.

For 40 years, my parents have put forth efforts that can be described only as epic, working jobs that are often thankless, unflattering, and miserable. They did it because they wanted their children to have careers. They did it so we could be a bit better off than they were.

The beautiful thing: It worked.

That's America.

* * *

Mr. Rubio understands this. His biography describes the phenomenon discussed above. Of course, he has an advantage in this. His parents were immigrants, who fled from their native Cuba to America's opportunity. Because of their hard work, and this country's freedom, their dreams for their children have been fulfilled. Mr. Rubio's life is a testament to America.

Since the discovery of this continent, and especially since the founding of this country, America has been the one place where people go because they could not fulfill their destiny in the lands of their origin.

* * *

I don't like cultish mobs marrying their hopes to a politician — any politician — for two reasons. First, Americans have done that with Mark Sanford, Sarah Palin, and Barack Obama in recent years — and all three have dramatically disappointed their followers. Second, I find cults of personality quite offensive. If you need someone else's political success to make you happy, then your own sense of self worth is unhealthily low.

But Mr. Rubio has captured my imagination. A few times, I've even told friends: "I think someday, he's going to be president." I don't know if that's true, and at the moment I don't really care. But I am certain of this: Mr. Rubio is an excellent advocate of America. (Here I'm referring to America the idea, not just the landmass.)

Over the next decade, one thing tops the list of America's needs: Political leadership in the landmass that understands the idea.

That's Marco Rubio. He's not the only person who meets that qualification. He's not even the only candidate for Congress this year who does. But his ability to convey that understanding is the most impressive that I've seen.

This country needs a Senate full of people like Mr. Rubio.

* * *

I'm a graduate student working an unpaid internship, I drive a 12-year-old truck that's pushing 180,000 miles, and I buy almost all of my clothes from the $5 rack at Wal-Mart. I can't afford this, but I did it anyway.

Via marcorubio.com, I donated $50 to Mr. Rubio's candidacy.

I will make up for it through a series of Ramen noodle meals, skipping cigars I'd like to smoke, drinking PBR instead of Guiness, and watching borrowed DVDs when I'd rather go to the movies. In other words, I intend to sacrifice certain items that would contribute to a higher quality of my life.

But, in Marco Rubio, I think I'm making that sacrifice for a good cause.