A good man is found: Mr. Danforth went to Washington.

It is too bad for Missouri and the country that Senator John C. Danforth's name will not be on the ballot when Missourians go to the polls on November 8. Danforth is voluntarily retiring from the Senate after eighteen years, not because he is fed up with Congress but because he wants to move on to the next phase of his life. He is not supposed to be one of the ones to go. He's one of the good ones.

In the world of politics, people are not often considered distinct from the ideas they hold. You are considered a "good Republican" or a "good Democrat" based on your allegiance to the party line. Jack Danforth gives new definition to those terms. He is a good senator because, according to his colleagues, he "pricks our conscience" (Senator Alan Simpson, R-Wyo.), he is a "moral leader" (Senator Bob Kerrey, D-Nebr.), and he has integrity (Senator John Chafee, R-R.I.). Although he is conscious of party politics, it has never been the driving factor in his votes or in his friendships. Here's what stands out prominently about Jack Danforth: He is driven by a deep respect and a fond regard for individuals - whether they be liberal or conservative, Democrat or Republican.

Danforth's commitment to this principle was tested in the fall of 1991, which according to the senator, was his "most dramatic time in the Senate." His face is certainly familiar to many as the man who stood behind (actually he sat behind) Clarence Thomas during one of the most wrenching public events in recent history: the Senate hearings to investigate the sexual harassment allegation brought by Anita Hill against Supreme Court nominee Clarence Thomas. Danforth's fiercely loyal support for Thomas was perplexing to some, and Danforth is not unaware that his support for Thomas alienated numerous people. Another politician would have faded out of the picture rather than allow his loyalty to entangle him in such a highly charged issue as sexual harassment. But Danforth would not abandon Thomas, who Danforth believed was subjected to an unacceptable process by the Senate Judiciary Committee - with no rules of evidence and not even the facade of impartiality - in which one person's unproven and unprovable accusation could all but destroy another. During that time, Danforth was as angry as I have ever seen him. In his recently published book, Resurrection: The Confirmation of Clarence Thomas (Viking/Penguin), Danforth confesses that he was driven to a point where he began to attack Anita Hill's character and reputation. That whole event is now painful to him, not only because Clarence Thomas endured such hell, but also because Danforth saw himself stepping so totally out of character in his animus against Hill.

One of the grandest moments of Danforth's Senate career, in the view of his longtime friend and associate, Alexander Netchvolodoff, was Danforth's decision to pursue civil rights legislation after the Thomas nightmare. Danforth had tremendous anger toward the civil rights advocates who seemed to enjoy dumping on Thomas's character. But he resisted what must have been a strong temptation to abandon his leadership on the civil rights bill, and worked aggressively for its passage.

He is often found at the center of efforts to define the common ground that makes legislating possible, most notably in the area of civil rights and health care. Chafee says that Danforth was instrumental in conceptualizing the "mainstream coalition" for health reform. While there is no longer any chance for health legislation this year, the mainstream coalition made extraordinary progress in crafting sensible and needed health-care legislation that may see the light of day in the next Congress. It has become popular with both Republicans and Democrats to sabotage legislation so that the other political party will suffer, but Danforth shuns this tactic, saying, "This total trench warfare, the politicization of everything, has gone too far."

Danforth's refusal to let election politics trump his conscience led him to the lonely position of supporting Clinton's crime bill. While other Republicans finally voted against the crime bill conference report because they realized that a well-timed defeat()f the bill would add to the mounting criticism of Clinton's legislative record, Danforth stood his ground. He has suffered for it by being considered a "bad Republican" by his colleagues.

It would be unfortunate and unfair if Danforth were remembered by his Republican colleagues as a Judas for his vote on the crime bill. In fact, most of the time he votes Republican. His legislative career has seen him acting in his "party's finest tradition," according to a 1991 New York Times editorial. He has had an immense impact through his civil fights bill, the Patient Self-Determination Act, his work on foreign policy in Cambodia, trade legislation, the research and development tax credit, the low-income housing tax credit, the cable bill, and others.

Even with all these accomplishments, Danforth remains modest. One of his favorite stories is of a letter he received from an angry constituent who, like most Missourians at the time, believed Danforth had "given away" the Panama Canal. The letter said, "My father taught me never to trust lawyers, preachers, and politicians. You are all three." As an ordained Episcopal priest, a Yale educated lawyer, and a three-term U.S. Senator, Danforth brings alive the question of how religion, the law, and politics are to relate to one another. The answer in Danforth's case is found in the writings of Reinhold Niebuhr, who was the subject of his college thesis at Princeton. Danforth is truly a Niebuhrian - a hopeful realist with a profound sense of human limitations. "No one could honestly say that any bill is the answer to anything, but that doesn't mean you don't vigorously commit yourself to it." Although it is good to be passionate about an issue, Danforth believes that the "realism that comes from experience tells us that no political program deserves such confidence that it justifies destroying our opponents.... The idea that there are higher norms than those achievable on the floor of the Senate or at a White House signing ceremony can provide perspective and ultimately humility." If the mark of a Christian in politics is, as Reinhold Niebuhr held, the ability to work hard for something while knowing that it is proximate, then Jack Danforth has made his mark. Danforth said to me recently that in "anything you do, you bring to it the totality of who you are." His respect for people, his intellect, his faithfulness, and his humor have made him a good Republican and a great senator.

Author's note: Somewhere in my attic there is a picture of my college roommate and me as sophomores dressed like gypsies for a Beaux Arts Ball. On the back of the picture, Katy wrote, "Let's not grow up to be Republicans, okay Liz? Let's be good people." I met Senator Danforth at my graduation from Yale Divinity School. Because his daughter, Mary, was my husband Peter's classmate at the law school and my housemate for a year, Danforth came to a little backyard barbecue. He said we should come to Washington and work for him. We chuckled in response. Why would he want on his staff a pronounced feminist with dangling earrings and her law-student husband whose hair was too long in the back? It took us several months and a few phone calls to realize his was a serious job offer and that neither compatible political persuasions nor any hint of policy expertise were job requirements. So of course we said yes. And that's how I have come to know that "good Republican" is not the oxymoron my college roommate so thought.