Lifers with a twist: like the Energizer Bunny, some dedicated legislators just want to keep serving.

When asked if his move from the Senate to the House feels like a step down, South Dakota Representative Paul Dennert quipped, "Actually, the House here is physically two steps higher than the Senate."

Representative Dennert's cheerful disposition in the wake of a shift "downward" mirrors the attitudes of a small but resolute group of politicians who choose the "lower chamber" over no office. Some say they even prefer it.

Term limits are pushing committed legislators in several states to look next door when their time is up. In a four-year national study by NCSL, the Council of State Governments and the State Legislative Leaders Foundation, 52 percent of legislators in states with term limits indicated that they would consider a run for the Senate when their House term ends. And 13 percent of the senators surveyed said they will take that rare move and run for the House (compared to only 1 percent in states without term limits).

No one knows exactly how many state senators have made the switch to the House, but Gary Moncrief, professor of political science at Boise State University, says it's going to become more common because many termed-out legislators want to stay in office. "These are people who enjoy politics and public service. For them, it doesn't matter where they're doing it."

A NEW DIRECTION

Oregon Representative John Lim, a Korean immigrant who earned his citizenship in 1976, feels that it's the American dream to be elected to public service, a privilege he wouldn't "trade for anything else in the world." That's why he ran for the Oregon House when he termed out of his Senate seat.

Even now, after the Oregon Supreme Court ruled its term limits unconstitutional, Representative Lim is happy with his House seat. "I'm lucky enough to be in the majority now, which is definitely more fun," says Lim, who's running for another term this fall. "And I have half the territory that I had as a senator and more friends in the House."

South Dakota Representative Gerald Lange shares Lim's fascination with and appreciation for politics, as well as his commitment to public service. When term limits ousted him from his Senate seat in 2000, he similarly opted for a House run.

Far from a downgrade, Lange found an even bigger soapbox in the House with twice as many listeners as the one he stood on in the Senate. "It's more exciting because there are more minds at work and more debate," he says. "I've actually had my best year in office this last year," noting that while fellow members weren't always voting with him, they were at least open to understanding the points he was making.

As someone who found public service as a "midlife crisis," Arkansas Representative Jay Bradford wasn't ready to call it quits when his Senate seat termed out in 1999. "If you want to serve, there's nothing wrong with going to the House," he says.

Bradford says he hadn't yet won his fight to pass an Indoor Clean Air Act when his Senate term ended. So he ran for and won his current House seat, which terms out this December. And just under the wire in his final year, the legislature passed what he calls "one of the toughest indoor smoking bans in the country." His proud achievement will soon be recognized by the University of Arkansas' School of Medicine when it bestows an honorary doctorate in medicine degree to the outgoing representative.

The "circling-back" phenomenon is not limited to state law-makers. Members of Congress have sometimes ventured back to their state legislatures after redistricting, lost elections or other circumstances led them to leave office. They view their return to state office as every bit as important a civic contribution as national office--if not more so.

After losing his one-term seat in the 1994 Republican congressional "house-cleaning," Democrat Senator Eric Fingerhut of Ohio waited a few years until his old state Senate seat opened up in 1998. He won handily, and says he returned to public service because "I didn't feel like I was done. I still had a lot to contribute to the legislature and I felt that my Washington experience would make me a better state legislator because so many of our issues intertwine with those of the national government."

Senator Fingerhut adds that moving from Congress to the Ohio Senate didn't feel like a step down in any way. He enjoys how the smaller body allows him to know and work with all his colleagues.

RETURN ADDRESS

Like Senator Fingerhut, former South Carolina Congressman Arthur Ravenel Jr. returned to his state Senate seat to address legislative items still on his political plate. He initially hoped to get things done as governor of the Pal metto State, but when his 1994 bid for the post didn't succeed, he ran for the state Senate two years later.

"My main motivation was to put together the funding for a new bridge over the Cooper River in Charleston," says Ravenel, who was troubled when experts gave the old bridge spanning the river a score of four out of 100 for safety and integrity.

In 1997, South Carolina passed funding legislation he spearheaded, in 2001 the project broke ground, and in 2005 the longest cable-stayed bridge in North America opened to the public at a cost of $632 million. His work also helped establish an infrastructure bank to address other highly expensive highway department projects. He credits his Washington experience with helping him facilitate the funding and construction of this enormous project.

California Assemblymember Betty Karnette also had some unfinished transportation issues to work on when her Senate term ended in 2004. She ran for her old Assembly seat, and now sits on many of the same committees in the Assembly that she served on in the state Senate, including the Transportation Committee. "I didn't want my experience to go to waste," says Karnette. "I want to solve problems and work with people to make things happen."

Art English, a professor of political science at the University of Arkansas, says it takes time to learn the ways of the legislature, especially the budget process. As an example for his political science students when he's talking about the importance of experience in lawmaking, he asks: "Would you want someone to operate on you with 10 years of medical experience or someone right out of medical school?"

Moncrief says the Senate becomes a more experienced body in term-limited states when House members take the step up, but worries that "it weakens the House relative to the Senate."

But the new tendency for senators to run for the House can mitigate some of that imbalance, says Richard Niemi, professor of political Science at the University of Rochester.

Senator Fingerhut, who came back to the legislature after a stint in Congress, wouldn't want too many senators running for the House. "There are always a lot of talented people in the community whose time has come and we need to give them a chance," he says. Fingerhut wants the House to remain a place for newcomers to break into state politics. "We don't want to shut off that entry level," he says.

So it's understandable that some experience just doesn't transfer--at least for awhile. When term limits forced Arkansas Representative Bradford out of the Senate seat he held for 16 years and into a new post in the House, he found himself in a far less powerful position. President pro tempore of the Senate during his last two years, he couldn't even get a health committee appointment in his first year in the House. His experience wasn't overlooked for long, however, and today Representative Bradford is serving out his final term as speaker pro tempore.

WHAT'S BEST?

From his vantage point, South Dakota Representative Dennert sees little difference between the two houses. "The terms are the same, the pay's the same," he says.

For those moving from Congress to the state legislature, however, the pay's definitely not the same. Rank and file Congress members make $162,200 plus a tidy benefits package. Nonetheless, former South Carolina Senator Arthur Ravenel says, "Washington was the pits, as far as I'm concerned."

This southern gentleman finds Congress uncivil and the South Carolina legislature much more rewarding. "You are able to do something, accomplish things." In Washington, he says, he felt lost, which he readily admits had much to do with his minority party status at the time.

Leslie Byrne has moved up and down the political escalator with seven years in the Virginia House of Delegates, one term in Congress, two years as the White House director of Consumer Affairs, followed by a term in the Virginia state Senate and an unsuccessful run last year for lieutenant governor. She shares Ravenel's respect and preference for state politics.

"At least in Virginia, people do pay attention to the debate on a bill," unlike what she witnessed on Capitol Hill. In the legislature, "you could talk to each member, explain things to them, plus have the ability to make amendments to bills," she says.

Ohio Senator Eric Fingerhut says "it's much easier to get things done on the state level, because there are fewer people and competing interests to navigate on any issue."

Given his druthers, he would have continued in Congress, but that doesn't diminish his love for state legislative work. "My sense of accomplishment in the Senate every day is greater than I was able to accomplish in Congress," says Fingerhut. "Issues tend to be closer to home--when you work on something it has a direct impact on your community, so it's really gratifying."

ONCE A POLITICIAN, ALWAYS ONE

Perhaps Arthur Ravenel speaks for all lawmakers when he says "public service is in my blood."

With all that civic pride coursing through his veins, Ravenel--who left the state Senate in 2003--still isn't ready to throw in the political towel. This 79-year-old man, who served in both chambers of the South Carolina legislature and in Congress, as well as making a strong play for governor, has thrown his hat into another political ring. This time he's running for a seat on his local school board, in an election he hopes to win this fall.

Mindy Kaufman, a former NCSL employee, is a free-lance writer in Denver.