LOOMING LARGENT

House Republicans still talk with awe about Largent’s ensuing speech. They recall how he swung the mood of the meeting in favor of the rebels and against Gingrich. Realizing this, Gingrich shifted from confrontation to conciliation. The message was unmistakable: Steve Largent wasn’t going to be pushed around by anyone.

Largent embodies the conservative combativeness of the Republicans elected to the House in the class of 1994. He’s a fervent opponent of abortion, gay rights, gun control, and the National Endowment for the Arts. On economic issues, he introduced legislation to scrap the tax code, he’d like to phase out Social Security, and last year he strongly opposed raising the minimum wage. He’s also devoutly religious. In a speech following his 1995 induction into the Pro Football Hall of Fame, he thanked “my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ” and said, “Football is what He gave me the physical gifts to do for a time, but my faith really defines who I am, as a husband, a father, and a man. ” Ralph Reed, the Christian Coalition’s former executive director, calls Largent “the genuine article.”

But there are other traits that distinguish Largent from the rest of the House. Before he ran for Congress in 1994, he had never sought public office. During his athletic career, he scarcely followed politics beyond listening to radio broadcasts by Focus on the Family’s James Dobson. That, and the birth of his first child in 1979, got him interested in public policy. But serving as an elected official never crossed his mind. “I didn’t even know what ‘GOP’ stood for when I got to Washington,” he says.

Political inexperience explains Largent’s distaste for the wheeling and dealing that most people in Washington accept as a fact of life. When it was learned last year that Rep. John Boehner, who holds the number-four slot in the Republican leadership, had been distributing campaign contributions from tobacco companies on the House floor, Largent was appalled. He remonstrated personally with Boehner and even considered running against him in the House GOP’s leadership elections.

Largent also possesses something found in few members of Congress: star quality. Since he came to Washington, People has twice named him one of its “Fifty Most Beautiful People in the World,” and even a reporter for the New York Times gushed recently that Largent “looks like a male model and is so friendly he might be mistaken for a flirt.”

Largent’s glamour, particularly in the macho environment of the House, stems from his 14 years with the Seattle Seahawks. And he wasn’t just any player: He was featured on a Wheaties box, and when he retired he had caught more passes than anyone else in pro-football history. He was selected for the Hall of Fame the first year he was eligible.

These qualities have won Largent a devoted following, particularly among conservatives, and made him popular on the fund-raising circuit. He attended about 50 events on behalf of other Republicans during his first term, and he looks out for his friends. When Gingrich canceled a fund-raiser for Rep. Mark Souder, a conservative Indiana Republican, after Souder voted in January 1996 against reopening the government, Largent called Souder the next day and said he’d come to the district for an event.

Souder, not surprisingly, is a Largent booster. So is Rep. Mark Sanford of South Carolina, who says Largent “is one of a handful of guys I would trust my life with.” His zeal for the Oklahoman is such that he wants him to run for president in 2000, though Largent has responded “coolly.” “Other people’s ambitions for Steve are greater than Steve’s ambitions for Steve,” Souder notes. Indeed, Largent told me he is “honored and humbled” people would want him to run for president, but says he doesn’t think it’s “realistic.” “It’s not an aspiration I have,” he says, though he allows that “miracles do happen. ”

He would know. His father deserted the family when Largent was a boy, and his mother married an alcoholic who moved the family frequently. They settled in Tulsa, where Largent starred in football and baseball in high school. He went on to become a stand-out wide receiver for the University of Tulsa and was a fourth-round draft pick of the Houston Oilers in 1976. The Oilers released him, however, and he was picked up by the Seahawks.

Prior to his final season in 1989, Largent pledged there were two things he wouldn’t do in retirement: coach or get into politics. He kept that promise until 1994, when the state’s Republican senator, Don Nickles, called and asked him to run for a vacant House seat. Largent said he wasn’t interested, but when he talked it over with his wife, she encouraged him to run. After more nudging from Nickles, he relented. In a Republican district, he prevailed with 63 percent of the vote.

Largent arrived in Washington with some fanfare, and Gingrich awarded him a prized seat on the Budget Committee. During the vaunted first 100 days, when the House was passing the Contract With America, Largent was such a loyal soldier that Gingrich asked to come to Largent’s Hall of Fame induction ceremony. Largent got him a front-row seat.

But their relations frayed when Gingrich started compromising in order to pass legislation. In the summer of 1995, Largent took the lead in defeating a Gingrich-backed compromise that preserved funding for the National Endowment for the Arts (though NEA funding later passed). He explained his thinking at the time to Linda Killian, author of The Freshmen, a forthcoming book on the House Republican class of 1994: “If we’re forced to use more guerrilla tactics, we’re not opposed to doing that, and we’re proud we’re capable of pulling it off.”

The tensions have persisted. During the government shutdown, Largent was one of those counseling no compromise; he even voted against having the furloughed federal employees return to work. A few months later, when it looked like Gingrich was going to allow a vote on increasing the minimum wage, Largent introduced a resolution among House Republicans trying to get them on the record in opposition. The effort failed, but Gingrich was furious. And shortly after the 1996 election, Largent made national news when he said on Fox News Sunday that it would be “a good idea” for Gingrich to step aside until he sorted out his ethics troubles.

As House Republicans seemed to be marching in place earlier this year, and Gingrich’s missteps were becoming more frequent, Largent started meeting with other conservatives to discuss what could be done. “We were content to watch the natural flow of things,” he recalls, adding, “Had any of us been able to write the script so it would have a happy ending, it would have been that the speaker would make an announcement prior to the election of ’98 that he was not going to seek another term in office.” But in July, members of the leadership signaled they were prepared to dump the speaker. Largent and other conservatives were willing to go along, but the coup later collapsed.

Today, Largent characterizes his relations with Gingrich as “positive” and says, “I don’t have any bitter feelings toward him.” After the botched coup, he went to Gingrich to ask him for an evaluation, and the speaker told him he didn’t think he was a team player. “From his perspective, I can understand why he would say that,” says Largent, acknowledging, “I don’t always want to go the same direction he wants to take the team.”

With a safe seat and no apparent interest in becoming a career politician — he once told a reporter he wanted his House tenure to be remembered as ” brilliant but brief” — Largent should find it easy to remain true to his beliefs. A clue to his mindset comes from Braveheart. The film is about William Wallace, the 13th-century Scottish rebel who wants the Scottish nobility to take a more aggressive stand against English oppression. In one memorable scene, Wallace explains to the nobles that winning more support from the Scottish commoners will require greater boldness. “People don’t follow titles,” says Wallace, “they follow courage.” Largent, who has seen the movie 10 times, says it’s his favorite line.

Matthew Rees is a staff writer at THE WEEKLY STANDARD.