The Senator

No one who attended the 1978 Virginia Republican Convention will forget the experience. In a gathering described as the biggest political convention ever, thousands packed the Coliseum to nominate a candidate for the U.S. Senate. The contest featured three frontrunners -- Richard Obenshain, the architect of a state GOP that rose from the Goldwater movement; Linwood Holton, a Valley Republican and the first of his party to win election as governor in the 20th century; and John Warner, a longtime party activist and the husband of Elizabeth Taylor -- as well as the inexplicable Nathan Miller, a state senator from somewhere who achieved ignominy as the GOP's 1981 nominee for lieutenant governor.

The balloting lasted for several rounds. The candidates worked the crowds. One remembers -- perhaps accurately -- Warner marching up and down the aisles, dressed in suspenders. Did Miss Taylor, then or at other times, really sport a sailor's cap? Obenshain eventually prevailed, as Warner gave a gracious concession speech. Weeks later heartbreak struck. Obenshain died in a plane crash. History honors him as an individual of conviction and integrity.

Party leaders selected Warner to replace the fallen hero. In November, Warner won one of the closest elections in state history. The question greeting the new senator asked whether he would be a celebrity or a serious legislator. His service in two wars -- once in the Navy, once in the Marines -- indicated service defined his career, and as a senator Warner earned a reputation for hard work. He devoted himself to Virginia, and cooperated with colleagues on both sides of the aisle. National security became a natural speciality. Others looked to him for leadership. His eccentricities delighted many.

Although he voted a reliably conservative line, Warner infuriated movement activists. His vote against Robert Bork's nomination to the Supreme Court created a breach that, to some, never closed. (We admired Bork's intellect and endorsed his nomination, but we admit to subsequent reservations regarding his ideology and temperament.) During certain campaigns Warner aggressively supported the GOP's nominees; during others he went fishing.

Warner won re-election four times, usually with ease. In 1996 he had a close call against Mark Warner, who spent the GDP of a mid-sized country in his maiden race. "Marknotjohn" went on to become governor, and last month routed another former governor, Jim Gilmore, in the race to succeed John Warner.

Warner always looked and acted the part. In a visit to the editorial offices during the early days of the Clinton administration, Paul Tsongas (a former Massachusetts senator and a leading candidate for the 1992 Democratic presidential nomination) spoke of him with awe. Warner leaves the stage to acclaim but without a legacy. His triumphs were personal. There is no Warner doctrine. His approach to legislating deserves praise. The content is lacking. This is not said in stern reproach. The nation is fortunate if one or two senators in each generation make an enduring mark. The most glaring absence during Warner's era was a bipartisan failure of leadership regarding terrorism. A few voices spoke in the wilderness. Richard Lugar of Indiana, for instance, may have been the most forthright in assessing the threat. He received scant attention. A citizenry that did not want to listen shares the blame, and the shame.

Virginia salutes John Warner and thanks him for his many years of effective representation. The mild melancholy accompanying the celebration is an admission of the limits of political power, and of the insufficiences of pure reason.