October 4, 1993, was a full news day. In Moscow, Boris Yeltsin stormed the White House with tanks; in Somalia, eighteen Americans were killed in the bloodiest violence yet directed against U.N. forces; in San Fransisco, President Clinton continued his whirlwind tour to pitch his health care plan. Amid all this, one piece of significant news didn't make the networks' evening programs until halfway through the broadcasts: After a 38-year career in the House of Representatives, House Minority Leader Robert Michel of Illinois announced his retirement from politics.

As a lifelong Democrat who walked precincts for Dukakis in 1988, worked as a staffer for the Clinton campaign in 1992, and has served for two years on the executive board of the College Democrats, I would not strike most people as one who would take Bob Michel for a hero. But a hero he was.

Bob Michel was truly one of the best. In a chamber where guile and deception were often the tools of the trade, Michel was a straight shooter who believed in principle and honor. His word was as good as gold; his handshake was always a firm guarantee. Michel was so genuine--so natural--that even dishonest men could not look him in the eye and lie to him.

Michel served in the minority for every one of his 38 years in the House. He never became Speaker; he never chaired a committee; he never chaired a subcommittee. No representative has ever served in the minority longer. It is also doubtful that anyone has ever served in the minority better.

The question of how any issue will play in middle America--"How will it play in Peoria?"--always had particular relevance for Michel, because he was born in Peoria and represented the town in Congress. Michel's life was the very picture of small-town America: He had a paper route, joined the service when war erupted in the 1940s, landed at Normandy on D-Day, and spent the rest of his life in public service to his community and his country.

His career was spent defending the principles valued in places like Peoria: lower taxes, a tolerant but sensible social policy, and a foreign policy predicated on the exceptionalism of America. If you wanted to know how middle America would feel about something, the best thing to do would be to ask Bob Michel.

In an era when suffocating Democratic control of the House drove many of his Republican colleagues out of office and left others playing media games and resorting to political showmanship, Michel was an exception. He was a doer; he believed in legislation and in compromise. These qualities drew criticism from younger House Republicans, who claimed Michel was too accommodating and not sufficiently conservative. It didn't matter that Michel consistently ranked near the top in the National Conservative Political Caucus's annual evaluations of congressmen

In the early 1980s, young GOP House members adopted a new strategy for combatting the insurmountable Democratic majority. Led by Newt Gingrich, they decided to take advantage of C-Span TV cameras situated 24 hours a day in the House chamber by making alarmist, often untrue, speeches from the podium about what the Democrats were doing to the House. Most of the time, there were few other members in the chamber; sometimes, there were none because everyone else had gone home for the night. These tactics so infuriated Speaker Tip O'Neill that he directed some untoward language at Gingrich from the podium. When Gingrich taunted the Speaker, most Republicans gave him a standing ovation. Michel remained seated and bore into Gingrich with a stare that could have cut a diamond.

In 1985, Republican Richard McIntyre had been declared the winner in a disputed Indiana election, but a special House committee, in a straight party-line vote, gave the seat to Democrat Frank McCloskey. When McCloskey took his oath, angry Republicans walked out of the chamber in protest. Michel returned alone and shook McCloskey's hand.

Michel never got the recognition that other congressional leaders received. The media treats Bob Dole as if he were President--and he acts accordingly. Gingrich, the House minority whip, captures headlines with his quotability and his flamboyance. House Majority Leader Dick Gephardt has never met a TV camera he hasn't liked. And Michel, the quiet man with the kindly gaze, remains in the background and does his job. He is certainly the least wellknown of Congress's leaders, and most Americans would not recognize him if they passed him on the street.

But to seek attention was never why Bob Michel went to Congress. For 38 years, he did his job, made laws, and was a living argument against term limits. He was not the smartest member of Congress. He was not a dazzling speaker. He was always uncomfortable with the demands of being a public figure in the multimedia age. But he served with honor in an institution increasingly populated by dishonorable men and women.

There are few people like Bob Michel in Congress anymore. Few people who think the best way to win reelection is to make good laws instead of tailoring one's voting record to the home constituency. Few people who see a congressional career in terms of public service, not politics. Few people who refuse to sling dirt for political gain.

The minority leadership of the House now moves to Gingrich, who had announced his intention to oppose Michel for the party leadership in the next Republican conference and might well have won. Tired of Gingrich's machinations and no doubt weary after four decades of thankless but exemplary service as minority leader, Michel called it quits. What Gingrich may do with his power makes me cringe, considering his past.

Bob Michel's career, by contrast, demonstrates that politics can be a noble and honorable profession, even in this profoundly antigovernment age. All of us owe him gratitude for his distinguished service--though most of us probably don't realize our debt. In coming years, unfortunately, Americans who had never heard of Bob Michel may begin to realize what they've lost.