It won't surprise anyone who had even a passing acquaintance, or had just heard of the man, to learn that Stanley Russ of Conway, Ark., and good government in general had also been a good soldier in Uncle Sam's artillery. He'd completed Officer Candidate School at Fort Sill, going on to become an artillery instructor there. Discharged as a first lieutenant in the early 1950s, he would go on to serve in the National Guard till the early 1960s.
Even the politicians he'd tangled with over the years had to admire his independence, his guts, his intelligence, and his sense of humor--which never left him even in the darkest moments. As usual with Bill Clinton, this obituary for another politician was really all about him. ("Stanley did a lot of good, and he made all of us who worked with him better.") Even if they were working against him.
Another former governor, Mike Beebe, remembered that Senator Russ "was always joking. He loved big words, but he used them in a joking manner." Mike Beebe had the senator's number, all right, for Mike Beebe understood just what Senator Russ was up to when he laid one of those multisyllabic terms on humorless types who took them seriously--or pretended to in order to maintain their self-conferred status as bonafide intellectuals.
Vic Snyder, the former United States congressman from Arkansas, noted that Stan Russ "was very hard-working, very committed to doing right by Arkansas. He enjoyed a sense of humor, and most of the time we enjoyed it, too." Let us now praise Saint Vic for his candor in using the phrase, "most of the time."
There was a natural humility about Senator Russ that explains why he could be seen even in his 80s picking up litter around his hometown of Conway where he remained a familiar figure and one everybody knew or wished to know. He had both the statesman's vision and the common man's disdain for the kind of pols who have an inflated estimate of their own importance in the world. There is a story about a local politician who was listening to a visiting presidential candidate go through his party's ticket from top to bottom, somehow finding something good to say about each and every one of them, as his bored wife chatted on. "Hush, Martha!" commanded the local pol. "He's about to get to my name!"
If he didn't tell that story himself, surely Stanley Russ would have appreciated it. This world is full of humorless types on whom jokes would be wasted. It's as if they were born to be the butt of jokes, not make them. To say that both press and public admired Stanley Russ would be an understatement, for he was that rare figure, someone who could make the rest of the world laugh not in derision but admiration.
How folks will go on and on about their senator, friend and confidant in a way good soldier and good man Stanley Russ never would. For the senator understood that brevity is the soul of wit and a pun the lowest form of humor. In that way, he was both a man of refinement and resignation, for he didn't just poke fun at others but seemed sorry for them, since they were missing so much about life in a small town--and in the great world beyond.
What a blessing it is to born, live, and die in the same small town, maybe in the same small house. Those who don't have that privilege can only be envious of someone as deeply rooted in his community as Stanley Russ was. He could walk with presidents and kings, or with his next-door neighbor, and not be too much affected, or even impressed, by either one. He was just who he was, and for that both his town and his state can be thankful. Rest in peace, senator. You did us--and yourself--proud, even if pride was a quality you were much too knowing ever to show. Instead, you gave the rest of us good reason to take pride in you.
Editorial on 01/10/2017