John Burris: The ‘Great And Good’ John Paul Hammerschmidt

John Paul Hammerschmidt, often referred to as JPH, passed away on April 1st at the age of 92. He outlived most of the people who were qualified to speak about the significance of his life. That’s unfortunate for him, but good for those he continued to help, all the way until his very last days.

Winston Churchill said “great and good are seldom the same man.” JPH proved why the word seldom is the right qualifier. The two traits can exist together. He was both.

A business owner, a decorated World War II pilot, a powerful Congressman, and a very nice man, he never missed an opportunity to help others. Like many people from Harrison – our shared hometown – I have stories about how this great man helped me.

In the fall of 2008, at age 22, I was running for state representative. I am young now. I was really young then.

JPH offered me his support, early and without hesitation. That, coupled with the support of a tough, cattle-farming GOP county chairman named CJ Sims, is certainly the only reason I avoided a primary challenge.

He did all the normal things a former Congressman would do when supporting another candidate. He contributed, provided a quote for a mail-out, and even recorded a radio ad. In Harrison, that means driving to the radio station and recording the ad.

On September 27th, my 23rd birthday, he hosted a fundraiser for me at his Harrison home. I didn’t tell him it was my birthday.

All of his support was critical and more than I deserved. But in typical JPH form, he wanted to do more than the normal helpful things, and he never wanted credit for doing it.

The radio ad he recorded in my support was playing in rotation with several others. Towards the end of October, I thought it might be good to play the JPH endorsement more often than I had been. I called the station manager and asked her to drop the other ads and play only the JPH ad for the remainder of early voting.

She seemed a little confused and asked if I had talked to Mr. Hammerschmidt lately. I told her I had not. As it turned out, he had come in a few days before and written a $500 check to the station and asked to them to run his endorsement ad in heavier rotation. He had not told me.

It’s vintage JPH in almost every way. He could have donated more money directly to my campaign and told me to use it to run his ad, but that would have seemed too self-important. He could have called and told me what he did, but that would have been self-congratulatory. Even the fact that I would be required to report what was technically a campaign contribution didn’t cross his mind. He was just trying to help.

I called him and thanked him for the additional support. He assured me it was no issue at all. He obviously viewed it very differently than me.

I won my race. I joked with him a few times that he was to blame for anything that’s happened since. He never seemed to mind, but would not have told me if he did.

His support of me is in no way reflective of any level of significance I held to him; it’s the other way around. I was one of thousands with whom he interacted and tried to help. I’m simply one of many who benefitted from the level of his character.

If JPH could ever force himself to be proud of something, I believe it would be the untold acts of kindness he performed. Not the interstates. Not the airports. Not the awards.

The era of politics in which he served was very different from today. Infrastructure funding mattered more than deficits. Elected officials were still admired, even if naively.

JPH believed politics was about respect and charity, unlike today, where snark and wit are the most practiced and admired qualities.

He wasn’t perfect. He was just a very, very good man who did a lot of great things.

That should be remembered, celebrated, and hopefully learned from.