Its amazing how quickly we forget our leaders. After serving 31 years in Congress, running one of the most likeable Presidential campaigns in history, and nearly getting elected majority leader of the U.S. House of Represenatives, Democrat Morris Udall's political career was cruelly and tragically brought to a halt by Parkinson's disease. Once famed as perhaps the wittiest man in Congress (as well as one of the most effective), Udall died seven years after his retirement -- his sterling wit permanently silenced as the disease robbed him of his ability to speak. Most tragically, this man who -- with his brother Stewart -- co-founded both the current conservation movement and America's first Mormon political clan, died a forgotten figure, remembered only by a few political junkies like myself. Fortunately, however, Donald Carson and James Johnson have produced a wonderfully engaging biography of this man that gives us a warts-and-all portrait of a remarkable public servant. While giving ample reason why the man was so beloved, they also don't flinch from revealing why Morris Udall ultimately remained a mystery to even his own family. Unlike other political biographies, this book neither sets out to debunk or canonize Rep. Udall but instead stands as a sharp portrait of a complex man whose public service -- whether you agreed with his liberal politics or not (I certainly don't) -- made this country a better place.

Written in a breezy, conversational tone that still manages to maintain a proper biographical distance, Mo follows Udall from his strict Mormon childhood in Arizona to his first election to the U.S. House. While a great deal of the book focuses on Udall's legislative achievements -- Udall was an environmentalist before it become trendy -- the best of the early chapters deal with Udall as a liberal upstart setting out to reform the stodgy House. As Udall himself would often wryly point out, his political life was often a bizarre tragic comedy of second-place finishes that ultimately became victories for others. Both of Udall's insurgent campaigns for both Speaker and Majority Leader ended in failure but sparked the revolution that overthrew (however briefly) the Congressional seniority system. The book's highlight is the detailing of Udall's 1976 campaign for the Democratic Presidential nomination where he managed to finish second in a record number of primaries without ever once finishing first. If Udall didn't set the electorate on fire, he did distinguish himself by revealing himself to be one of the most genuinely witty Presidential wanna-bes to ever pop up on a primary ballot (or, as one columnist put it, "Is Morris Udall to funny to be President?" That's the 70s talking. As of late, some genuine and intentional humor in American politics would be a bit of a relief, I'd think.) The campaign made Udall famous for his wit but as this biography reveals, that wit often concealed a rather distant temperment that so focused on work that even his own children grew up calling him "Mo." As a politician, Udall was that rare thing -- an honest and sincere compassionate liberal who actually saw big government as a way to help the downtrodden. Yet this same man who dedicated his life to helping strangers drove one wife to divorce and another to alcoholism and suicide. The dichotomy makes for a fascinating read and Carson and Johnson explore these issues without ever descending into lurid muckracking. The book concludes with a touching (and quite frankly heartbreaking) section dealing with Udall's final, brave, and tragic battle with Parkinson's Disease (which, as I read it, was also sadly reminicent of Ronald Reagan's -- another politician never given the respect that was his due -- current battle with Alzheimer's; another nefarious disease that, like Parkinson's, cruelly robs men and women of their dignity without reason or warning.)

Despite the fact that, politically, I'm probably about as far to the right as the late Congressman Morris Udall was to the left, I still find myself mourning the comically tragic failure of his 1976 campaign for the Democratic Presidential nomination. As the election was the first post-Watergate election and the Republican Party was going through one of its periodic near-deaths, the election of a Democrat was pretty much assured. All Udall had to do was win the nomination and, for four years at least, a one-eyed, 6'5, former probasketball player and nonpracticing Mormon named Mo Udall would have been President. Of course, the nomination didn't go to Udall but instead went to the far less witty Jimmy Carter. Considering the way the world was in the late 70s, its doubtful Udall would have had any a better time of it than Carter but instead of hearing that America's problems were due to "malaise," a President Udall would at least find time to tell at least one corny, Ayatollah joke. And, even if the voters didn't realize it at the time, America would have been better off for that joke. Just as its now better off to have this book to remember Morris Udall by.

Every student of U.S. politics or Arizona history should read this book. Carson and Johnson thoroughly and brilliantly chronicle the life of a man who profoundly influenced the course of America in ways that politicians of greater renown never did. The authors reveal how Mo Udall could champion the most liberal causes and yet gain the respect of someone as conservative as Barry Goldwater. Read this book and you'll wonder what turns America might have taken had Udall fulfilled his dream of becoming president.

This meticulously researched and scholastically outstanding biography of Morris Udall follows his life and political times, focussing on his career, his 30-year congressional history, and his radical challenges to seniority systems. Recommended for anyone studying contemporary American politics in general and House/Senate politics in particular, Mo is a "must" for the legions of Mo Udall supporters and admirers.