Drowning in a Red Sea: Joe Yetter in Oregon's 2nd Congressional District

Thinking about running for Congress? It might be the experience of a lifetime. 

Red. Bright Red. And very Trumpy.

Decide now. Pull together a team of supporters. The window for filing in Oregon starts September 14. The primary is in May. 

One man's story, Part One.

Joe Yetter is a retired physician who practiced family medicine and pathology in the military and civilian life on three continents. He ran for Congress in 2022 and he was badly crushed by Cliff Bentz. He and his wife, Lee, live on a small ranch near Azalea, in Douglas County. 

I supported his campaign. He seemed earnest and intelligent. He had a lifetime of public service and he cared about things I cared about. His opponent had voted to overturn the presidential election in Pennsylvania, even though the certified and audited results showed Biden had won by 80,000 votes. Trump told his lawyers just to claim that there was fraud, and to let the GOP Representatives take care of awarding the presidency to him. Bentz played his part. I consider it shameful and un-patriotic of him. That was a deal-killer and motivator for me.

Guest Post by Joe Yetter

The Washington Post’s Paul Waldman published an opinion piece, “Democrats should stop squandering money on glamorous lost causes.”  

Hey! Paul Waldman’s talking about me. I “squandered” a boatload of my own money and several boatloads of other people’s money—including bucks that once resided in the wallet of our host, Peter Sage.

I ran for Congress in a district that was perhaps R+30 in a midterm election. I bet against the house, and I lost.

To my surprise and delight, I had a great time. I'm an introvert (I redlined the “Introversion” score on my Myers-Briggs back in its heyday), and I don't care much for driving. But I loved meeting so many interesting, smart, and accomplished people in this vast district. 

Vast? Liz Cheney (WY-Ostracized) lives closer to Cliff Bentz than I do.  So I drove a lot. People welcomed me into their homes, introduced me to friends, put me in touch with local elected officials and media, set up meet-and-greets and arranged dinners and beer and karaoke. 

Introversion, schmintroversion.  You can find videos of me karaoke-ing Marty Robbins’ El Paso; I recommend that you not.

What I heard along the way was not merely folk’s overall concerns over democracy and individual liberty (especially after Roe was overturned.) Their quotidian concerns were economic: housing, jobs, health, infrastructure. No surprises there: people have immediate concerns. I was talking on the phone with a very smart, politically engaged veterinarian back in March. “Fish on!” he shouted, and hung up. Priorities.

I met a Tribal elder whose father’s memories reached back to the start of the Pendleton Roundup (1910), and whose grandfather had told him first-hand tales of Chief Joseph and the Nez Perce War. This elder was a font of wisdom and knowledge, and he positively oozed optimism for the future. A few miles away, I listened to a 16-year-old Native American who expressed utter despondence, her classmates and friends already decimated by drugs, disease, and violence. She saw no future with her in it. I listened in despair.

I met with mayors and commissioners, cattlemen and real estate investors, firefighters, aircraft engineers and drone developers. Every one of them was positive about their own futures.

Out in the sagebrush, up in the mountains, I heard over and over, “Portland,” as an epithet; it was weaponized against Democrats. I saw homeless encampments on Reservations and at the edges of small towns, but distant “Portland” was consistently invoked to condemn Democrats. 

I worked the Democratic booth at Pioneer Days in Canyonville, and one fellow assured me that he knew I was a “gun-grabbing pedophile.”

I met a host of great people. One mayor was a retired Marine Corps Colonel; he and I had served at Supreme Headquarters Allied Powers Europe at the same time, though we didn’t know each other then. I commanded the hospital there, and he was engaged with the combat folks, so while we certainly had attended some briefings and events together, we hadn’t met. We both considered ourselves pragmatists and we wound up agreeing on almost every policy we discussed, especially regarding housing and economic development.

Among the inspiring people I met, and worked with, were fellow Democrats on their own campaign trails. 

Many the people I met had been Peace Corps volunteers. I know I was meeting a select group, but the proportion was still remarkable. (They tell me there are three kinds of Peace Corps volunteers: a third go to Africa and come home with bizarre diseases; a third go to South America and come home with radical politics; a third go to the South Pacific and…they…don’t…come…home.)  One couple who came home from decades in Africa hosted me several times; they continue their service to our nation—and their neighbors—right here at home.

I flatter myself to believe that I also continued my own service to our country, just a bit. And I had a heck of a good time. 

Even though I lost the election, I feel great about carrying Democratic values out to the community.

My quest wasn’t a “glamorous lost cause” (à la Waldman).  Victory was improbable, but not impossible: candidates and campaigns implode, black swans exist, and the future…well: Ya nevah know.

 

Tomorrow: Part Two, why Joe Yetter ran for Congress. 

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