In 1977, I shocked the conservative faculty of Pacific Union College by announcing that I was running for Congress—as a Democrat. They shook their heads in disbelief, and then they laughed.

To understand their reaction you need to remember that year. Jimmy Carter was U.S. president having beat Gerald Ford, who followed Richard Nixon. Hippies were still very much a part of the San Francisco scene; the Viet Nam War was still fresh in our consciousness; and at PUC beards and sleeveless dresses were not allowed. In Northern California, replete with vineyards, old-stand redwoods, marijuana growers, and one-third of the California coastline, there had never been a woman run for Congress as a major party nominee.

The decision was not made quickly or capriciously. Was it important to do? Should an Adventist do this? Did I have a chance to win? How would it affect my husband and my sons? Could I take it if I lost? It had taken a year of research, study, and self-searching before the decision was made.

The union president warned that my husband’s position as professor of Old Testament and archaeology might be jeopardized. The college president wished me luck and gave me a letter safeguarding my position as professor of speech pathology and audiology.

My opponent, a twenty-year incumbent with Seventh-day Adventist family ties, was widely viewed in Washington and in the district as a "nice" but ineffectual congressman. His approval rating and win numbers had been sliding for some time and were now very low. Clearly someone was going to beat him soon. Why not a woman? Why not me?

The "hot" issues in our district were the Equal Rights Amendment, the proposed Redwood National Park, inflation, and abortion. Although I learned about—and cared about—those issues, the ones I wanted to fight for were not on the front pages. The legislation I cared deeply about affected children, women, health care, students, education, and the environment. My opponent’s record on these issues appalled me.

We ran a very grassroots campaign. It was exhilarating, exciting, exhausting, and very expensive. We were outspent ten to one. The media referred to me as "the mother of two" until after I won the primary. Later most of the eighty small newspapers in our six-county, mostly rural district endorsed me. The twenty-five radio stations and four television stations in our district, with a few notable exceptions, were supportive. I was a novelty! That I did not campaign on Saturday was noted and widely reported. There were some who checked their watches for sundown, when I arrived for Saturday night meetings. Supporters made sure I had vegetarian meals and Perrier.

My husband and I went to church in whatever city I happened to be campaigning that week. Members were curious and asked questions. We would hand them our phone number and ask them to call later. Because of this curiosity there were a few pastors who preferred I not attend their church, but scores of church members, especially in Mendocino, Sonoma, and Humboldt Counties, worked hard to help me win. I did not ask church members for money (a big mistake).

The Good Part: I learned so much! I met people I would never have known otherwise—President Jimmy Carter, his family, world leaders, more than fifty members of Congress, California leaders, and thousands of wonderful people in all walks of life.

The Bad Part: The tyranny role of money. The viciousness of the anti-groups, the loss of some I had counted as friends. The hurt and disappointment when the church hierarchy campaigned against me.

I didn’t go to Congress. In Ronald Reagan’s Republican landslide I won about 46 percent of the vote. But I am so glad I tried; it was time well spent.

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