Year’s ago I read a story in Readers’ Digest about a young college student sitting for his final exam in a philosophy class. (I can’t remember exactly, but since it’s my column, I’ll call him Bob.) It was an essay test and each student was allowed one pencil, one blue-book, and three hours to compose the answer to one single, yet-to-be revealed, question. Each student’s final grade rested on their ability to critically convert the semester’s lessons into the written word. The rules were simple; fail this exam you fail the class. Bob sat silently as the door closed and the professor scrawled the exam question across the calk board, “What is courage?”

He fidgeted nervously as he stared at his twenty blank pages while everyone else in the room frantically assembled their thoughts into words. Their pencils scratched along like they had memorized War and Peace and they were busily regurgitating page after page of the famous novel. Bob sat. Writers’ block is a debilitating syndrome and Bob was badly infected. Thinking it might help to make the motion of writing, he printed the title “What is courage?” at the top of page one. Bob sat and stared some more. He moved his coffee cup from the left side of the desk to the right; maybe that would help. Suddenly, as he wondered why neon lights purposely make such a loud annoying buzzing sound, a brilliant idea ricocheted into his mind. Bob grabbed his pencil and on the line directly below the title, he boldly printed, “This is!” He signed his name, strode to the front of the room, dropped his blue-book essay exam on the desk in front of his professor, and marched out the door. Amazed by how fast he had finished his exam, his classmates and professor quietly stared in disbelief as the door swung shut behind him. He received an “A”. (Obviously it had to turn out this way. If Bob had received a “C” or an “F” it wouldn’t have been printed in Readers’ Digest, and I wouldn’t be mentioning it now.) I told you this story so you would understand three incidents where elected officials showed true courage last week in Montana’s legislature. Let me explain.

Presenting any bill before a legislative committee can be nerve wracking. You stand in the middle of the room before 20 elected legislators and present your case knowing everything you say is being video-taped. Seated behind you, are dozens of citizens preparing to either support or destroy you depending on the subject matter. If you are carrying a bill establishing useless things like the declaration of an official state pancake or state lullaby, the hearing will be warm and fuzzy. Carry something of substance and the reception isn’t so friendly. On January 18th before the House Judiciary Committee, Rep. Derek Skees’ (R-Whitefish) legislation eliminated two seats in the Montana Supreme Court, dropping the number of justices from seven to five. His reception wasn’t warm, fuzzy or friendly.

Fearlessly, Rep. Skees stepped to the microphone and passionately argued his position. “I know there are no supporters behind me and the opposition will be intense,” he declared. No matter; he stood like a rock—and he was correct in both predictions. At the conclusion of his hearing, attorney and Judiciary Committee Chairman Ken Peterson (R-Billings) chided him in a manner more fitting the cross examination of a child molester than the questioning of a fellow elected official. Regardless, Rep. Skees never flinched.

On January 20th, Rep. Champ Edmunds (R-Missoula) fearlessly stood before the House State Administration Committee, and presented legislation to move the cut-off date for voter registration to 30 days prior to elections. As many elections are determined by less than a dozen votes, bussing masses of uninformed voters to the polls can dramatically affect the outcome. Rep. Edmunds’ proposal was attacked ferociously, yet he too stood like a patriot.

Finishing the week, Rep. James Knox (R-Billings) was suffering back pain in committee Friday afternoon. He drove himself to the hospital expecting pain medication and muscle relaxants to offset an injury he received in a car accident the previous December. Instead of prescribing opiates, doctors ran a couple tests, knocked him out and then put a stent in one of his coronary arteries—at least that was the facebook posting he made at 11:23 that same night. Representative Knox is not only the type of guy who drives himself to the emergency room with a heart attack, he is the kind who would have snaked the stent up his vein and returned to the committee hearing had they not rendered him unconscious and taken his clothes. (Taking your clothes and wallet is a collection technique used to improve the probability patients will cough up their co-pay upon dismissal. It’s hard to negotiate with hospital administrators when they are fully clothed sitting behind the counter and you’re naked and standing in the hall.) His website reports he expects to vote from his hospital bed on Monday. Talk about protecting fellow patriots by throwing yourself on a hand grenade, Rep. Knox is giving his all for the cause.

Watching Representatives Skees, Edmunds and Knox it is obvious—being a public servant isn’t all fat steaks and whiskey.