In the rain, memories of a decent man pour forth

A soft rain fell on the gravestones at Lakewood Cemetery as she moved through the twilight, past the elegant monuments to once important people: Cooley. Mitchell. Gannon. Bloom.

Dead leaves lined the road in mottled mounds and the smell of impending winter hung in brittle air. It was a day very much like the one eight years ago when it happened.

The woman stopped at a row of small markers in the earth, then bent down, cradled her camera and began to shoot.

A boulder behind the gravestones was covered with small stones, a Jewish tradition that shows that visitors have come to pay respects. The graves were surrounded by bouquets of flowers, an American flag and a campaign button. The large rock had a name carved into it: Wellstone.

Monday was the anniversary of the day in 2002 when Sen. Paul Wellstone, his wife, Sheila, and daughter, Marcia, died in a plane crash in northern Minnesota. As she has almost every year, Terry Gydesen was there to remember the people she came to know and admire when she photographed them on Wellstone's improbable, remarkable journey from college professor to U.S. senator. After the Wellstones died, Gydesen published a book of her photos, "Twelve Years and Thirteen Days: Remembering Paul and Sheila Wellstone," a wonderful piece of work that captured the infectious enthusiasm and optimism of the couple as they traveled the state in an old green school bus.

As Gydesen shot photos, another car stopped and a young man in a trench coat walked toward the grave. Then a Ford Explorer arrived, and an elderly couple got out. He had dressed up, in a sport coat and tie. She carried two flowers. A few minutes later, a woman with white hair hobbled to the grave despite a noticeable limp. In 30 minutes, at least a dozen people stopped by the Wellstones' graves, pausing just a few minutes to reflect. I asked several of them why they came, and they all said similar things.

"With politics as polarized as it is now, I wanted to be here," said Gydesen. "I think he really just wanted to help people. For me, it's mostly to remember that all of us can effect change, and I look at all the people he inspired to carry on."

That's why the man buried next to him, Carl Pohlad, who had given mostly to Republicans during his life, gave Wellstone a donation shortly before he died.

Another man, who didn't want his name used, said he came by after being reminded about the anniversary on the radio. He pointed to Wellstone's positive outlook and aversion to negative campaigning. "I was just proud to have him as my senator," he said.

Cynthia Daggett has come to the cemetery on Oct. 25 every year since 2002, except once. She met the Wellstones in the 1980s and grew to respect their dedication to the state. "I felt it was important to come this year because elections have gotten so nasty," said Daggett. Wellstone loathed that, she said. "Paul's unique gift was his pragmatic idealism. He never stopped shooting for the moon to try and get legislation accomplished that I'm sure many felt was utterly impractical, but his learning curve on how to work within the system once he hit D.C. was astounding.

"I think he taught me, whether you are Jewish or not, the importance of being a mensch," said Daggett. "And if you are going to talk about something, live it. Living with integrity is essential."

I didn't know Wellstone well. I talked to him once when I wrote a column for another publication that was very critical of a couple of his votes. Unlike many politicians today, he still returned my calls and he joked about my column. A few years later for this newspaper, I wrote a story about my wife's brush with death. A couple of days later I got a letter on U.S. Senate stationery that said: "You wrote a beautiful story. More importantly, you have a beautiful relationship - Paul."

Which is probably why a woman pulled into the cemetery Monday evening with her three children. They all stood there for a few minutes, heads bowed. Then the kids ran back through the graveyard in the rain.