No one seemed to know what to do when John Curtis entered the Senate chamber.
In the moments before, a steady stream of senators had shuffled in, taking their assigned seats. Mitt Romney, moments away from delivering his final Senate address, was already seated on the back row, his legs crossed, thumbing his cellphone. His colleagues, as they passed his desk, offered him greetings: Joe Manchin gave him a hug; Thom Tillis slapped his shoulder; Cory Booker cracked a joke.
Curtis, meanwhile, hovered by the door. The senator-elect from Utah had not yet been sworn into his new post, and he won’t have an assigned seat until he formally replaces Romney on Jan. 3. There had been some debate that morning among the senator-elect’s staff as to whether he should watch Romney’s speech from the Senate floor, as senators do, or take a seat in the visitors’ gallery above — he was there to show support, not steal the spotlight.
Playing postlude to Romney is tricky business. Romney, who entered the Senate in 2019, was already one of America’s most recognizable political figures. He became a lynchpin in historic Senate negotiations on COVID relief, infrastructure, manufacturing and gun reform. But Romney was also a lightning rod: openly critical of his party’s own president, he became the first senator ever to vote to impeach a president of his own party, which he did twice. He retires from political service as a two-time presidential candidate, a governor and senator, though he hopes his greatest legacy is that he “lived by and subscribed to my values.”
Enter Curtis — Romney’s heir, the good-natured congressman, standing awkwardly by the door. Romney saw him first, or perhaps Curtis saw Romney. The two embraced. A Senate aide, visibly confused by Curtis’ presence, helped Curtis find a seat in the corner on the visitors’ bench. Romney delivered his farewell speech. Curtis joined the standing ovation.
The act is now Curtis’ to follow. Curtis already has his own reputation, developed over three terms in the U.S. House and a decade in local government. He, too, positions himself a dealmaker and a pragmatist, delivering big wins for Utahns on public lands and water. He rallied Republicans to talk about the climate, previously viewed to be an off-limits issue for conservatives. And nearly two dozen of his bills have been signed into law, making him — by that metric — one of the most effective House members.
But the most frequent question he gets is whether he’ll be the “next Romney.” Those who ask him are rarely referring to legislative records, but to party loyalty. To the Trump-skeptical, Romney’s independence made him a hero; to the MAGA faithful, he was a heretic. Curtis, perhaps exasperated, has developed a boilerplate response: “I’m not Mitt Romney,” he says, “I’m John Curtis.”
Late last month, though, the issue came quickly into view. Trump’s pick for attorney general, former Rep. Matt Gaetz, withdrew from consideration after he decided at least four GOP senators were “implacably opposed” to his nomination, The New York Times reported. Curtis was listed among them. Curtis’ social media pages were quickly flooded with angry Trump supporters who called on him to resign. His House office phone lines were bombarded with out-of-state callers. Curtis’ press team attempted damage control, noting that Curtis had never met with Gaetz and emphasizing Curtis had not yet made up his mind.
As the storm blew over, a silver lining emerged: Curtis, a back-bencher who hadn’t even been sworn in as a senator, was now seen as a swing vote as Trump sought Senate confirmation for his top administration officials. Curtis accepted the challenge. “I think it’s very fair to say I’m not a rubber stamp,” Curtis said in an interview last Thursday.
As Trump’s Cabinet picks are paraded across Capitol Hill, Curtis is conducting what he deems a “deep dive” on each. Ahead of his visit last week with Kash Patel, Trump’s choice to lead the FBI, Curtis spent the weekend listening to Patel’s book and interviewing Patel’s former employees. He compares notes with his new Senate colleagues about their meetings with the Cabinet hopefuls. He’s instructed his staff to do their own research and to report back.
That Gaetz’s candidacy tanked was no surprise to Curtis. “I served with Matt,” Curtis said. “I knew what he was and what he wasn’t. And I think he knew very well he wasn’t the right candidate for this, and I knew that as well.”
Some have expressed concerns that Curtis’ carefulness is undermining Trump, who nominates his Cabinet. Curtis disagrees. “I think it actually bolsters the president,” he explained. “I think we play a role in the president getting the right people to support him and what he came to do. And even sometimes disagreeing can be a complementary role.”
That disagreement, though, has earned Curtis any number of labels. Some assume him to be a “moderate,” in the mold of Romney. Others try to demean him as a “RINO.” “Everybody tries to stereotype me,” Curtis said, shaking his head.
What label does Curtis prefer? “I’m normal,” he said.
‘Good compromise’
Curtis’ new office isn’t much to look at, but Curtis doesn’t mind. It will be several months before Curtis will be assigned his permanent office, after all the senators with seniority make their selections. For the time being, he’s consigned to a windowless hutch in the basement, with whitewashed brick walls and fluorescent lights.
“When we walked in, we said, ‘Hey, this is like our House office,’” Curtis said, smiling. “Everybody’s spoiled on the Senate side.” He shook his head. “It’s not that big a deal.”
The space will become more cramped come Jan. 3, when his office can officially begin onboarding new staffers. A number of former Romney employees are slated to come on board, though much of his staff will carry over from his House office. Corey Norman, Curtis’ chief of staff, has worked for Curtis since 2010. Boyd Matheson, the former chief of staff to Sen. Mike Lee, will assist as a strategic adviser to help facilitate the transition to the Senate.
But the most useful experience may be Curtis’ own. He arrives to the Senate with more experience in Congress than any senator from Utah in decades. The last Utahn to enter the U.S. Senate after serving in the U.S. House was Abe Murdock, a New Deal Democrat who lost reelection in 1946.
“As I watch my other colleagues that are coming in (the U.S. Senate) with me, they’re bright, they’re sharp, they’re very good, experienced people,” Curtis said. “But they’re walking around lost in the hallways, (and in) understanding the way Washington works.”
The biggest advantage Curtis has, he says, is his relationships. He spent his three terms in the House forging a number of unlikely alliances with conservatives and liberals alike. “The number of allies and alliances that I’ve been able to build during the last seven years are substantial and rewarding,” he said.
As the 119th Congress approaches, Curtis expects to lean on those alliances heavily. He’s already signaled his willingness to be the “tip of the spear” on negotiations over Social Security and Medicare, and he says the new Senate Majority Leader John Thune is on board. (“He and I have had very specific conversations about Social Security,” Curtis said.) On climate, Curtis says the “dialogue has totally changed” among Republicans, pointing to Trump’s selection of former Rep. Lee Zeldin, a member of Curtis’ Conservative Climate Caucus, to lead the Environmental Protection Agency. On fiscal responsibility, Curtis says he is “hearing from both Republicans and Democrats that it’s about time” to rein in spending. On immigration, Curtis said he’s willing to “jump” into finding solutions.
“We’re not going to be afraid to talk about issues that can get people in trouble,” Curtis said.
Curtis seems willing to do more than talk. In a political era where compromise can be equated with weakness, Curtis is careful to parse the difference between “bad compromise” and “good compromise” — or “consensus,” as his office brands it.
The former, Curtis posits, says, “I’ll give you half what you want, I want half of what I want, and neither of us really get a good bill.” Consensus, meanwhile, says, “Tell me what there is in my bill that’s bothering you; let me tell you what’s bothering me. Now that we understand and we’ve listened to each other, is there a cross section there, where we can both go back and take a win?”
Matheson, Curtis’ new strategic adviser, suggests this view of consensus sets Curtis apart. “Currently, many in Congress are trapped in a zero-sum game where compromise often falters before the finish line,” he said. “Sen.-elect Curtis’ ability to link arms with allies while forging strategic, and even unexpected, alliances will enable him to be a positive force for Utah and the nation.”
Curtis’ best legislative victories are evidence of this thinking. “You don’t pass 22 bills unless you get Democrats to agree with you on a lot of issues,” he said. The most impactful bill he ever passed, by his measure, is “clearly” the Emery County Public Land Management Act of 2018, a wonky natural resources bill that spliced up hundreds of thousands of acres of land in eastern Utah and redesignated them as wilderness area or conservation area. To the region’s residents, who recreate or graze livestock on the land, it was a bill decades in the making.
But what stands out to Curtis is the “degree of difficulty” in turning it into law, he said. As the bill neared the finish line, former Rep. Alan Lowenthal, a Democrat from Long Beach and the ranking member of the Subcommittee on Energy and Mineral Resources, expressed his distaste for the legislation. Curtis visited his office. “I want you to not hate my bill,” Curtis recalls telling Lowenthal. “What’s it going to take to get you to not hate my bill?” Lowenthal listed several things, including his fear that Curtis’ bill would change the national precedent for the types of drills rock climbers could use to insert bolts into rock walls.
Curtis took the concern back to his team, who came up with the idea of a new land designation that would allow Curtis’ desired changes to recreation standards but not impact wilderness-designated areas across the country. “If I’m honest, it made my bill a better bill,” Curtis recalled. Lowenthal didn’t just appreciate the change, but he voted for the final product. “We couldn’t have been more diametrically opposed philosophically — he’d define himself as liberal and I would define myself as conservative — but we shared that alliance of having found that cross section between what was important to each other,” Curtis said.
To onlookers, the compromise was masterful. “I’ve never seen anybody move legislation like he does,” Norman, Curtis’ chief of staff, said. Norman worked for the late Rep. Chris Cannon in the early 2000s, when local leaders in Emery County were petitioning for a similar solution. When Norman returned to Washington with Curtis 20 years later, he found that the same people were still waiting for a solution. “The only thing that changed was John Curtis,” Norman said. “We solved this thing because he did it.”
As Curtis reflects on Romney’s legacy, the outgoing senator’s work to find consensus on key issues looms large. “I just have a lot of respect for Sen. Romney,” Curtis said. “He’s done some work on legislation and been very successful on things that were important to him and to the state.”
Romney’s legacy as a pragmatist seems to be the area where Curtis is very comfortable comparing himself. As Romney and several of the Senate’s other chief dealmakers, like Manchin and Kyrsten Sinema, are on their way out, does Curtis have a desire to fill that role? “Not only desire,” Curtis said, “but if I were to brag on myself a little bit, I’d say it’s a superpower.”
Allies and alliances
Can a pragmatic Republican dealmaker find influence in Trump’s Washington? Curtis thinks so — and he thinks he already has.
It’s what his constituents want, he suggests. At a No Labels conference last week, Curtis earned applause by noting he “won a Republican primary in Utah with nearly 50% of the vote as the non-Trump-endorsed candidate.”
But the political landscape in Washington looks different even than it did when he won his primary last spring. Trump returns to office with Republican control of both chambers of Congress. The Senate has a new majority leader in John Thune — “a very good person,” Curtis said. “He’s the right person at the right time.”
The scope of Curtis’ reach, though, will largely rely upon the committee assignments he receives. His top choice was Energy and Natural Resources, though now that Sen. Mike Lee is the chair, it “wouldn’t make a lot of sense” for two Utahns to be there. (Utah’s congressional delegation, Rep. Celeste Maloy noted, is “better than any other state” at “making sure that our committee assignments all work together to cover the issues the state needs covered.”) Getting a seat on the Environment and Public Works committee would be a nice consolation prize, and “a great one-two punch for the state” especially as the 2034 Salt Lake Olympics approach, he said.
His other preferences? Finance (“realizing that freshmen don’t get that”); Commerce (“A lot of the work I’ve done in the House … would apply there”); Banking (“Most people don’t realize, Utah is the No. 1 industrial bank state”); or Foreign Relations (“It’s an interesting time in the world.”)
Wherever he ends up, Rep. Blake Moore, R-Utah, expects him to find success. “He’s an honest guy that will do the right thing, and he will be truthful to his constituents,” Moore said. “He’s somebody that I implicitly trust, and it’s kind of rare in this world.”
Maloy agrees. “I’ve been really impressed with his ability to work with people who disagree with him, and he does it in such an agreeable way,” she said.
That approach, Curtis suggests, is baked into the history of his state — a “pioneer value,” he said. He sees it in the story of Martha Hughes Cannon, the first U.S. woman ever elected to a state senate, whose statue was unveiled at the U.S. Capitol last week. Cannon was a physician, a health reformer, a suffragist, and a wife and mother. But Curtis, when speaking at a luncheon hours before the statue was unveiled, decided to focus on her role as a dealmaker, in forging “allies and alliances.”
Cannon was not successful “by demonizing opponents, bludgeoning skeptics or bashing men,” Curtis said, “but by engaging allies and building strategic alliances based on democratic principles and shared moral values.”
The lesson for 21st-century leaders was clear, Curtis suggested: “Let’s commit to being the allies and forging the alliances that history demanded back then — and upon which the future of America depends, now — in our families, in the workplace, in our communities, at the ballot box, and in the halls of power.” His speech earned a standing ovation.
That speech — delivered to an audience of local politicians, civic leaders and historians who’d flown out from Utah — was Curtis’ best opportunity to speak to his state’s movers and shakers before he enters the Senate in January. Curtis, it seemed, was attempting to put his stake in the ground, declaring exactly how he intends to govern in the Senate: in constant search of consensus.
I asked Curtis if this was a fair assumption, and he smiled. “You’re not reading too much into it,” he said.