Political Wilderness in the Wild West

Once upon a time, yours truly lived in the community of Lake Los Angeles.  The community is situated in California's High Desert in the northeast corner of Los Angeles County, astride two postal zip codes belonging to the larger cities of Lancaster and Palmdale. Consequently, this quirky little town didn't really have it's own name and the only lake it ever had was a developer's disaster that held water only in El Nino years.
When I got there in the late 1980's, the area was populated primarily by aerospace workers who were drawn by the promise of clean air, low crime rates, and affordable housing. Suspending reality, newcomers ignored the fact that hospitals, department stores, and supermarkets were 20 miles away.  We ignored the Mohave green rattle snakes, scorpions, and vinegaroons that crawled through the cat door.  We weren't consciously aware of the facts that you could cook bacon on the dashboard of your car in the summer and that pipes would explode in the icy fist of a winter night. The stark buttes had a certain moon-like beauty that whispered "peace" to folks that had never lived there for more than a fortnight.
So, it took a special kind of person to want to call the high desert home.  Disney had a horse ranch there. It was a carrot, onion, alfalfa, and garlic growers' Mecca. Car ranchers had room to collect their broken down trophies. Folks who favored larger pets found precious room to let them run. Far from the distractions of tinseled Hollywood, theaters, beaches, and great halls of learning, it screams: "Rugged Individual!" For better or worse, inhabitants embrace that "ism" with a sense of personal pride. In the past 20 years, the area has endured rampant job losses and two housing crises that gave it the distinction of being the nation's foreclosure capital. But, the tough folks still hang in there.
Not surprisingly, the area has elected some pretty interesting characters over the years.  For example, "William J. "Pete" Knight once was the mayor of Palmdale who later became a state assemblyman and senator.  Pete was a combat pilot and a test pilot who still holds the title of "world's fastest man" for his flight in the X-15A-2. Pete was a man's man: Small in stature, bigger than life, a chain-smoking party animal, who favored younger women and tasteless jokes. He was as politically incorrect as a person could be; and yet, his electorate loved him.
So, it comes as no surprise that brand-loyal, conservative voters of the 36th Assembly District would hang hope on Pete's son, Stephen Knight.  Steve is a high school graduate (no college) who served in the Army (Germany), and became a (gun-toting) police officer. Like his dad, Steve is a Republican, but dad was a different brand of conservative.  Dad was hugely disagreeable to social liberals, but he was effective.  Alas, the hapless voters of the desert seem to not have picked up on the fact that Steve is not his father.  Perhaps because the Republican party is now the party of "No", Steve could be California's go-to guy.  In the 115 assembly votes that transpired between 2009 and 2011, Knight voted "Nay" 104 times.  He voted "Yes" only nine times and "No vote" twice. That's a big thumbs down for budgets, sales tax, women's health, children, transportation, civil liberties, campaign finance, election reform, emergency measures, worker protection, and the environment.  Steve has presented somewhere between 40 and 50 pieces of legislation during his tenure in the assembly and boasts an 85% failure rate for passage.  Two of his measures were actually vetoed.  Many died at the desk or were pulled by the author before they could be debated. What kind of record is that?
In a place that embraces being able to "know where people stand" the official of choice is a man who stands for nothing.  Strange but true.
So it appears that the Republican party, often blamed for inaction in Washington, D.C., arises from the far-away sands of places like California. Surely the younger Knight could have a long and ridiculously useless career in this party. He could boldly cross his arms, plant his feet, and say "Nay" to all things that might hint of kindness, ethics, help, hope, and a door into a fruitful future.  This is not our fathers' Republican party.