John Thune is striving to be the next Republican Senate leader, but can he rise in Trump's GOP?

MITCHELL, S.D. -- The gold-leafed ceilings and crystal chandeliers of Donald Trump’s Mar-a-Lago resort are a long way from the small town of Murdo, South Dakota, where Sen. John Thune grew up. But that’s where the senator found himself this spring as he launched a bid to become the next Senate Republican leader.

Even before Sen. Mitch McConnell, R-Ky., announced he would end the longest leadership tenure in Senate history, Thune, 63, had approached the contest with the same quiet intensity — fueled by an aversion to losing — he learned on the basketball court and track of Murdo’s high school.

The outcome of the secret leadership ballot, expected after the November election, is deeply uncertain. It's a weighty choice for Senate Republicans as they leave the McConnell era, creating a test of whether someone like Thune, who defines himself by the party's traditional values and has at times defied Trump's wishes, can still rise to power.

Senators John Cornyn of Texas, a former whip and strong fundraiser, and Rick Scott of Florida, a Trump ally, are also running for leader. Others could still jump in the race.

Thune acknowledges moments of doubt about his place in the party. He agonized over whether to run again in 2022, even as a clear path to Senate leadership awaited him.

“You tire of just the day-to-day combat,” Thune said of his deliberations. “I may not be best-suited to the times in terms of the style, the way I do things. But I just felt like the country was going to need some common-sense leadership, particularly if Sen. McConnell stepped aside.”

So it was that Thune made the journey to Mar-a-Lago. It's his hope the visit — along with his endorsement of Trump for president — will help convince Trump they can work together.

Thune told The Associated Press he views their potential relationship “very professionally," and if they both win their respective elections, “then we've got a job to do.”

"I think he understands where I’m coming from, so we’ll see what happens,” Thune added with a chuckle.

Throughout his political career, the South Dakota Republican has shown an athlete’s grit and sense for being in the right place at the right time. He struck up a mentorship in high school with former South Dakota Sen. James Abdnor that led to his start in politics. He came back from a gut-wrenching 2002 Senate race loss to successfully challenge then-Senate Majority Leader Tom Daschle, a Democrat, and rise to hold the Senate whip position, No. 2 in GOP leadership.

This year, Thune — much like he ran the 800-meter race in high school — has jumped out to a pace meant to exhaust his rivals. He pledged a record-setting $4 million to the Senate GOP’s campaign arm, held meetings this spring with every colleague to lock in support and crisscrossed the country to boost Republicans’ bid to win a Senate majority.

But the drive to become leader has forced Thune into a delicate pose: contrasting Trump's style of politics, but stopping short of the direct confrontations that have ended the careers of other Republicans.

Thune's rebuke of Trump in late 2020 — in which he asserted that Trump's efforts to overturn his election loss would “go down like a shot dog” in the Senate — prompted the former president to try, unsuccessfully, to recruit a primary opponent against him in 2022.

Now, Thune argues that Trump can be trusted with the presidency, while acknowledging the transfer of power "was hard, painful and tumultuous in many ways."

“I think with respect to democratic norms, my expectation is that he’s going to ... follow them. He’s going to do things clearly his own way," Thune said of Trump.

"Stylistically, it might not be the way I would do it or the way any other former president has done it. But in the end, the Constitution, the rule of law, governs this country. That’s our bedrock principle, and we can’t deviate from that.”

Thune also just hates to lose.

He grimaced when discussing his 2002 Senate race loss by 524 votes, tallied late into election night.

He choked up when recalling how his coach comforted him as he sat in the locker room after his potentially game-winning shot clanked off the rim in the final seconds of his high school basketball career.

When it came to basketball — a sport his father, a decorated WWII fighter pilot, had played at the University of Minnesota — Thune never held back.

“He would do whatever it took to win,” said Chris Venard, who played center alongside Thune for the Jones County Coyotes.

On winter nights, the basketball games drew practically the entire town of Murdo, population less than 1,000 and a pit stop for truckers and tourists making the crossing between the Missouri River and the Black Hills.

Thune's father, Harold, a teacher and girls' basketball coach at the high school, would take his sons to the gym on Saturday mornings to sharpen their skills. Thune still remembers the game he scored 36 points, yet his dad, who hated ball hogs, singled out a play when he took a shot rather than pass to Venard who was open under the basket.

“My first instinct was always: score,” Thune said. “A lot of times he would try and constrain that impulse.”

Thune’s sense of the world was also formed by the evangelical Christian faith he inherited from his parents. He and his siblings attended Biola University, a Christian college in southern California.

Thune said those lessons compelled him to seek “a life of purpose” while approaching politics with “kindness and truth.”

Like many, the Thune family was drawn into the GOP fold by President Ronald Reagan and his skepticism of “big government.” Thune remembers casting his first vote for Reagan and liking how he exhibited “a sense of humor, a lightness of spirit and a joyfulness.”

In over a dozen interviews, colleagues, former staff and friends described Thune as a driven competitor, yet someone who also values forthrightness, teamwork and humility.

“John is a first-class gentleman,” said former Sen. Bill Nelson, who led Democrats on the Senate Commerce, Science and Transportation Committee while Thune was chair from 2015 to 2019.

As he worked the crowd at a fairground in South Dakota on a recent August day, it was easy to see why Thune was encouraged by Republican Senate colleagues to explore a 2012 presidential run he did not ultimately pursue.

Lean with a smile that spreads over a chiseled face, Thune slapped backs, recalled names and grasped hands with a firm grip. People felt comfortable enough to call out “John" and the senator received a good-natured ribbing when he accidentally cut in line to put barbecue sauce on his ribeye sandwich.

But the Republican Party has changed since 2012.

During another visit with a Sioux Falls volunteer club, one man wanted to know: What are you doing to get Trump back in the White House?

“Well, we’re doing everything we can,” Thune began.

“No, you," came the reply. “I want to know what you are doing?"

With elections approaching, Thune is tapping into the mentality of an 800-meter runner on the final lap.

“It's a brutal race,” he said. “But you've got to gut it out."