He's a Republican -- his middle name is Lincoln -- but he's hardly the standard-bearer of today's GOP.

When Kirk Jowers isn't counseling candidates on federal election laws in Washington, D.C., or coaching basketball, soccer or politics in Utah, the LDS father of five unwinds in his North Salt Lake study to the ribald rhymes of Eminem, Ludacris and especially Jay-Z.

"I've got all his stuff," Jowers says with a breezy smile - boxer mutt Rosie in his lap - reclining before posed pictures of Newt Gingrich, John McCain and friend Mitt Romney.

A devoted ethics-reform and election-law lawyer, Jowers is just as likely to skewer Republican royalty as Rocky Anderson.

In 2000, he helped bail Bush out of the recount circus in Broward County, Fla. But the 41-year-old film fan also nearly took the raunchy Farrelly brothers as clients. The "Kingpin" and "There's Something About Mary" directors wanted Jowers to defend their billboards showing President Bush with his head up a cow's butt.

"I hated to decline because I love their work, but I just couldn't whore myself out that much."

In 2005, the Salt Lake City native who helped steer the McCain-Feingold campaign-finance reforms became the first Republican to captain the University of Utah's Hinckley Institute of Politics.

"A few hearts skipped some beats," says friend and former Democratic lawmaker Karen Hale.

But over three years, Jowers has proved nothing but neutral, launching an international intern program and even greasing a slot at the Democratic National Committee for a student who now works on the Obama campaign.

His friends and closest colleagues say Jowers' passion is engaging young people in politics - regardless of their partisan stripes - rather than raking in money from corporate clients.

The Hinckley forum is perfect, best in the nation, he argues, and a good perch to get press.

Jowers rarely fails to unsheathe zingers for reporters. And he's an equal-opportunity piercer, more willing than his measured predecessor, Ted Wilson, to broadside the establishment.

"Those Republican debates were embarrassing for the party," he deadpans. "There were 10 white guys within 10 years of each other, while the Democratic debates really looked like America."

On Romney's chances at being McCain's No. 2: "The thing that dragged him down for a while, frankly, was the FLDS issue."

Meaty stuff for a mostly Mormon audience. But Jowers figures a state that already wrestles with polygamy, theocracy and insecurity deserves hard-hitting insight over party-line pap.

He has a clipping service that delivers 100 stories a day; he devours three to four newspapers and keeps an ear bent toward the Beltway.

"As demanding as his jobs are, he always will find time to spend with his kids," says Gardner Brown, a close friend since high school. "He's not out to get gain, he wants to give back."

'One of many freaks'

Jowers grew up on the east bench, graduated from Skyline High and pondered college basketball.

Junior colleges dangled offers to the 6-foot-3 teen. "I realized I had a better chance getting into law school than being a crappy college player," the still-frequent runner and skier says in his disarming style, so deliberate it sounds almost Southern.

After an LDS mission to Amsterdam amid punks and pot brownies - "you were just one of many freaks; the freak in a white shirt" - he parlayed five Hinckley internships and a prestigious Truman Scholarship into Harvard Law School.

He also married Kristen, a former evangelical from Oklahoma who had converted to Mormonism at age 20 and moved to Utah working as Robert Redford's personal assistant.

"That was always kind of fun to say," Jowers grins, "that I took her away from Redford."

After clerkships in his hometown, he joined Wiley, Rein & Fielding in Washington delving into election law. Jowers figured tax laws and political rules would be, as the line from his favorite flick "The Mission" goes "inextricably intertwined."

Now a partner at Caplin & Drysdale, Jowers co-founded the Campaign Legal Center with mentor and partner Trevor Potter, a former Federal Election Commission chairman. The center helped pass then defend McCain-Feingold.

Utah Republicans "all hate me for that," Jowers jokes, though Potter notes his partner never has been highly partisan.

"He's agreed with McCain," Potter says, "that a lot of traditional Washington practices were offensive, were ethically wrong."

'Hucked' fini

Despite being a McCain man in 2000, Jowers kept an interest in Romney since volunteering for his closer-than-expected 1994 Senate campaign against Ted Kennedy.

After Romney's first years as Massachusetts governor, Jowers figured the former head of Utah's 2002 Olympic effort could be a credible presidential contender. In 2005, Romney tapped Jowers to run his Commonwealth PAC.

Romney is "absolutely brilliant" with a "stunning" ability to absorb information and push experts, says Jowers, who notes the Mormon candidate never recovered from Iowa.

"He got Hucked," Jowers says, referring to Mike Huckabee. Jowers accuses the former Arkansas governor of playing the religion card "in the most craven way I've ever seen" to "kneecap" Romney.

Jowers is in a unique position, given his wife's background, to counsel Romney on the rift between evangelicals and Latter-day Saints. At a church in Oklahoma, he recalls a preacher insisting gays and Mormons are destined for hell. Kristen's friend even did her dissertation on why the LDS Church is a fraud an attempt to win Kristen's salvation.

"A lot of people look at it from a political level," he says. "I kind of lived it."

Jowers now backs McCain - again - whose Straight Talk PAC remains a client. He also serves as president of "Utah Lawyers for McCain."

Can go home again

When the Hinckley job opened, Jowers says the decision to come home was a "no-brainer."

Since 2005, he has boosted internship ranks - this summer 28 students are in 14 countries - while keeping up his Washington law work.

Hale, whose "very liberal" daughter adored Jowers, says his nonpartisan presentations are peppered with humor, intellect and insight.

Mike Lee, a friend and former general counsel for Gov. Jon Huntsman Jr., says Jowers has no peer when it comes to media exposure. (In the past year, he appeared in 402 news stories).

"He's always very eager and willing to offer his opinion," Lee says, "not for the purposes of self-aggrandizement but because he loves the process. And that's rare."

And it gets him in trouble. Early on, Jowers blurted that "egocentric narcissism" prompted Rocky Anderson to stage an anti-Bush protest. Salt Lake City's then-mayor double-barrelled back, dubbing Jowers a "Republican shill" determined to "quash dissent."

But Jowers also rags on Republicans.

"He can take off that partisan hat and wear that mentorship hat," says U. grad Bryson Morgan, who also snagged a Truman Scholarship. "I really respect him for that."

So will Jowers, the political whiz Potter calls "Superman" cash his cachet for elected office?

"I have been recruited by both sides," Jowers says. "I have a young family [kids 4 to 14] and have seen firsthand how difficult it is for a young family to endure a major campaign. On the other hand, the entire purpose of Hinckley is to get people to participate in politics and government. If I ever felt like I had something unique to offer to a position, I would certainly consider it."

Lt. Gov. Gary Herbert, another close friend, says Jowers is principled, unemotional and so "universally respected" he probably could win.

"Whether he would have an attack of insanity and decide to [run for office], who knows," Herbert says. "Either way he will contribute significantly to our community."

These days, Jowers practices his politics in the classroom, in the boardroom and on the football field, where his son - the star quarterback - is being courted by two teams.

Sunglasses on, smiling, Jowers saunters toward the coaches.

"I have to do some smoothing over."

djensen@sltrib.com