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It was a Hallmark movie moment when a few dozen freshman congressmen took to the well of the U.S. House of Representatives to announce a promise to act with civility toward colleagues, regardless of party affiliation.

To the old bulls it was probably the kind of shrug-worth sentimentality that would melt with the first of many tough votes.

In Washington, good sense has always given way to "getting things done." In politics, principle is easier proclaimed than lived. 

The signatures on their Commitment to Civility seemed a bit like bringing fidget spinners to a knife fight--a one-sided disarmament treaty. The first to play fair gets cut. It's the way Washington has operated for some time.

But on Valentines Day this year there seemed to be something different about this underreported scout's honor moment in political history. Nearly all of the new congressmen, Republicans, and Democrats broke with the cynical spirit of the age to promise to treat colleagues with respect.

USA Today reported that the author of the freshman pledge was Congressman Mike Johnson, 45, of Louisiana, who also served two terms as a state legislator.

Johnson served in the same state capitol where you can still put a finger in the bullet hole that killed its infamous governor, Huey P. Long, a.k.a. the Kingfish.

Louisiana politics doesn't typically send up soft-bellied pols to the big leagues.

Through a mutual friend, I arranged a call with Johnson to see if this passion for decency was a shrewd play or sincerely held conviction.

Since writing With All Due Respect, my little treatise on the fading virtues of public debate and decorum, I've been on the hunt to collaborate with anyone who shared the conviction that something had to be done about the sinking state of American politics. 

Even for politics, this level of ugly wasn't normal. 

While I have no window into men's souls, it was clear Johnson's tune wasn't new. When the conservative state legislator entered a five-way GOP primary last year as the perceived frontrunner, the race devolved into a Bayeux brawl with most of the punches landing on him.  

Johnson's consultants saw a window to return fire and deploy some of the juicy fruits of opposition research, but he refused to go negative. Voters noticed. 

As a down-ballot race in the billion-dollar smack down that was Clinton v. Trump, deciding to detour on high roads was an improbable formula for success. But after winning the runoff, he would go on to handily defeat his general election opponent.

When the congressional freshman class of 2017 gathered for a three-day retreat early in the year, the 55 newbies agreed that the vitriol and hatred of the past year were something they had never seen before.

Even the most experienced pol in the pack was arriving to Washington battered and embarrassed before the first vote was cast.

Johnson told me the origins of his one-page Commitment to Civility was one of the rare moments of self-evident truth in politics.

Within a day, he circulated a first draft of the document. Nearly all the class signed without proposing a single edit. Only six declined.

For veterans of the process, they'll confirm it takes the voice of Moses (or higher) to stave away amendments--even the friendly ones. Johnson's was approved unaltered. 

The Commitment reads in part: 

"(W)e are dedicated to proper respect to one another and all others, encouraging productive dialogue, and modeling civility in our public and private actions. 

While we may vehemently disagree on matters of law and policy, we will strive at all times to maintain collegiality and the honor of our office. 

We believe a leader can be conciliatory without compromising his or her core principles, and we will remember that our political rivals in Congress are not our enemies--but rather our colleagues and fellow Americans."

While I know fellow conservatives will be tempted to read Johnson's plea as the first step of many tortured compromises, there's no evidence he's budged on any core belief.

Looking down the list of congressmen, it's gallery of people who know how to "vehemently disagree."  

In fact, none of the signatories, like Wyoming's Liz Cheney on the right or Florida's Charlie Christ on the left, are doing much to inch away from their respective beliefs, and the ideological bases that support them. They're all towing hard lines.  

Civility doesn't erase differences, but it does set the tone for how we disagree.

Seeing those who make news or cover it as individuals with intrinsic value and dignity provides a framework for true debate and dialogue. When respect is absent, even family conversations or posts on Facebook become tinder for the hot fires of destructive argument.

Perhaps this wave of public servants and the next won't always view political victory as the total destruction of political or ideological opponents. Maybe this is the group of leaders who will fight hard, but with fairness and decency.

We can hope and we can work toward this end. It begins with us. Let's add our names to Mr. Johnson's pledge.