William Kory Amyx
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William Kory Amyx (Democratic Party) is running for election to the U.S. House to represent Indiana's 6th Congressional District. He declared candidacy for the 2026 election.[source]
Amyx also ran for election to the U.S. House to represent Indiana's 5th Congressional District. He will not appear on the ballot for the general election on November 3, 2026.
Amyx completed Ballotpedia's Candidate Connection survey in 2025. Click here to read the survey answers.
Biography
William Kory Amyx was born in Connersville, Indiana. He earned a high school diploma from Connersville High School and a bachelor's degree from Ball State University in 2002. His career experience includes working in education administration.[1]
Elections
2026
See also: Indiana's 6th Congressional District election, 2026
Note: At this time, Ballotpedia is combining all declared candidates for this election into one list under a general election heading. As primary election dates are published, this information will be updated to separate general election candidates from primary candidates as appropriate.
General election
The general election will occur on November 3, 2026.
Endorsements
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See also: Indiana's 5th Congressional District election, 2026
Note: At this time, Ballotpedia is combining all declared candidates for this election into one list under a general election heading. As primary election dates are published, this information will be updated to separate general election candidates from primary candidates as appropriate.
General election
The general election will occur on November 3, 2026.
Withdrawn or disqualified candidates
Endorsements
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2026
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I’m William Kory Amyx, a lifelong Hoosier, father of two, and proud product of working-class Indiana. I was raised in Connersville, where I delivered newspapers before sunrise and learned the value of grit from my firefighter dad and beautician mom. I paid my way through Ball State University and built a 20-year career in higher education helping students access opportunity. Now, I’m running for Congress because I’m tired of watching working families get left behind while political insiders play games. I’m not backed by billionaires or beholden to party bosses — I’m one of us, and I’m running for all of us. We deserve a representative who listens more than they lecture, shows up in every zip code, and actually gets things done.
- I’m not here to play politics — I’m here to deliver results. From lowering prescription drug costs and protecting Social Security to fixing our roads and raising wages, I’ll fight like hell for everyday Hoosiers, not corporate PACs or extremist agendas.
- It’s time to legalize cannabis in Indiana — the smart way. That means protecting public health, supporting local farmers, creating thousands of jobs, and generating new tax revenue to fund our schools and communities.
- I believe in bipartisanship that actually works — the kind where we sit down, roll up our sleeves, and fix things together. I’ve lived it, I’ve led it, and I’ll take that same approach to Washington. Together we rise.
I’m passionate about policy that puts people first — not party politics or corporate profits. That means fighting for affordable healthcare, protecting Social Security, and expanding access to higher education and skilled trades without burying Hoosiers in debt. I’m committed to legalizing cannabis the right way to boost agriculture and small business. I care deeply about digital justice and reining in Big Tech’s role in misinformation and harassment. And I’ll always protect reproductive freedom, LGBTQ+ rights, and the right to vote — because liberty doesn’t come with an asterisk.
I look up first and foremost to my Grandpa Amyx. He cut hair for a living, but what he really did was build trust. His shop in Connersville wasn’t just a place where people came in for a trim — it was a place where they came to talk, to laugh, to vent, and to feel seen. He treated everyone with kindness and respect, no matter who they were or where they came from. He never needed a platform or a title — he led by example. He showed me what it means to work hard, take care of your family, show up for your neighbors, and carry yourself with quiet integrity. He didn’t say much, but when he did, you listened — because it always meant something.
I also admire my late former grandfather-in-law, Otis “Doc” Bowen. He served as Governor of Indiana and later as U.S. Secretary of Health and Human Services, but what stood out most wasn’t the titles — it was how he led. He was humble, steady, and deeply committed to public service. He didn’t cave to political pressure or chase attention. He focused on what mattered: people. He believed in facts, decency, and doing the right thing, even when it wasn’t the easy thing.
Between the two of them — one in a small-town shop, the other in the halls of government — I learned that leadership isn’t about ego or noise. It’s about consistency, honesty, and service. That’s the kind of leader I want to be: grounded, thoughtful, and always focused on the people I serve. People over party. Absolutely. One of the most meaningful stories that shaped my view of life and leadership isn’t a political manifesto — it’s The Ultimate Gift. I first watched it in the early 2000s, and it’s stayed with me ever since. The film isn’t about government or policy — it’s about character. It’s about learning humility, rediscovering purpose, and understanding that wealth — in all its forms — means nothing without gratitude, grit, and giving back. It reminds me that service should never be about status. It should be about people.
That philosophy carries over into the more traditional influences on my political beliefs. Robert F. Kennedy’s Ripple of Hope speech is a compass I return to often. His call to “tame the savageness of man and make gentle the life of this world” isn’t just beautiful — it’s a mandate for justice and empathy in public life. I also draw from films like Mr. Smith Goes to Washington — not because they’re flawless portrayals of politics, but because they challenge us to imagine what it would look like if integrity actually stood its ground against corruption.
Finally, I recommend Evicted by Matthew Desmond — a brutally honest, deeply human book that explores how policy failures trickle down into broken lives. It shows why housing, poverty, and economic justice aren’t abstract debates — they’re lived realities for millions of Americans.
Put simply: If you want to understand my political philosophy, look at the stories that remind us to lead with heart, fight with purpose, and never forget who we’re here to serve. Integrity, empathy, and accountability. An elected official should serve with humility, not ego. They should tell the truth even when it’s hard, show up in every community — not just the ones that voted for them — and make decisions based on what’s best for the people, not what’s safest for reelection.
First and foremost, I show up. That might sound simple, but it’s rare. I’ve spent my life working in higher education, showing up for students who didn’t always have someone in their corner — kids who were first-generation, low-income, or just trying to survive systems that weren’t built for them. I don’t check in once and disappear. I dig in. I problem-solve. I advocate until something gets fixed. That’s what I’ll bring to public office — relentless consistency. I don’t quit when things get hard, and I don’t run from accountability. I face it head-on.
I also listen. Not just the kind of listening where you nod and wait for your turn to speak — the kind where you actually take in what someone’s saying, even if you disagree. It’s how I’ve built trust across divides, worked with people from all walks of life, and helped families find answers in the middle of red tape.
I’m not performative. I don’t need the spotlight or the title to validate me. I’m driven by purpose. I’m grounded in working-class values — decency, honesty, loyalty, and hard work. I’ve spent years fighting for fairness in financial aid, student access, and policy implementation because I believe people deserve systems that work for them, not against them.
I don’t pretend to have all the answers — but I promise to bring the same grit, empathy, and follow-through I’ve brought to every chapter of my life. And when I say I’ll fight for you, I mean it. Because I already have — and I always will. To represent all constituents — not just donors, not just party loyalists, and not just those who agree with you. This role demands accessibility, listening, legislative action, and relentless advocacy for Hoosiers back home. It means building bridges in Congress and delivering real results, not partisan theater.
I want to leave behind a legacy of courage, compassion, and consequence. I want to be remembered as someone who didn’t just run for office to build a career — but to build a better future. I want people — especially young people — to look at my story and say, “He never forgot where he came from.” Because I won’t. I’m a product of a working-class family, raised by a firefighter, a beautician, and two grandparents who gave everything to their families and communities. I know what it means to struggle, to stretch a paycheck, to make hard choices. And I want my legacy to be proof that someone from those roots can go on to fight for real change — and win.
I want to leave behind laws that helped people, systems that became more fair, and communities that felt heard for the first time in a long time. I don’t need a monument. I want my legacy to live in the lives that got better because I showed up — the student who graduated, the family who stayed in their home, the worker who finally got a raise, the parent who could afford healthcare for their kid. That’s what matters to me.
And above all else, I want my kids — and your kids — to grow up in a world where truth, decency, and hard work still mean something. If I can help move the needle even an inch in that direction, then every battle will have been worth it.
I want my kids to say "That's my Dad" The Challenger explosion. I was just six years old, sitting cross-legged on the floor in my classroom. Our teachers wheeled in the big box TV, and we watched the shuttle launch live. There was so much excitement — especially because Christa McAuliffe, a schoolteacher, was on board. In a way, she represented all of us — especially to a classroom full of wide-eyed kids who still believed space was magical. But then the shuttle exploded. In real time. On screen. And I remember the silence. Not just from us — but from our teachers. I remember the crying. I can still hear the sound of my teacher gasping then crying right there in front of us all. It was the first time I saw adults genuinely stunned, unsure of what to say, a raw moment of honesty and sadness. That moment stuck with me. It wasn’t just my first memory of a major historical event — it was my first glimpse of loss, of shock, of the fragility of hope. It was the first time I realized that history isn’t just about dates and textbooks — it’s about feelings, memories, and shared moments that shape an entire generation. That tragedy made an impression on me that I still carry today — the understanding that progress is brave, that risk is real, and that even in the face of disaster, we keep reaching for the stars.
My first job was delivering the Indianapolis Star by bicycle at 13 years old. Every morning before sunrise, I pedaled through the streets of Connersville — through rain, snow, heat, and even the occasional dog chase — to make sure people had their news on time. My route was massive, and I took it seriously. I folded every paper, double-checked addresses, and made sure I showed up — no matter what. I held that job for nearly three years. And no, I didn’t get a trophy or a participation ribbon. What I got was grit. I got discipline. I got the kind of real-world education that teaches you what responsibility means. That job taught me how to work hard, how to wake up early even when I didn’t want to, and how to follow through — even when no one’s watching. It wasn’t glamorous. But it built the foundation for everything I’ve done since — from paying my way through college to helping students navigate systems that weren’t built for them, and now to running for office. You never forget your first job — not just because of the work, but because of how it shaped you. That paper route was where I learned the value of showing up. It’s something I’ve carried with me every day since.
The Ultimate Gift is, without a doubt, my favorite book. It’s not a political book. It doesn’t deal in power, policy, or partisanship. But it speaks to something even more important — character. Purpose. Gratitude. It’s about learning what really matters in life, especially when you’ve been handed everything and still feel like something’s missing. That story resonated with me the first time I read it, and it’s stayed with me ever since.
In the book, a young man thinks he’s about to inherit a fortune — but instead, he’s given a series of challenges meant to teach him about work, generosity, relationships, and values. It strips away the entitlement and forces him to confront who he is and who he wants to be. And let me tell you — we need more of that. Especially in leadership.
It’s easy to forget, in politics and in life, that material success means nothing without meaning. Titles don’t matter if you have no integrity. Wealth doesn’t matter if you have no compassion. The Ultimate Gift is about finding the richness that comes from living with purpose — something I think we’re all trying to do, in one way or another. It reminds me why I’m running: not to be important, but to be useful. If I could be any fictional character, I’d choose Samwise Gamgee from The Lord of the Rings. Not Frodo, not Gandalf, not Aragorn — Sam. Always Sam. He wasn’t the chosen one. He didn’t wield magic or command armies. He didn’t ask for the spotlight or try to steal the story. But when it all started to fall apart, Sam kept going. When Frodo couldn’t carry the burden anymore, Sam didn’t take the credit — he just carried his friend.
That’s the kind of leadership I believe in. The kind that shows up, stands firm, and keeps things moving when the weight feels too heavy. Sam didn’t care about titles or attention — he cared about people. He cared about home. And in the end, he made sure they had a future worth returning to.
That hits close to home for me. I’m not running to be the center of attention. I’m running to carry the load — for working families, for people who’ve been ignored or overlooked, for Hoosiers who are long overdue for real representation. I want to lift up voices that haven’t been heard and make sure the people of Indiana’s 5th District aren’t just seen — but fought for.
And here’s a fun fact: Sean Astin, the actor who brought Sam to life with such honesty and heart, represented Indiana as a delegate during the Democratic National Convention — because his wife is from right here in the Hoosier State. So in a way, Samwise already belongs to Indiana. And I’ll take that as a good omen.
Sam reminds us that you don’t have to be the loudest, the strongest, or the most powerful to make a difference. You just have to keep going — especially when it’s hard. That’s who I am. And that’s the kind of representative I intend to be. “The Lion Sleeps Tonight” — and once it’s in there, good luck getting it out. That song is pure auditory glue. You hear one “a-weema-weh” and suddenly your brain decides it’s the national anthem of the week. It got stuck in my head after a random video popped up in my feed, and before I knew it, I was humming it while folding laundry, answering emails, and walking through the grocery store. What’s wild is how timeless it is. You can be in your 40s or 4 years old and still end up dancing along to it — whether you want to or not.
But honestly, it’s a good reminder that sometimes the simplest things stick with us the longest. There’s something kind of charming about a song with no real agenda — no politics, no heartbreak, no heavy message — just joy, rhythm, and a little absurdity. And maybe we need more of that. Life gets heavy. Campaigns get stressful. The world can feel like it’s on fire. But then out of nowhere, this goofy, melodic, unforgettable little song worms its way into your head — and for a few minutes, you just smile. I think we underestimate how powerful that is.
Also, full disclosure: I may or may not have ended up down a YouTube rabbit hole of a cappella versions and jungle-themed toddler remixes. I regret nothing. One of the biggest struggles I’ve faced is learning how to carry the weight of responsibility without letting it crush me. I’ve been the one people count on for as long as I can remember — in my family, in my workplace, in my community. And I’ve worn that like a badge of honor. But the truth is, always being the strong one comes with a cost.
There were seasons in my life where I was juggling so much — work, family, grief, burnout — that I forgot how to ask for help. I thought if I just worked harder, pushed through, and stayed focused, everything would stay afloat. But that kind of pressure adds up. It takes a toll — on your health, your peace, your sense of self. And for a long time, I never admitted it out loud. Because people like me — raised in working-class homes, taught to tough it out — don’t always know how to say, “I’m not okay.”
I’ve had to learn — sometimes the hard way — that strength isn’t about carrying it all alone. It’s about knowing when to pause, when to breathe, and when to trust others to step in too. That lesson has made me a better father, a better friend, a better leader — and one day, I hope, a better representative.
So yes, I’ve struggled. But I’ve grown. And I’m still growing. And I think that’s something a lot of people can relate to — doing your best, holding it all together, and learning to give yourself a little grace along the way. The House is the people’s chamber. It’s designed to be the most direct, responsive, and representative body in our government. With shorter terms and smaller districts, representatives are meant to stay close to their communities — listening, adapting, and advocating for the real-life needs of their constituents. That proximity to the people is its greatest strength — but only if we elect leaders who respect the responsibility and don’t forget where they came from. I’ll never stop showing up for the people who send me there.
It can help — but it’s not a requirement. What matters most is whether a representative knows how to listen, lead, and legislate with integrity. Some of the best leaders in our history weren’t career politicians. I’ve worked in education for two decades, helping students navigate bureaucracy, fight for access, and beat the odds — and I’ve learned that real-world experience is often more valuable than political tenure. We need people in Congress who’ve worked real jobs, paid off student loans, cared for aging parents, and felt the weight of broken systems firsthand. That kind of experience brings empathy and urgency — and we need a lot more of both in Washington.
Our greatest challenge is rebuilding trust — in institutions, in democracy, and in each other. We’re facing economic inequality, political extremism, attacks on public education, a broken healthcare system, and an information ecosystem that spreads chaos faster than truth. Climate change, tech overreach, and foreign interference are real and growing threats — but none of it can be addressed until we stop screaming past each other and start working together again. That starts by electing leaders who show up, listen, and put people before party. That’s what I’m running to do.
No — I believe it should be four years. Two-year terms were originally designed to keep representatives closely tied to their districts, but in today’s hyper-partisan and media-driven climate, they’ve become a roadblock to real progress. Lawmakers now spend nearly half their time fundraising and campaigning just to hold onto their seat — which leaves less time to govern, legislate, or lead.
A four-year term would give representatives the space to focus on policy, problem-solving, and long-term planning without being trapped in a nonstop election cycle. That doesn’t mean less accountability — in fact, I believe term limits should still apply, and voters should always have the power to remove ineffective leaders. But we need to stop rewarding short-term soundbites and start creating room for long-term solutions.
Let our representatives legislate — not just raise money. I support term limits — not because experience is bad, but because entitlement is. When elected office becomes a career instead of a calling, we lose innovation, accountability, and public trust. Term limits help ensure that power rotates, new ideas emerge, and politicians stay connected to the people they serve instead of getting comfortable in their own echo chambers. That said, term limits alone aren’t enough — we also need campaign finance reform, stronger ethics laws, and an end to gerrymandering so that fresh voices can actually win and serve effectively.
Otis “Doc” Bowen — former Governor of Indiana and U.S. Secretary of Health and Human Services — was my late grandfather-in-law, and someone I deeply admired then and still do today. He led with humility, worked across the aisle, and always put Hoosiers first. He believed in facts over fear and people over party. I’m also inspired by the quiet strength of John Lewis, the unflinching courage of Barbara Jordan, and the practical tenacity of Sherrod Brown. They didn’t chase the spotlight — they fought for what’s right. That’s the kind of representative I strive to be.
One woman told me she works full-time, raises her two grandkids, and still can’t afford her heart medication. Her daughter struggles with addiction. Her grandkids are thriving in school, but she’s terrified one unexpected medical bill could wipe them out. She looked me in the eye and said, “I don’t need promises. I need someone who remembers people like me.” That conversation broke my heart — and lit a fire under me. Too many families are one crisis away from collapse. I’m not running to be a politician — I’m running to fight for her.
I’ve got a lot of favorite jokes — some of which I probably shouldn’t post on a public ballot profile — but here’s one that never fails me:
Why don’t skeletons fight each other?
Because they don’t have the guts.
It’s simple, it’s corny, and for whatever reason, it always gets a chuckle — especially from kids, and let’s be honest, from tired adults too. But the truth is, I love a good dad joke. There’s something wholesome about humor that doesn’t punch down, doesn’t require a second guess, and just gives people a reason to smile for a second. And in a world where everything is high-stakes and politically loaded, maybe we need more of that. Maybe we need more bad puns, goofy metaphors, and skeletons who know when to sit one out.
Now, I’ll admit — my humor can get a little sharper in private company. I’m known for some quick wit and sarcasm when the gloves are off, but this joke? This one works in every room. It’s the kind of joke you can tell your grandma and your barbershop buddies without worrying who’s offended. And if you ever hear me tell it again, just know — it’s not about the punchline. It’s about reminding us all not to take ourselves too seriously.
Especially during a campaign. If we can’t laugh, we’re doomed. And I think even the skeletons would agree with that. Yes — but only when it’s rooted in principle, not performative politics. Compromise should never mean sacrificing people’s rights or values. But in a diverse democracy, progress often requires negotiation. I believe in fierce advocacy paired with honest collaboration. The best policies come when we stop trying to “own” each other and start solving problems together. That’s the spirit I’ll take to Washington.
It’s a powerful responsibility — and it should be used to make the tax code work for working people, not just the wealthy. If elected, I’ll push to close loopholes that benefit billionaires, end unfair subsidies for massive corporations, and ensure that our budget reflects our values: strong public schools, affordable healthcare, safe infrastructure, and a future worth investing in. I’ll fight for targeted tax credits that help small businesses, farmers, and families — not giveaways to those already hoarding the most. Budgets are moral documents, and as a member of the House, I’ll treat them that way.
The House should use its investigative powers responsibly — not as a political weapon, but as a tool for truth, accountability, and public trust. When used appropriately, these powers help uncover waste, fraud, abuse of power, and corruption — whether in government, corporate America, or foreign interference. That’s essential for a healthy democracy. But when investigations are abused to score political points, distract from legislative failure, or punish political opponents, they erode the very trust Congress is supposed to protect.
I support strong, fact-based investigations that lead to real reform — not performative hearings designed for cable news clips. If elected, I would advocate for prioritizing investigations that serve the public interest: healthcare profiteering, tech platform manipulation, environmental harm, data privacy violations, and government misconduct across any party or agency. No one should be above scrutiny — including members of Congress.
Americans deserve a Congress that uses its oversight role to protect them, not to perform for them. If the goal isn’t to fix what’s broken and restore faith in our system, then the investigation is a waste of everyone’s time — and I won’t be part of that circus. I’m running to govern, not grandstand. The Education and the Workforce Committee, because our future depends on how we prepare the next generation — from early childhood through higher education and job training. I’m also deeply interested in the Energy and Commerce Committee, especially where it intersects with digital justice, healthcare reform, and economic development. Oversight and Accountability would be another — because no one, Democrat or Republican, should be above transparency when it comes to serving the public.
Every taxpayer deserves to know how their money is being spent and who is influencing their elected officials. That’s why I support banning stock trading for members of Congress, strengthening the Freedom of Information Act, and holding federal contractors and lobbyists to tougher disclosure standards. Sunlight doesn’t just disinfect — it protects democracy.
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