Massachusetts, my natal state, might be true blue, and it might be a bastion of liberalism, but, having covered court-ordered busing there in the 1970s -- and having heard racist protesters jeer and ridicule with jarring vulgarity Ted Kennedy in the midst of it -- and having seen various relatives and friends, registered Democrats, swoon over Republican governors -- Weld and Romney -- I figured some day voters of the Bay State would send Uncle Teddy into retirement.
The best chance of that came in 1994, when Romney challenged Kennedy. The Democratic incumbent was said to have been vulnerable that year -- old-style activist liberalism was out, even in Massachusetts, and a new tide of Contract-with-America conservatism was about to sweep the country.
But the rule of thumb about Massachusetts politics proved true in the face of all that -- anyone with a suit could get 42 percent of the vote against Teddy Kennedy, but no one could get 50.
In the 1994 general election, Romney didn't even get 42 percent. His vote percentage was 41. Kennedy's was 58.
Kennedy spent $10 million on his campaign, Romney $7 million.
Romney subsequently won election as Massachusetts governor and, last year, ran for president.
Kennedy went from being an embarrassment to a respected elder. His transformation from fratboy-manchild of the U.S. Senate to its lion is one of the most interesting stories in American politics. People throughout the land wonder about Kennedy's staying power -- why the voters of Massachusetts kept re-electing him in the face of the Reagan revolution and post-revolution, and in the face of Kennedy's troubled personal life.
But don't forget: He became a U.S. senator at the age of 30. Relatively speaking, he was a boy. He'd taken his older brother's seat in 1962. JFK was assassinated the following year. Five years later, Bobby Kennedy was murdered in Los Angeles.
With all that -- the tragedy and martyrdom, the extraordinary sacrifices of one family in service to the public -- Massachusetts voters would never abandon Teddy Kennedy, the little brother.
Not even after Mary Jo Kopechne's death on Martha's Vineyard.
Much fuss was made last month about the 40th anniversary of Apollo 11 mission to the moon, but this was the first time in a long time I did not hear -- probably because I host a radio show and its broadcast hours conflict with Rush Limbaugh's -- references to the 40th anniversary of Chappaquiddick, the accident and death of Mary Jo Kopechne having occurred on the same historic weekend as the lunar landing. His behavior in Chappaquiddick meant the then 37-year-old Kennedy would never become president of the United States.
But it didn't keep him from winning re-election -- in 1970, the very next year -- to the Senate.
There were other embarrassing moments in Ted Kennedy's life -- drinking, womanizing, questions about his behavior when a nephew was accused of rape in Florida -- but in a 1991 speech at the John F. Kennedy School of Government at Harvard (the university from which he'd been dismissed 40 years earlier for cheating on an exam) Ted Kennedy took responsibility for "faults in the conduct of my private life" and pledged to change.
Eventually he grew up, restored his integrity and settled into a long run of serious public service, a reliable and committed liberal associated with, among many good causes, a decades-old effort to make health insurance affordable and accessible to every American.
The last 18 years of Edward M. Kennedy's career were the most productive and the most impressive, and he seemed to keep faith with the words he spoke at Harvard in that public mea culpa: "Individual faults and frailties are no excuse to give in -- and no exemption from the common obligation to give of ourselves. Today, more than ever before, I believe that each of us as individuals must not only struggle to make a better world, but to make ourselves better, too. And in this life, those endeavors are never finished."
Rest in peace, EMK.