TED KENNEDY AND ME

I was practically jumping with excitement as my Dad and I boarded the shuttle out of LaGuardia Airport, bound for D.C.

It was September, 1975. We were going to Washington to buy my first real car (if you don’t consider the 1960 Studebaker Lark I had been puttering around in until then). I had no doubts about the seller, either - he was my Dad’s brother, Uncle Sandy.

Uncle Sandy wasn’t selling me just any car, mind you. He was selling me a blue 1970 Chevelle SS (Super Sport), with a 375-cubic-inch engine and nearly 400 horsepower. In mint condition. Suffice it to say that my cousins all referred to the car as “The Jet.” And, oh, yeah…it was a convertible, to boot.

After what seemed like 45 hours rather than 45 minutes, we arrived at the gate in Washington, and the captain turned off the seat-belt sign. Everyone crowded into the aisle to get their stuff from the overhead bins.

My Dad got into aisle behind me. As I turned around I saw that he was having a hard time getting his sport coat on in the cramped space. From behind him, a tall, ruddy, red-faced man grabbed the loose arm of the sport coat, and helped my Dad get it on.

My Dad threw a “Thanks” over his shoulder, never even looking at the man. But I did. It was Senator Ted Kennedy.

I frantically tried to signal my Dad to turn around and look at the man. But he wasn’t picking up on my signal. Finally I just said – when I could finally get the words out of my mouth – “Dad, turn around.”

I had always been fascinated by politics; I had even recently served as a part-time aide to a Congressman from Long Island named Lester Wolff. And the Kennedys were America’s political royalty.

We started talking, me and my Dad and Ted Kennedy. As we walked off the plane and into the terminal, I told him of my love for politics, my work for Congressman Wolff, and my desire to eventually serve my country in some way.

I remember being fascinated, as we walked, that no one seemed even to notice Senator Kennedy; and those who did, didn’t seem to think it was such a big deal.

“You’ve got to remember,” my Dad whispered to me. “This is Washington. They see him all the time.”

I was struck by the fact that Ted Kennedy listened to every word I said as if I was testifying at a congressional hearing. His face lit up when I told him of my passion for politics, and my determination to use my communications skills to help my country.

And when he responded, it was with sincere interest, and with animation. And he didn’t seem to notice any of the people who were noticing him.

Then, to our amazement, he invited us into a private lounge. He ordered a drink for himself and my dad, and a Coke for me. And he motioned us to sit down at a table.

And there we sat, probably for another half-hour, as he listened intently to what was probably incessant babbling on my part. He talked about various ways that I could, indeed, use my passion to change the world. He talked of his boyhood summers in Hyannis Port. We all laughed about his family’s famous touch football games on the lawn of their compound. He even, at one point, made reference to his dead brothers.

He also talked a bit about the Senate, and how difficult it could sometimes be to forge a consensus that would allow important legislation to be passed.

I watched him with fascination. And I felt the burden that must have been his every day of his life. The burden of sadness, and the burden of responsibility.

But he didn’t show it outwardly. He was quick to laugh, and it was a sweet, loud, deep laugh.

And then he had to go.

As we said goodbye, he wished me luck with my ambitions, and urged me to be involved in the causes in which I believed. And as he shook my hand, in front of everyone else in the lounge, I had an incredible feeling of newfound self-importance.

I never saw him again. Never spoke to him again. Thought about writing him after that…but, somehow, I never did. I guess I figured he probably wouldn’t remember me.

But now, I wish I had.

I’m filled with a sadness now, at the passing – whether you loved or hated his politics – of an American icon, of the Lion in Winter.

But, whenever I think of that afternoon at Dulles International Airport, I can’t help but smile.

Steve Winston
President, WINSTON COMMUNICATIONS
(954) 575-4089
steve@winstoncommunications.com
www.winstoncommunications.com