True Compass (55 page)

As for "motives," those stated by the Bush administration itself were unacceptable on their face. "The Bush administration says we must take preemptive action against Iraq," I pointed out from the Senate floor in October 2002. "But what the administration is really calling for is preventive war, which flies in the face of international rules of acceptable behavior." I was far blunter less than two years later, when the loss of life among our young troops and the devastation to Iraqi society had grown grotesque. The war, I charged on the Senate floor in July 2004, was "a fraud, cooked up in Texas" to advance the president's political standing.

I said that the administration had told "lie after lie after lie after lie" to trigger and perpetuate "one of the worst blunders in the history of U.S. foreign policy." The war failed the "last resort" principle for reasons too obvious to dwell on here. On the question of proportionality--did the harm inflicted outweigh the good achieved?--I pointed, again, to the loss of American and Iraqi lives, the collapse of Iraqi civil society, the self-fulfilling prophecy of terrorists flooding into the ravaged country and using it as a base, the heightened tensions with the entire Islamic world, and our loss of international prestige generally. As for "a reasonable question of success," there never was a question that we would win the military phase of the Iraq war. The more significant success--ending terrorism, promoting regional stability, sustaining America's reputation as a just nation and a model for enlightenment--has yet to be achieved.

I'd first met John Kerry in the spring of 1971, when the Vietnam veterans protesting the war were bivouacked on the Mall in Washington. I was impressed by the forcefulness of this young man with the long, serious face and the great mop of dark hair as he articulated the case against the war, and also by his record of courage in combat.

I wasn't surprised when John decided to enter politics, and I campaigned for him in his first effort, a losing bid for Congress in 1972. He was elected lieutenant governor under Michael Dukakis ten years later, and in 1984 won election to the Senate, taking the seat of Paul Tsongas, who'd retired. He and I voted together on nearly all the issues.

I have enormous respect for John Kerry. He is not only my colleague; he is my friend. When John decided to run for president, I was convinced that a John Kerry presidency would be good for the country. He has courage and strength of character and a strong grasp of foreign policy. He is a certifiable, decorated war hero. I also knew that with Kerry in the White House, we would be able to advance health care for all Americans. I enthusiastically signed on to his team.

But in 2003, John's campaign was faltering. I noticed a sluggishness when I campaigned with him in Iowa. Howard Dean of Vermont was coming on strong as a fresh face. His passion and his fearless stance against the Iraq war were galvanizing Democrats, and he was amassing more money than John with his pioneering use of the Internet as a fund-raising tool. By late September, John's Boston and Washington advisers were at loggerheads, creating divisions that distracted from his campaign. My own chief of staff, the highly competent Mary Beth Cahill, joined him as campaign manager. A new energy soon swept through the Kerry ranks.

When I returned to Iowa with the candidate two weeks before the January caucuses, I saw that he had been regenerated as well. I was seeing a "new" Kerry, whose speeches were shorter and punchier, and who was making a warm personal connection to the voters.

I was having great fun too, revving up the crowd, teasing them about not voting for me in '80, but saying all would be forgiven if they just voted for John.
Hello, Cedar Rapids. Are you glad to see me? Well I'm glad to see you!
And around the state we went. Jim Rassmann joined John on the trail too, to testify to John's character and heroism. John had saved Rassmann's life in Vietnam and hadn't seen him since, but the veteran found him because he wanted to share his story. Kerry won the Iowa caucuses, won New Hampshire, and rang up nine victories on Super Tuesday to clinch the Democratic nomination in Boston. He picked John Edwards as his running mate. We conferred frequently through the early summer, strategizing on his approaches to the economy and the Iraq war.

In August, not long after the Democratic convention, the so-called Swift Boat Veterans for Truth unleashed their $20 million television smear campaign against John, falsely impugning his stellar military record. They used gutterball tactics of the worst kind.

John had three outstanding debate performances, with the first being especially impressive. Vicki and I continued to campaign hard for him until the last moment.

On election morning, Vicki and I voted at the town hall in Hyannis. The lines were moderate, but we heard that earlier, around dawn, they'd been very long. I had a sense that the momentum was with John. We took a sail before noon, then traveled the seventy miles west to Providence to spend a little time with Patrick, who was headed toward an overwhelming victory in his reelection to Congress. Vicki and I spent the evening in Boston, where I did some television interviews and met with Democratic supporters. The news was reporting enormous turnouts, which all of us believed were to the Democrats' advantage. And the exit polls were showing big advantages for Kerry. "I've been proud to call John Kerry my friend," I told one group of boosters, "and I'm going to be even prouder to call him my president!" The crowd went wild. And then Vicki and I headed to our Boston apartment to watch the returns. Earlier in the evening, when I was doing television interviews, I learned that the networks couldn't get prominent Republicans to respond to the early trends because they were so decisively in John's favor. The White House was in hunker-down mode. Relatives and friends wandered in and out of the apartment as the evening wore on. Projections began to appear showing Bush winning the western states, but that was predictable. The producers were trying to inject drama into a race that they knew had been decided.

Not exactly. Later in the evening, we began to notice that some of the eastern states we'd expected to end up in our column were not going that way. Florida went for Bush, a disappointment but not a surprise. But the number of states showing up as red in the graphics was a surprise. The heavy Kerry votes we'd counted on--that the exit polls had told us were there--were just not coming in.

Suddenly, we noticed that Republicans were materializing onscreen for live interviews. They were no longer in the bunker. The terrible awareness of a turning tide crept in. Then Bush called reporters into the White House, where he was watching with his family. We tried to tell ourselves that this was just a bit of stagecraft, to give the illusion that he was winning.

Around 11 p.m., California came in with a big win for John, but the sea of red between California and Illinois was unbroken. And it started to become clear that the only path to a Democratic victory was through Ohio. James Carville on one of the channels was saying that John Kerry had to pull an inside straight; that it was time to recognize that this was George Bush's night, not Kerry's, unless something dramatic happened. The people in our apartment were rather distraught by James saying that. They thought perhaps it was sour grapes because he hadn't been invited to run the campaign. But I just thought he was being honest. I telephoned Tim Hagan, a friend of ours in Cleveland who said things still were fine, Cuyahoga County was looking good, we think we've got Ohio; the exit polls...

The night went on, and the numbers grew more disturbing. Vicki later said she'd felt the networks were not calling the election for Bush only for fear of repeating the Florida fiasco of four years earlier. I called Hagan again. Nick Littlefield, a top lawyer in Boston and former staff director of my committee, was there, and he talked to Hagan. Michael Myers, our friend and current committee staff director, talked to Hagan. And then I talked to Hagan again and Tim said quietly, "I think we've lost it."

Almost at the same moment, Fox News called the election for Bush.

In the silence that followed, people began to leave the apartment to go home to bed. Soon Vicki and I were alone. It was well after midnight. I made a decision. "We're going to Louisburg Square," I told my wife, "to see John and Teresa."

It was a drizzly, dreary, humid, cold night in Boston, and close to 2:30 a.m. when we arrived. Gabby, the Kerrys' household assistant, met us at the door and told us that John and Teresa had gone to bed. We offered to leave, but Gabby told us not to: "The senator will be upset if he knows you're here and he wasn't told." She went upstairs. A few minutes later, the defeated Democratic candidate for the presidency came down into the living room to greet us. Vicki spotted him first. "Gosh, Vicki, what a drag. This is a drag, isn't it?" he said as Vicki hugged him and said, "Boy, is it ever." I gave John a warm handshake and then an embrace. "My friend, how are you doing?" I asked him. He replied, "There are so many things I wanted to do for this country."

I was deeply moved by the reaction of this war hero who had fought so hard to win the election and who just hours earlier looked to all the world like he was going to be the next president of the United States. He wasn't bitter or angry. And he wasn't really focused on himself. He was down about the opportunities lost to move the country in a new, more progressive direction. I shared his disappointment. We had worked so hard, and come so close.

The reelection of President Bush meant that it would be another four years before there might be a great leader in the White House. In my nearly fifty years of public life, we have not had a president as successful as FDR. The closest we've come (family relations excluded) is Lyndon Johnson. Civil rights was the issue of our time. He picked up that unfinished work and ensured the passage of the Civil Rights Act and Voting Rights Act. If he hadn't, we certainly wouldn't be where we are today. We certainly wouldn't have the president we have today. Lyndon Johnson knew how to work Congress and move things forward to achieve his goal of a Great Society.

Tragically, the Vietnam War ended all that. Johnson got caught up in it and handled it miserably. The cold war was at its height, and we all had reasons for believing at first that our involvement was vital. But the continued escalation was a huge blunder. It needlessly took so many lives and sucked all of the air and energy out of our progressive ideals. We lost our way. It would take time for voters to endorse those values again.

I rejoice in having lived to see it happen.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Perseverance

2009

I have never dwelled on reversals: a defeated bill or a legislative cause that remains unrealized year after year; an election that goes the wrong way. There has been so much to be thankful for. There have been so many reasons for hope.

In the early months of 2008, out of a crowded field of talented Democratic primary candidates, there emerged a young man so compelling, so electric, his mind so alive with good ideas, that before I knew it, I was hopscotching around the western states for him like a fellow half my age, pumping my fist and telling wildly cheering crowds, "I smell
change
in the air!"

I had many longtime friends among the Democratic presidential contenders: Joe Biden, Hillary Clinton, Chris Dodd, John Edwards, Bill Richardson. And I had come to respect my new colleague Barack Obama. All of these candidates were more than qualified to be president and I would have enthusiastically supported any of them had they been the party's nominee. But I held back at first from getting involved in the primary. As I said many times, I was waiting to see who was capable of lifting up and inspiring our nation to move forward, toward our highest and best ideals, before I decided to endorse anyone. On the night of the Iowa caucuses, Vicki and I watched Barack Obama's victory speech and knew that he had the capacity to inspire. I was among the millions moved as well by Senator Clinton's powerful and uplifting appeal, but I came to believe that Obama was the candidate we needed now at this time in our history. As I talked with my niece Caroline, her children, and our children, I saw the impact that Obama's words were having on them. I felt more and more certain that history had handed us that rarest of figures, one who could truly carve out new frontiers. Or, as the candidate put it in a phrase that resounded everywhere: "Yes we can!"

At around eight o'clock on Thursday morning, January 24, 2008, two days before the critically important South Carolina primary, I spoke with Senator Obama from my home in Washington. "Listen, pal! Is there room on that train of yours for an old--" I couldn't get the rest of it out before the future president's delighted laughter interrupted me, and I laughed along with him. Then I told him, more seriously, "I'm really very strongly in your corner. At the beginning of this whole process I was looking for the person who was going to inspire. That's what the country needs, and I think you've got it."

The next day, Barack gained his breakout victory in South Carolina. Shortly after that, we were out campaigning like it was 1960.

New Mexico, California, New Jersey, Connecticut, Massachusetts--all on February 4, the eve of Super Tuesday. Barack picked up thirteen states to Hillary's ten the next day. A day later, I saw Hillary on the Senate floor and congratulated her on her strong showing. She was smiling and laughing. Despite my endorsement of Obama, my state of Massachusetts was one of those in her "win" column. Barack, who was nearby, caught the mood of the moment; he came over to us and joked, "Maybe, Hillary, I should have let him endorse you." Then I spotted John Kerry and said, "Well, I'm not too good on the endorsing. I endorsed Kerry, too, and look what happened to him!" It was a lighthearted and lively moment, which I think the Senate sometimes shows when it's at its best.

Then Vicki and I hit the trail again: Maine, Pennsylvania, Washington. Maine again. D.C., Maryland, Virginia, Ohio. Our packed schedule of flights and motorcades might have been exhausting, but we were constantly recharged by the prevailing mood of joy. The crowds were large and festive and welcoming, and they made it a pleasure for me to be back on the stump. It was fun, sheer fun.

Hillary fought on with extraordinary determination and skill, and kept the outcome in doubt until the late spring. By that time, of course, I was recovering from my successful surgery at Duke Medical Center, and hoping to be well enough by August to make that appearance at the Democratic convention in Denver. That hope came true, as did my promise to be in Washington for the inauguration of President Obama. He has the potential to be a great president.

And speaking of hope, I still recall that first evening I spent after my seizure in Massachusetts General Hospital: eating chowder from Legal Seafood with Vicki and my children and watching the Red Sox game on TV. But not even someone as hopeful as I would have imagined that on April 7, 2009, I would be standing on the mound at Fenway Park. Like Honey Fitz in 1912, I was ready to throw out the first pitch on Opening Day. I leaned in and peered down for the sign from Hall of Famer Jim Rice, who crouched a few feet away. The first pitch fell short of the target, but I was determined, so I threw a second one and hit my mark. As I later told my grandchildren, I was going to keep throwing until I got it right. Persistence matters.

As my story draws to a close, I am living with cancer. And I know that I will die with it and likely from it. But I don't dwell on that. I have good days and not-so-good days. But more than a year after my diagnosis, I have not yet spent a day in bed. With Vicki's constant help and encouragement, I follow a healthy diet and continue to do moderate exercise. I look forward to going outside every day, rain or shine, to breathe fresh air. I tire more easily than before and need extra rest, and I sometimes use one word when I mean to use another. Still, I continue to sail, as much as the weather allows. And I pray.

All of my life, the teachings of my faith have provided solace and hope, as have the wonders of nature, especially the sea, where religion and spirituality meet the physical. This faith has been as meaningful to me as breathing or loving my family. It's all intertwined.

My faith, and the love of following its rituals, has always been my foundation and my inspiration. Those foundations have been shaken at times by tragedy and misfortune, but faith remains fixed in my heart, as it has been since my childhood days. It is the most positive force in my life and the cause of my eternal optimism. I have fallen short in my life, but my faith has always brought me home.

For almost fifty years, I have represented people who are facing injustice or pain. Life can be violent and grim, but I think of the Resurrection and I feel a sense of hope. When I've started down a spiral of depression or negativism or loss, I've been lucky enough to be able to see another side that can catch me on the way. I believe that if you have a warm and embracing heart, faith can have a powerful impact on your outlook. Vicki has been a great source of strength and love because we share this underlying belief and faith.

Life is eternal. Work continues. It is a calling, an opportunity to do things about injustice or unfairness. It helps to have a goal. I've always tried to have one.

Even this disease has proved itself an impetus for hope. In my lifetime I have witnessed advances in medical understanding of malignancy and treatment for it that would have been unthinkable in my early years. Teddy Jr., then Kara, then myself--three "hopeless" victims of unusually deadly attacks--are among the millions who've enjoyed extended life thanks to these ongoing breakthroughs. Yet so much more is possible. I see how far we've come in my lifetime. When I first campaigned for Jack in the 1960 presidential primaries, Medicare didn't even exist. Now it is part of our national contract.

Even in these challenging times, there are daily reasons to rejoice. After years of work, we finally passed a national service bill that will triple the size of AmeriCorps and dramatically expand opportunities for service by all Americans.

And, of course, my work to improve health care, the great cause of my life, will continue to my last day (and beyond if, as I hope, these words inspire readers to take up the cause). One of the great lessons I've learned from a life in politics is that no reform is ever truly complete. We must constantly keep moving forward, seeking ways to create that more perfect union. In my personal life, I kept moving to avoid the tragedy behind me. As a senator, that same motivation has been a blessing.

These days, simple pleasures fill me with happiness. In my seventyseven years I have never grown tired of sitting on my front porch and looking out over Nantucket Sound. The waters change texture and color with the light, the weather, the seasons, the time of day. I still pass many contented hours sitting in my green-cushioned wicker chair, with a hot mug of tea on the table beside me, gazing at the sea, the diving osprey, the gulls that can be suspended in midair as they fly against the wind. I love the reflection of the setting sun on the wooden masts of
Mya
; the rising moon; the beauty of a rainbow after a storm. I am seldom far from the company of my dogs, Splash, Sunny, and now our new pup Captains Courageous (Cappy). They love to retrieve tennis balls, and if a ball finds its way into the water, the dogs won't be far behind.

Sailing is still my favorite pastime. Being on the ocean has thrilled me and comforted me and protected me for all my life, and I love that time now, perhaps more than ever. I also take pleasure in knowing that the sea has formed a bond with our grandchildren as well.

One of my favorite stories is how Little Teddy in particular has developed into a sailor. I'm Big Teddy. Medium Teddy is my son. And Little Teddy is his son, Edward Moore Kennedy III, born in 1998.

In the summer of 2008, ten-year-old Little Teddy spent the summer in Hyannis Port, working hard on his sailing. As he told me one evening, his father passed sailing on to him just as I had passed it on to his father. It was a Kennedy tradition to sail. The problem was, though, that throughout July, nothing seemed to go right with Little Teddy's sailing and he wasn't having very much fun. He would race his boat and come in last or second to last. He would swamp his boat and spend his time bailing it out. He was often miserable and shed more than a few tears. But his father and I encouraged him. Keep sailing. Try this technique. Don't give up. I told Teddy of my being eighth string on the Harvard football team and how I was not the best athlete by far. But I stayed with it and didn't give up and by my senior year I was a starter and caught touchdown passes. His face seemed to light up a bit. "We might not be the best, Teddy, but we can work harder than anyone," I told him. "And that will make the difference."

Little Teddy stayed with it. He grew eager to learn. He got better. He got more than better; he started winning races. When they gave the sailing awards at the end of August, Teddy had won first place for the August series in his division. What a triumph. But what meant even more to him--and, I must say, more to me--is that he won the award for the Most Improved Sailor.

It was a great moment--a grand moment. You couldn't even button up Teddy's coat because his chest was so filled with pride and achievement.

This is the greatest lesson a child can learn. It is the greatest lesson anyone can learn. It has been the greatest lesson I have learned: if you persevere, stick with it, work at it, you have a real opportunity to achieve something. Sure, there will be storms along the way. And you might not reach your goal right away. But if you do your best and keep a true compass, you'll get there.