Ted Kennedy and me
I first met Senator Ted Kennedy at a National Schools Board Association (NSBA) meeting in Washington years ago where he was the featured speaker. Before the meeting, those of us from the Bay State got a private audience with the Senator. We numbered about 20 folks from the Commonwealth, and I’ll never forget the sheepish grin on his face when he walked into the room and softly asked, “Massachusetts?” We nodded enthusiastically and clustered around him to shake his hand, make eye contact, and share a few words. Later, we were escorted into a huge auditorium where the front rows had been reserved for us. We had the best seats in the house as Senator Edward M. Kennedy entered behind us to thunderous applause and a standing ovation. I was proud to be from Massachusetts, to sit at the front of that huge auditorium with my colleagues and know that our Senator was a national champion for public schoolchildren. The cheers and adoration from thousands of school committee members from across the country felt like a personal accomplishment: he’s our Senator, he belongs to us!
A few years later, I got it in my head that I wanted Senator Kennedy to visit Lowell and see firsthand the good work being done in our schools. Federal resources for education had steadily declined under the Bush administration, No Child Left Behind was under-funded and over-mandated, and we needed help. I was a Lowell delegate at the upcoming Massachusetts Democratic Convention in Worcester where we would determine our candidate for Governor (Deval Patrick). When I told friends about my plan to invite the Senator to Lowell at the Convention, they laughed, predicting I couldn’t get near him. Turned out, security was very tight. I considered trying to sneak in with a group of important-looking folks who were headed backstage, but at the last minute, I lost my nerve and ducked into a restroom. In the bathroom, I contemplated my face in the mirror, while trying to talk myself into attempting to get past security, but I just couldn’t muster the courage/foolhardiness for such a venture. Instead, I spoke out loud to my reflection, “If it’s meant to be, God, you make it happen.” With that and a shrug, I pulled the door open and headed out, almost crashing into the esteemed Senator as he walked directly past me. I immediately fell into step beside him and his entourage. We walked a short way, entered a freight elevator together, and started up. In the silence, I turned and touched his sleeve (the elephant in the elevator). “Excuse me Senator,” I said, my voice low and crackly from nerves. “Yes?” he drawled in answer, smiling and turning to look at me. I gave him a 30-second elevator pitch, literally, that included who I was, what I wanted from him and why. He listened, introduced me to his scheduler, and suggested we exchange cards as the elevator doors opened. I called her a few times after that, but with campaign season in full swing, we never did make it happen.
In my younger days, I judged Kennedy harshly for Chappaquidick, writing him off as a reckless party boy born of privilege–despite his family tragedies. As I matured, I realized most folks do not come in one bold color or another, but are shades of strength and weakness. Senator Ted Kennedy has atoned for his moments of weakness with decades committed to working hard to improve the lives of others. May he rest in peace.