TED KENNEDY(ISBN=) 英文原版

　　In the most inspiring speech of his career, Ted Kennedy once
vowed: “For all those whose cares have been our concern, the work
goes on, the cause endures, the hope still lives, and the dream
shall never die.”
　　Unlike his martyred brothers, John and Robert, whose lives were
cut off before the promise of a better future could be realized,
Ted lived long enough to make many promises come true. During a
career that spanned an astonishing half-century, he put his imprint
on every major piece of progressive legislation–from health care
and education to civil rights.

　　WARD KLEIN is the former foreign editor of Newsweek and
former editor in chief of The New York Times Magazine. He
frequently contributes to Vanity Fair and Parade.
Klein is also the author of several New York Times
bestselling biographies, including All Too Human; Just Jackie;
Farewell, Jackie; and The Kennedy Curse.
　　From the
Hardcover edition.

　　“Arguably Klein’s best work, Ted Kennedy is a masterful
account, providing fly-on-the wall perspective into one of
America’s most powerful and secretive families…a fascinating read
about one of the most consequential men of our time.”
　　—Newsmax
　　“Ted Kennedy is quick, light and fascinating. Neither
exculpatory nor completely censorious, it’s a portrait of an
American legend whose life — whatever one things of his politics
and his past — has been one of significance.”
　　—Richmond Times-Dispatch
　　“Fast-paced, very readable…Klein drew on a vast store of original
research and unprecedented access…worth reading.”
　　—Huntingtonnews.net
　　From the Hardcover edition.

　　Author’s NoteMetamorphosisLet others delight in the good old
days;
　　I am delighted to be alive right now.
　　This age is suited to my way of life.
　　–OvidON A FINE summer’s day in 1970, Ted Kennedy skipperedhis
sailboat from Hyannis Port over to Monhegan Island, anunspoiled,
rocky outcropping ten miles off the coast of Maine, whereI
customarily spent the month of August with my children. He’dcome to
visit our mutual friend, the artist Jamie Wyeth, who’d painteda
portrait of Ted’s brother Jack not long after the president’s
assassination.
　　Jamie always worked from live subjects, and while making
hispreliminary sketches of JFK, he’d asked Ted to sit in, as it
were, forthe dead president. As the portrait took shape, Ted had
assumed theidentity of his martyred brother, and in that guise, he
and Jamie hadbecome fast friends.
　　Ted and Joan Kennedy were staying with Jamie and his
wife,Phyllis, who owned the most beautiful home on the island. It
hadonce belonged to the famous illustrator Rockwell Kent, and it
overlookeda boulder- strewn beach called Lobster Cove, where a
picturesqueold shipwreck lay rusting on its side.
　　Automobiles weren’t permitted on Monhegan Island, and I raninto
the Kennedys and Wyeths as they were coming down the footpathfrom
Lobster Cove on their way to the general store. PhyllisWyeth, who’d
been left paralyzed from the waist down as the resultof an
accident, was in a wheelchair. She introduced me to her
weekendguests: Joan, thirty- three, blond and willowy, at the
height ofher mature beauty; and Ted, thirty- eight, in robust good
health. Itwas easy to see why Ted had been called the handsomest of
thehandsome Kennedy brothers.
　　“How are you, Senator,” I said, shaking his hand.
　　My commonplace greeting seemed to perturb him, perhaps
becausePhyllis had mentioned that I was a journalist with
Newsweek,and Ted Kennedy, at that time, was a fugitive from the
media. Recently,Massachusetts had released the official transcript
of the inquestinto the 1969 death of Mary Jo Kopechne on
Chappaquiddick Island.
　　The judge presiding over the inquest strongly implied that
adrunken Ted Kennedy had been driving Mary Jo to a sexual trystwhen
his car plunged off a bridge and into a body of water, whereMary Jo
died.
　　I couldn’t tell whether Ted had a sailor’s sunburn, or whetherhis
face was scarlet with shame. His edgy defensiveness was
underscoredby his stumbling syntax–a stammer that at times made
himsound slow- witted and even a bit dumb.
　　“Well, um, yes, ah, glorious day . . .” he said. “Beautifulhere,
isn’t it? . . . Sailing, um. . . . Good day . . . er, for that. . .
.
　　Wind. . . .”
　　Someone once referred to Ted Kennedy’s off- the- cuff
speakingstyle–as opposed to his superbly crafted speeches–as a
“parody of[Yankees manager] Casey Stengel: nouns in search of
verbs.” I laterlearned that the senator was aware of his tendency
to speak in crypticfragments, joking that as the youn gest of nine
children, he’dnever had a chance to complete a sentence. To correct
the problem,he’d consulted a psychologist, who prescribed a daily
therapeuticregimen to make him sound more intelligible when he
wasn’t usinga prepared text. But he quickly lost interest in the
therapy, and kepton uh-ing and ah-ing with no noticeable
improvement.
　　As we talked, I was struck by the fact that Ted didn’t look
atJoan. Their eyes never met. Indeed, they didn’t even bother
withthe casual intimacies that are common between husband and
wife.
　　Although I didn’t know it at the time, Joan was well on her wayto
becoming a full- blown alcoholic. If Ted had once counted on Joanto
turn a blind eye to his infidelities, her alcoholism had changed
allthat. Instead of tranquilizing her and making her more
submissive,drink had freed Joan to speak her mind.
　　She had recently given an indiscreet interview to the Ladies’Home
Journal. She and Ted, she said, “know our good and badtraits, we
have seen one another at rock bottom. . . .” It was clearthat
Joan’s tendency to talk about Ted in less than glowing termshad put
a strain on their marriage. The tragedy of Chappaquiddickhad only
made matters worse.
　　AFTER OUR BRIEF chat on Monhegan Island, ten years passedbefore I
ran into Ted Kennedy again. This time, it was at a Christmasparty
given by his sister- in- law Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis ather Fifth
Avenue pent house apartment. Ted was still recovering fromhis ill-
fated primary race against President Jimmy Carter. A monthor so
before Jackie’s cocktail reception, Carter had been soundly
defeatedby Ronald Reagan in the general election, which must
havegiven Ted Kennedy a feeling of schadenfreude. It also might
haveaccounted for the high spirits he displayed that December eve
ningat Jackie’s.
　　Ted had gained a good deal of weight, and there were strandsof
gray in his thick mass of disordered hair. I had heard rumors
thathe and Joan were living apart, and in fact he’d come to the
partywithout her. Joan’s absence was particularly conspicuous
becauseother members of Jackie’s extended family–including her
mother,her stepbrother, and assorted Kennedys, Shrivers, Lawfords,
andSmiths–were present. So were a few favored writers and
journalistswho, like me, had been befriended by Jackie.
　　“Teddy,” Jackie said as she introduced us, “this is Ed Klein.
Heused to be at Newsweek, and now he’s the editor of the New
YorkTimes Magazine.”
　　“The senator and I have met before,” I said. “You were
visitingJamie and Phyllis Wyeth on Monhegan Island.”
　　“Oh, yes, um, I remember that, ah, day, ah, well,” he said.
　　But he was slurring his words and speaking more loudly
thannecessary, and I concluded that he’d had too much to drink.
Still, itwas interesting to note that, even when inebriated, Ted
Kennedydisplayed impeccable manners. He had not yet turned fifty
andcould still hold his liquor.AGAIN, A DECADE or so went by before
I met Ted Kennedy forthe third time. It was the early 1990s, and
I’d left the Times aftereleven years as editor of its Sunday
magazine and was now writingfor Vanity Fair and Parade. I’d been
invited as the sole journalist toattend a private dinner given by a
group of wealthy contributors inhonor of Senator Kennedy at the
“21” Club, a Manhattan mecca fortop business executives and Wall
Street bankers.
　　Ted was preparing for a reelection campaign, and althoughhe’d
established a record as one of the Senate’s all- time greats
(he’dhad a hand in passing every major health, education, and civil
rightsbill over the past thirty years), he was in serious po liti
cal troubleback home in Massachusetts. As a result of his
entanglement in thesordid Palm Beach rape case against his nephew
William KennedySmith, Ted’s poll numbers had sunk to an all- time
low. It looked asthough the unthinkable might happen: a Kennedy
might actuallylose a race in Massachusetts.
　　He loved the Senate, and he intended to fight with everyweapon at
his disposal to keep his seat. His father, Joseph P. Ken -nedy, had
once famously said: “Politics is like war. It takes threethings to
win. The first is money and the second is money and thethird is
money.” Ted Kennedy had come to that night’s dinner toraise a lot
of money.
　　He was now sixty years old, and when he entered the room,I hardly
recognized him. There, in the middle of his creased andcrumpled
face, was his alcohol- ravaged nose–a rough, veined
protuberancethat was as gnarled as the knot of an oak tree. His
bloatedbody was bursting at the armpits of his suit jacket.
　　He was seated at a big round table next to his attractive
newwife, Victoria Reggie Kennedy, a tall, dark-haired, hazel- eyed
womanwho was twenty- two years his ju nior. Vicki glowed with vigor
andself- confidence. A successful lawyer in her own right, Vicki
had away of inserting herself into the conversation without
appearing toupstage the senator. In fact, it soon became apparent
that Vicki wasthere to look after Ted, monitor his answers, adjust
them if necessary,add some nuances–and make sure that he didn’t
drink toomuch. She sent the waiter away when he attempted to fill
her husband’swineglass for the third time. Ted seemed perfectly
content tolet Vicki run the show.
　　His speaking disability was on full display that eve ning. He
hadtrouble answering the simplest questions. He talked in sentence
fragmentsand at times didn’t make much sense. Each time he
faltered,he’d look over at Vicki, who’d beam back at him, and each
time heseemed to draw renewed confidence from her. I couldn’t help
butnotice the submissive way he related to Vicki, and compare that
withthe cool indifference he’d shown Joan on Monhegan Island
sometwenty years before.
　　By the end of the eve ning, I’d come to an extraordinary
conclusion:This was no longer the same Ted Kennedy I had first met
onMonhegan Island. This Ted Kennedy was a less agitated,
restless,and fretful man; he was also less self- conscious and ill
at ease, lessvain and egocentric.
　　Fundamental change in a person of Ted Kennedy’s age is
rare.
　　But here was l…