THE PRESIDENCY: Recalling the Kennedys

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We can measure political joy by John and Bob Kennedy. It is their special legacy, burned into the national consciousness 15 years ago Wednesday, when J.F.K, was assassinated. It has been enlarged in the intervening years as we have distilled the pure pleasure from the murky broth of reality of the 1960s.

Why is it that the night when Bobby walked through the rainy streets of Charleston, W. Va., to the threadbare hotel room of a defeated Hubert Humphrey remains the most poignant memory in primary politics? For one thing, Theodore White was there and he turned it into literature. For another, the emotion of that evening covered the full human scale. Then, too, excellent men won —and lost.

Why is it that the Waterbury, Conn., rally at the end of John Kennedy's 1960 campaign is a legend in itself? Political Writer David Broder recalled it again a few days ago. Kennedy was five hours late, not arriving until 2:30 a.m. Thousands waited in the autumn night, overjoyed that at last the slender young candidate had appeared. The American promise stood in front of them. They did not want to go to bed, to break the magic moment.

Why is it that when we think of memorable speeches, we think of Kennedy's talk as President-elect to the Massachusetts legislature, and the challenge to the nation to be people of "courage, judgment, integrity and dedication"; his Inaugural Address; his Berlin exhortation, "Ich bin ein Berliner"! There was a resonance with our aspirations in those speeches, but there also was a heady reach for excellence of language and of thought.

Why is it that when we recall Presidents abroad we think of Kennedy excelling on the haughty turf of Charles de Gaulle and standing like the Pied Piper among the ruddy-cheeked Irish children of Galway?

For one thing, nobody that young at heart and that well known had represented America in Europe since Gene Kelly danced in the movie An American in Paris. The Yankees seemed reborn: a new generation in charge.

And it was such great fun. The programs and the crisis management were sometimes forgettable but the lift was always there. The Kennedys nurtured the nation's spirit; they planted hope before they designed new schemes. They led an adventure that had its roots in Boston's Irish wards and embraced great wealth, the Harvard Yard and the hint of sin at El Morocco. It was not always in the best of taste, but it bubbled.

Teddy Kennedy has now gathered the threads of that family heritage. And not even his escapades could give long pause to the country's yearning for another interlude of political uplift. Anyone who has traveled the nation during these past 15 years and paused to measure the Kennedy feeling has sensed it beneath the surface. The Senator these days seems almost as much a captive of the legend as the man who is exploiting it. He rides along with relish. But he also is driven to keep up with the legend, build it a bit.

There seems now a national inevitability about Teddy Kennedy. He is the most intensely popular public figure in America today. It is as if he is certain to be President—or be another Kennedy tragedy. "I hope he runs," breathed one admirer, "but, oh, I hope he doesn't." None of us—including the Senator himself —seems to have control over this desire for another Kennedy. We want to feel good again.