THE ASCENT OF TED KENNEDY

AT 36, Edward M. Kennedy became the youngest majority whip in the history of the U.S. Senate. By moving from a backbench to the cockpit of congressional power, the senior Senator from Massachusetts could now overtly exercise the influence that has hitherto been his primarily by virtue of legend, tragedy and guilt. He disavowed his election as a personal victory or as a steppingstone toward the presidency. "I view it," he said, "as expressing the sense of the Democratic Senators in favor of an aggressive and creative program in the upcoming Congress."

The loser was more candid--and more accurate--about the situation. "I don't think I could have been defeated by anyone else in the U.S. Senate," said Louisiana's Russell Long. "And my guess is that I would have taken any other opponent by about a 2-to-1 margin." That point scored, he continued with a less gracious observation: "This happens to have been a race where it was a nationwide proposition, and while I had Senator Kennedy outgunned in the United States Senate, he had me outgunned in the United States."

Long was simply outgunned by a more contemporary and compelling dynasty than his own. His father, Kingfish Huey, is a remote and unappealing legend to most Americans today. The Longs have always been parochial, mercurial politicians. Nonetheless, Russell after long tenure had become chairman of the powerful Finance Committee and a card-carrying Bourbon of the Upper House, ranking third in the Senate hierarchy. Kennedy has had just six years in office, heads no committee. He ranks 23rd in seniority in the Senate.

A Personal Victory

Ted Kennedy is considerably more than a legatee. He had the political acumen to realize that an opportunity existed to make a quantum jump in Senate status. He recognized first the changing mood of the Democrats in the Senate, who strongly felt the urge for new leadership. He saw that Russell Long, who has had many problems and has been none too popular with his colleagues, was ripe for picking Finally, sizing up the situation, he had the courage--or the gall--to make the challenge. Challenge is a family tradition with the Kennedys. On the other hand, Maine's Edmund Muskie, fresh from good reviews as the Democratic vice-presidential candidate, saw the same opportunity but decided not to take the risk of losing the battle. Muskie had another consideration--his need to travel freely for purposes of self-advertisement. But to all appearances, Ted Kennedy had outflanked one of his major potential rivals for a 1972 presidential race.

In political terms, Kennedy's victory was a very personal triumph. Whatever he accomplishes for the party and the Senate, his already lustrous presidential prospects are clearly enhanced. His new power makes him heir to the majority leadership of the Senate and gives him ample justification for maneuver that his previous rank and name could hardly supply.

Ted Kennedy carried off his coup so neatly that it appeared to be the product of Machiavellian planning and minute organization, hallmarks of all Kennedy campaigns. He has, however, the capacity to operate spontaneously. He decided late to make the race, announced his candidacy just four days before the secret ballot in the party's caucus, and then moved with astonishing speed. Yet the process that got him to the point of decision was long and agonizing.

While Jack and then Bobby Kennedy were the senior partners of the combine, Ted was able to grow to political maturity at his own pace. He largely overcame the princeling syndrome that plagued him at the beginning of his Senate career. It was most pungently expressed in 1962, during his campaign for the unexpired portion of John Kennedy's Senate term, when he debated his opponent in the Democratic primary on TV. Edward McCormack, state attorney general of Massachusetts and nephew of House Speaker John McCormack, rasped: "If your name was simply Edward Moore instead of Edward Moore Kennedy, your candidacy would be a joke."

That may have been true, but the voters smiled indulgently. Although he had achieved the constitutional age requirement of 30 just months before, Ted easily won nomination and election to Brother John's old seat. His credentials were a football build (6 ft. 2 in., 200 lbs.), the handsomest face in the family, his father's money and his brother's name. Only later would he come into his own.

It soon became clear that he had another important asset: a dearth of enemies. The fourth Kennedy brother and the youngest of the nine-member brood reared by Joe and Rose, Teddy, as he was universally called then, lacked the sophistication and intellectual edge of John. He did not show Robert's intense, grating drive and zeal. "He has," said his father, "the affability of an Irish cop." More perceptively, Rose Kennedy observed: "He's very ambitious, and naturally he wants to do what the other boys did."

There was plenty of ambition and nerve, seemingly no sharp edges or animosities. For the kid brother of the President and the Attorney General, the boy Senator and occasional target of derision, these qualities were valuable. Soon after taking office, Ted Kennedy said, with self-deprecating humor that only the really assured can command: "I was down at the White House this afternoon with some suggestions for the State of the Union address. But all I got from him was, 'Are you still using that greasy kid stuff?' "

Diffident Freshman

If the Senate expected a spoiled parvenu, it found instead a diligent, diffident, intelligent freshman who avoided publicity as well as a Kennedy could, and concentrated on the business of his committees and his state. While an undergraduate at Harvard, Ted had once been suspended for having another student take a Spanish exam for him. As a Senator, he has never been caught with homework undone. He made courtesy calls on his elders, including those with whom he completely disagreed. When Mississippi's James Eastland, chairman of the Judiciary Committee of which Kennedy was a member, entertained him in an early-morning interview with a stiff shot of bourbon, the guest smiled and accepted. The moment Eastland's eye was elsewhere, he emptied his glass into a wastebasket. Kennedy was soon a subcommittee chairman. He made his way. "Teddy" gradually gave way to "Ted."

Comfort vanished with "the events of June," as Ted refers to his brother Robert's assassination last year. The surviving Kennedy became the immediate target of conflicting pressures--to save the Democratic ticket by running for Vice President, to save his brother's cause by running for President. He ruled out the second spot. Although there was some talk of a draft for the presidential nomination, and although Eugene McCarthy offered Kennedy his delegates during the convention, there was no assurance that Ted could get the nomination, and no certainty in his own mind that he should try for it. In any event, he decided to give a firm no to any attempts to draft him. The opportunity passed.

Family Responsibilities

During the summer and much of the fall, Kennedy was in a kind of hibernation as a public man. The murder had shattered him. He wept in the company of others and alone. Even Ethel seemed to bear up better than he. He spent much time sailing alone, or with a few intimates, or with some of the Kennedy children, often lying on his sloop and staring at the sky. One of the first times that he attempted to return to his suite in the Senate Office Building, he found himself unable to enter, unable to face his staff or the reminders of his brother. He drove home.

The rest of Ted Kennedy's days were devoted to family affairs. He had become the custodian of the family archives. The John F. Kennedy Library project needed attention. Ted joined in setting up a $10 million social-action foundation in Robert's memory. He was responsible for his own, Robert's and John's children, 15 in all (Ethel's latest made it 16, but Jacqueline's marriage gave John and Caroline a stepfather). Two of Robert's sons were having prep school problems that needed attention. Ted arranged summer trips abroad for the two oldest boys, escorting one of them to Spain. While Ethel Kennedy was hospitalized, he kept a paternal watch over her brood.

When he appeared in Washington in September, a reporter who had long known Ted found him visibly older, somewhat slow of step, the grey flecks at his temples more apparent. His waist has begun to thicken. He still wears a brace as a result of the broken back suffered in a 1964 plane crash. His future? "I'm just feeling my way," he said then, "day by day." He did some limited campaigning for Hubert Humphrey. He starred at a couple of fundraisers to offset the $3.5 million deficit left from Robert's presidential primary campaign. Gradually his humor and sprightliness returned. But in front of the fireplace in his new home in Virginia, into which he moved with his wife Joan and their three children last March, he appeared distant and dreamy when the subject of his future came up. Frequently, the talk centered on the Senate and his role in it. He was generally pleased with his performance so far, he told one friend. But: "I want to establish more of a record." In the wake of Humphrey's defeat, the inevitable White House talk came to haunt him. Repeatedly, he had to say: "I have no timetable."

Timetables are, of course, frequently made by others. No speculation about 1972 omits Kennedy's name. Almost any political act on his part can be interpreted as self-aggrandizement. When two young Manhattan career girls started Help Organize People Early and sent out thousands of Ted-boosting buttons, he disowned their effort. Still, he has not repudiated family tradition--and apparently cannot. It is hard under the circumstances to forget J.F.K.'s remark, delivered somewhat humorously: "I came into politics in my brother Joe's place. If anything happens to me, Bobby will take my place, and if Bobby goes, we have Teddy coming along."

Rocking the Boat

No Kennedy brother could conceivably remove himself from national politics and presidential speculation. Ted had no intention of renouncing public life. By December, he was ready to return to his career. By then, he was also eager to discuss the 91st Congress and his role in it. "This was the first interlude," he said later. "I had been so involved with the memorial and with the fund-raising dinners. But obviously it was time to begin thinking about next year." It was also time, as one aide put it, "for him to become more than just the 'nice' Kennedy."

Who would speak for the party in the Senate? If no one violated the unwritten rule ("Rock not the boat, lest the boat be rocked when you have hold of the tiller"), the Senate Democratic leadership would consist of well-liked, if rather bland Majority Leader Mike Mansfield and three conservatives: Long, Georgia's Richard Russell, who was to be named president pro tempore, and West Virginia's Robert Byrd, who was to be retained as chairman of the Democratic Conference. Of the four, only Long was vulnerable.

Red of face, bulbous of nose, chunky of build, erratic in behavior, Long in his four years as majority whip had virtually abdicated his responsibilities in the job. He left the routine work to Mansfield, Byrd and others, and sometimes even worked at cross purposes with Mansfield. In the last Congress he tied up the Senate for six weeks while vainly fighting for his pet bill on campaign financing. When he decided to defend Connecticut's Thomas Dodd against charges of improper use of campaign funds, Long's strident, stubborn advocacy produced almost as much embarrassment for the Senate as did Dodd's activities. A hawk on Viet Nam, Long has also consistently and rigidly opposed civil rights legislation. While fancying himself something of a Populist in his father's tradition, he has generally been against urban-oriented social-welfare programs and tax reform.

Making the Decision

Long had considerable strength. Many Senators--and many of their constituents and campaign contributors--have vital stakes in the Finance Committee's power over tax legislation. Long also had on his side the tradition of deference to seniority. Theoretically, at least, it would have been easier for a Senator older than Kennedy to make the challenge. Muskie had seemed a logical choice and Kennedy was prepared to back him. But as Kennedy began a Christmas vacation with his family that took them first to Florida and then to Sun Valley, Idaho, the word got out that Muskie had decided not to compete with Long. From Sun Valley, Kennedy telephoned Muskie to be certain of his position. "If you're absolutely sure you won't run," said Kennedy, "maybe I will." Replied Muskie: "Do. I urge you to." During the next couple of days, Kennedy conferred with aides and like-minded Senate colleagues. Among them: Joseph Tydings of Maryland, Birch Bayh of Indiana, Henry ("Scoop") Jackson of Washington, and Bob Kennedy's old friend and supporter, George McGovern of South Dakota.

Several of those he consulted reacted negatively. "Why?" some asked him. "Are you sure this is something you want?" Others expressed doubt that the fight was worthwhile, or that it could be won. Kennedy's standard comeback: "Why not?" No one gave what he considered a valid reason for hanging back. Indeed, the more Senators he talked to, the more he became convinced he could win. He already had Muskie's support. Hubert Humphrey, though lacking a vote, was willing to lend his name to the effort. New Hampshire's Thomas McIntyre also joined up. Mansfield, who had every practical reason for wanting to be rid of Long, could not commit himself publicly, but did nothing to discourage Kennedy when informed of his plans.

Despite the encouragement, it was not until Sunday, Dec. 29, just five days before the vote, that Kennedy made the final decision to go ahead. And it was not until the next day that he publicly announced his decision. By now he was reaching beyond his circle of Senate friends and those he could expect to be sympathetic. "There was no time to write letters," he says. "There was no time for personal contacts. The telephone is not very satisfactory, but it was the only way."

Working His Own Way

Kennedy could not reach all 57 Senate Democrats during the holiday period. But he got to most of them, and summarized his appeal this way: "My argument was pretty much the same to each. It was that I felt the job of majority whip was important, that it could be effective, that although the job was not clearly defined, I would try if I won it to make it important to the nation, the Senate and the party." He reminded his colleagues that during Humphrey's tenure as whip, from 1961 through 1964, the Minnesotan had invested the post with dignity and stature; that he had used it to promote the passage of major legislation. "Most liberals," said Kennedy, "felt it important that someone in the leadership should be sensitive to the things they felt strongly about."

Kennedy worked virtually alone as his own campaign manager and advocate. "I suppose some other calls were made," he conceded, "but the people who made them did so on their own." Long, meanwhile, was fighting back with his own appeals. He got important help from lobbyists for the oil industry, which is deeply indebted to Long for his perennial defense of the oil-depletion allowance.

Probably the biggest surprise of the contest was Eugene McCarthy's decision. When he met Kennedy in Washington before the vote, erstwhile Peace Candidate McCarthy explained his decision to support Long, a Viet Nam hawk who has fulsomely praised the police force that battered McCarthy's kids in the Chicago disorders. "I don't know," said McCarthy. "I haven't got anything against Russell Long. I don't see any reason to strike out against him over something this unimportant."

The Minnesotan added the somewhat casuistic argument that a victory for Kennedy would appear to be a reform move while not actually guaranteeing change--and thus that the liberal cause might be hurt in the long run. Those who tried to fathom McCarthy's motives recalled his longtime animosity toward the Kennedys. On the other hand, he had offered Ted his delegates in Chicago. McCarthy is a member of Long's Finance Committee, and Long is the type who punishes his enemies and rewards his friends, with equal vehemence. Yet at least four other members of Long's committee went with Kennedy. As usual, with McCarthy, his meaning and motives remained private.

It turned out that McCarthy's vote was unnecessary. Long and his allies had gone into the caucus outwardly confident of victory. Less generous critics of Long delightedly pictured the Louisianan's mental tortures as he sought to divine which colleagues who had promised to support him actually voted for Kennedy in the secret ballot. Though the votes of many Senators became known through one means or another (see box page 14), some insisted on trying for absolute privacy. Said Montana's Lee Metcalf: "I will know and God will know how I vote. But I will try to keep the man on my left and right in the caucus from knowing."

The New Job

Exactly what had Kennedy won? The post of whip,* after all, usually carries with it more drudgery than drama. As a factotum and deputy of the majority leader, the whip must help keep routine business flowing. He must also try to maintain party discipline on key issues, which is frequently a futile mission among independent-minded Senators and committee chairmen who are in some cases more powerful than the nominal party leaders. Once party policy on a given issue is established, the whip should defend it. He must serve as a link between the leadership and the rank and file. If he is to live up to this charter, he must sacrifice a measure of political independence and physical mobility.

The post offers unique advantages to Kennedy during the next few years. With the Republicans in control of the White House and all the big-state governorships except Texas, Congress becomes the Democrats' principal sounding board and fortress. In opposition to the White House but in firm control of Capitol Hill, the congressional Democrats thus have wider responsibility and opportunity to assert themselves than they have had with a Democratic President insistent on passing his own legislative program.

If there is to be any Democratic program in the following four years, it must come from Congress. As No. 2 man on the majority side and a member of the steering committee, Ted Kennedy will have a major role in formulating policy. Majority Leader Mansfield, a former college professor from Montana, has never been an aggressive legislative leader and, at 65, he has no aspiration for higher elective office. Thus Kennedy, his heir apparent, should have ample opportunity to show his mettle.

Moreover, as assistant majority leader, Kennedy will be able to speak out on any important issue before the Congress, free of the accusation that he is merely promoting his presidential prospects. It will be his responsibility to be a vigorous advocate. If, at the same time, he broadens his national reputation and following, that will be only in the line of duty. The fact that he will be more firmly anchored to the Senate floor than he would as an ordinary Senator scarcely hobbles his prospects for 1972. As a Kennedy, he does not have to travel for years to make political contacts or popularize his name.

The Only Senate Man

Nor does Ted face any handicaps of temperament. "Of all the Kennedys," Mansfield said after the vote, "the Senator is the only one who was and is a real Senate man." Neither J.F.K. nor R.F.K. could have won a legislative leadership post, and it is doubtful that either would have even tried. They were too restless, too impatient with Senate protocol, too determined in their bigger ambitions.

Ted Kennedy, on the other hand, has always seemed at home in the Senate. He has shown an unusual capacity for combining independence of action with respect for his elders. Whether making a losing fight for draft reform or leading a successful floor revolt against an important House bill on redistricting, a measure that carried the blessing of a House-Senate conference committee, Kennedy was always sufficiently tactful to make a minimum of enemies. He worked hard and effectively to increase aid to South Vietnamese refugees. He was a leader in liberalizing the basic U.S. immigration law. In 1965 he blundered badly by pushing a minor Kennedy crony for a federal judgeship, but when his error became apparent even to him, he saved the Senate the embarrassment of voting on the nomination by asking the White House to shelve it.

As it was, his campaign to depose Long could not have failed to advance his fortunes. Defeat would have cost Kennedy nothing within the Senate because the fight was brief and relatively free of rancor. Nationally, defeat could have still benefited Kennedy within the moderate-to-liberal constituency that is his natural home. Regardless of the outcome, challenge to a Senate autocrat could only be regarded as a sign of courage. To those who came out of 1968 itching for political reform, Kennedy demonstrated the will to achieve it.

In response to the renewed White House talk that followed his victory, Kennedy made all the noises of ritualistic noncandidacy. "I want to give my full attention to the Senate," he told a TIME correspondent. "You go on, and you see what happens. I am not planning four years or eight years or twelve years in the future. I am planning to serve my party and my country now, to the best of my ability, in the United States Senate."

Of course. But how he serves there, and how the Democratic majority fares, can have important effects on both his own and his party's prospects. There will probably be no shortage of tests. Senate Democrats from the center leftward will be pushing for many of the domestic proposals emphasized in the party platform, notably antipoverty efforts, aid to education, health programs and other goals ringed with dollar signs. Lyndon Johnson's budget for fiscal 1970 is expected to include a $1.5 billion increase in education aid. Some of the liberals want much more; many conservatives will fight for much less. What to do about the Office of Economic Opportunity, which many Republicans would like to dismantle, is another certain subject of conflict.

The overall Johnson budget for the fiscal year beginning July1 will total about $192 billion, up $7.6 billion over the current year. This presumes a halving of the income tax surcharge to 5%, a proposal that Richard Nixon is understood to have accepted, if somewhat reluctantly. This would allow for funding urban programs at roughly their current levels--again dissatisfying to both liberals and conservatives. It would, however, permit an increase in the military budget of $4.9 billion (to $78.5 billion), which is less than the service chiefs and their partisans on Capitol Hill want. House Armed Services Chairman Mendel Rivers insists that defense spending will have to go up by still another few billion. On the first day of the new Congress, he introduced a $3.8 billion bill that in effect would begin construction of a new Navy. The amount is nearly triple the funds available for shipbuilding this year.

Large Promises

The Senate must still consider--and will probably approve--the nuclear non-proliferation treaty. But foreign aid and trade agreements may lead to sulfurous squabbles. The aid program seems destined to be squeezed down still further, and protectionists will again be seeking assistance for some domestic industries. There is also a resolution pending in the Senate that would demand congressional approval before the President commits U.S. forces overseas. On the troop issue, Kennedy reflects an executive rather than a legislative viewpoint, observing that such infringements on presidential powers get into "dangerous waters." But he would like to see the Senate at least express itself more freely on foreign affairs.

On most other predictable questions, Kennedy can be expected generally to defend the established liberal viewpoint. His specific ideas remain for the moment as uncertain as Nixon's. Nevertheless, Ted Kennedy has made large promises that go beyond the technical confines of his new post. He has pledged to promote an independent Democratic program. He vows that the Senate "must be made responsive to the demand of the people for institutions that are more relevant." How close he comes to fulfilling these self-imposed demands will be an absorbing subject not only for his fellow legislators and the new President, but above all for millions of Americans who are fascinated by the indomitable Kennedy legend and its latest inheritor.

*Originally an English parliamentary usage deriving from the fox-hunting functionary who controls the movement of the hounds and is called the whipperin. In the House of Commons the majority chief whip enjoys an extremely close relationship with the Prime Minister. The chief whip is also frequently the party official in charge of patronage. Edward Heath used this post under Harold Macmillan as a steppingstone to the Tory leadership.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.