by Gongwer News Service
August 28, 2009

U.S. Senator Edward “Ted” Kennedy was not just one of the nation’s most dynamic and important political figures, he was a superstar, someone who excited interest from both those who adored and loathed him.

Even more than that, Ted Kennedy was an icon of a political ideal that seems to have vanished: someone who could keep his politics from being personal. Think Zolton Ferency and Jack Welborn, and one has a Michigan corollary to what Mr. Kennedy was in his life and work.

When Mr. Kennedy died on Tuesday, a figure died who drew attention simply because of who he was, whether one agreed or disagreed with him. There have been iconic politicians nationally: former President Ronald Reagan or President Barack Obama. But even they do not quite reach the political status of Elvis or Sinatra or Michael Jackson that Mr. Kennedy did.

Michigan has certainly had its share of top politicians. It has even had politicians who began to approach stardom, whether from a policy standpoint or a personality standpoint. For example, there’s former U.S. Sen. Phil Hart or current U.S. Sen. Carl Levin (D-Detroit), at least from the policy perspective.

But which politician in Michigan has been someone who people — not political insiders, not political junkies, but regular people who generally equate politicians with diaper rash — were anxious to see, would go out of their way to see, would excitedly call up people to say, “Guess who I just saw!” Who? Soapy Williams? Bill Milliken? George Romney? Coleman Young?

Former Governor John Engler could not be beat when it came to political and policy strategizing; even those who hated him during his 12-year tenure would acknowledge that you beat Mr. Engler on policy detail and implication and political tactics only when you got lucky. His command of state government was total. He knew everybody who mattered, and everybody who wanted to matter desperately wanted to know him. Yet, he could be completely anonymous.

Mr. Engler loves movies, and often could be found with a couple friends (former Supreme Court Justice Cliff Taylor and Engler counsel Lucille Taylor, for example) taking in a picture at Lansing’s Celebration Cinema, splitting a bucket of popcorn. Yet not one person would come up to him to introduce him or herself, to complain about something or compliment him. He could move through crowds and most people had no idea who he was.

Not so Mr. Kennedy. He attracted others without trying to do so. He was present and people presented themselves to him.

It was and wasn’t always that way. As the remaining son of the Kennedy clan, he immediately drew attention. But in the 1970s the horrifying Chappaquiddick incident battered Mr. Kennedy. His disastrous interview with Roger Mudd raised questions about his fitness for the highest office. Those preceded the jokes and vitriol over his drinking and marital problems.

In the 1980 fight for the Democratic nomination for president, Mr. Kennedy sundered the party establishment. He likely did not intend the fight to be bitter between him and then-President Jimmy Carter, but it was, and it showed in their supporters. It is an open question whether many of Mr. Kennedy’s supporters were actually supporting him or what he and his name represented.

Former Attorney General Frank Kelley led the effort for Mr. Kennedy in Michigan, joined by then-Speaker Bobby Crim. Mr. Kennedy made several trips into the state before the party held closed caucuses in April, and one newspaper photo showed Mr. Kelley and Mr. Crim absolutely rapt as they watched Mr. Kennedy speak. Clearly, they were backing the man, not some ideal.

Then-Secretary of State Richard Austin led the effort for Mr. Carter. Carter supporters tried to show they supported Mr. Kennedy but felt his attempt in that year’s presidential run was the wrong path. They even showed off “Kennedy 1984” posters to demonstrate they were with him, in the future.

During that cold early April Saturday, the split between the two candidates could not be more evident: Mr. Kennedy won the fight, kinda. He netted 71 delegates to the New York City convention. Mr. Carter netted 70.

Mr. Carter, of course, won the nomination (and was crushed in the 1980 election), but from that defeat Mr. Kennedy’s stature grew. His superstar status grew as he settled into a different role, trying to influence policy by crafting compromise and attracting supporters, by not being bitter at the rough times to come.

One of his last appearances in Michigan came in 2004, when he was campaigning for the Democratic presidential nomination for his fellow Massachusetts senator, John Kerry.

At the time Mr. Kerry was pulling off something of an upset: going into 2004, Howard Dean was the odds-on favorite to win the nomination. Mr. Kennedy appeared at the Michigan State University Union in a packed ballroom, with an awful lot of people wearing Dean stickers. They weren’t there for Kerry; they were there for Teddy. Also there: dozens of people who were voting Democratic no matter who ran. They were there for Teddy as well. There were even Republicans there. They wanted to see Mr. Kennedy, too.

MSU students for Kerry sensed a triumph. They had been ridiculed for not going with the students’ favorite, Dean. The Kerry supporters packed the stage with members of the firefighters union, one of the few unions to have supported Kerry at that time.

And there was Mr. Kennedy. For a person who loomed so large on the national landscape, it was a surprise that he wasn’t very tall, maybe 5-foot 10-inches at best. Then almost 72, he was a touch stooped. He walked stiffly. But his smile was enormous.

The head of students for Kerry nearly wept as she introduced him. The students presented him with an MSU sweatshirt and he immediately put it on, to a tremendous roar from the crowd. “What you probably didn’t know,” he barked into the microphone, “was that I was going to go to Michigan State. I was, I was going to go to Michigan State. But I wanted to play football, so I went to Harvard instead.” And the house dissolved into a giant laugh.

Later he was whisked away for a quick press conference. Aides tried to keep it short, but Mr. Kennedy waited until every reporter got to ask a question. As he was leaving, a shy high school reporter was introduced to him, and Mr. Kennedy stopped and spent almost 10 minutes answering the boy’s questions, while aides nervously tapped their toes and their watches.

That was the political star the public knew. For all his presence, for his passionate support of his causes, there was another political aspect of Mr. Kennedy that is vanishing in an age when partisan enmity and wrath are new virtues: it was never personal for Mr. Kennedy. It was politics. It was two teams playing each other to win, and then you had a beer together afterwards.

So think of Mr. Ferency and Mr. Welborn. Two more opposite political types could not be found: Mr. Ferency went so far left and Mr. Welborn so far right one wondered if they would meet up somewhere in a new middle. But they were the best of friends. Mr. Welborn was chairing a Senate committee meeting when the word came that Mr. Ferency had died. Mr. Welborn continued to chair the meeting, tears in his eyes.

That quality, to keep political issues political and not personal, is one star Mr. Kennedy lit that other politicians should look up to.

For nearly 50 years in Michigan, Gongwer News Service has provided independent, comprehensive, accurate and timely coverage of issues in and around Michigan’s government and political systems. For subscription information, including a free trial, visit Gongwer online.