Decent people do not take potshots at others (unless the other is
a Hitler or Stalin) in the 24 hours of the other's death. I have
never, literally never, written any good words about Ted Kennedy.
But there was one time when I was impressed and in a weird way
inspired by him. At the Democratic convention last year, when he
willed himself out of the hospital, in a terribly weakened
condition, to make what truly was a superbly written and even,
despite his ailments, a well delivered speech in support of the
man, Obama, who WOULD NOT have been about to be the nominee
without Kennedy's support, Kennedy's speech -- with its
deliberate echoes of his 1980 convention speech, "the dream shall
never die" -- was a triumph of courage and commitment. Sitting in
the convention hall covering it for the Washington Examiner, I
literally got chill-bumps. In terms of valiance, it was like
seeing Willis Reed hobble onto the court in the NBA finals
against the Lakers, only to an even greater Nth degree.
In a reckless life spent pursuing the wrong goals through wrong
and often vicious means, it was a magnificent moment of grace.
