The Kennedy Men_ 1901-1963 - Laurence Leamer [435]
McCormack was simply overwhelmed, not only by the Kennedy power and money but by Teddy himself. Teddy had mastered the lingo of Massachusetts liberal politics, professing his spirited opposition to poverty, racism, and inequality, while letting his slogan (“He Can Do More for Massachusetts”) woo the realists in his crowd. He had one quality that could not be purchased, an immense likability, and a natural charisma that made many take pleasure in the mere sight of him.
Sometimes when he stood on a makeshift platform in the North End or in the town square in Quincy or Maiden, the greatest public attributes of the Kennedy men came together in him. There was something of Honey Fitz in the way he stood there pointing his finger in condemnation of his opponent’s faults. There was his grandfather’s sheer exuberance, sweeping out across the crowds, embracing them in his enthusiasms. Like his brother Joe, Teddy was a rugged, handsome man who exuded health and happiness, a man whom other men liked for his masculine qualities. His baritone was the sheer perfection of the Kennedy voice, carrying out across the crowds, hardly needing a microphone. He may have gotten on the stage because of his name, but his name alone did not hold the crowds captive, nor did it push people forward to grasp his hand or to ask for an autograph.
Teddy won the party convention in Springfield by an overwhelming margin. The count was 691-360 when McCormack conceded. The vote was a devastating rebuke to McCormack, who was rejected by people who had been his friends and colleagues. Instead of conceding, McCormack vowed to take his case to the people in the primary, and he moved onward, sharpening his rhetoric against an opponent he had grown to despise. McCormack had the scent of a loser, however, and no special interests were donating to his campaign with the idea of covering their bet against a sure thing.
McCormack’s last best chance was to lure Teddy into debates where, before the camera, he would expose the youngest Kennedy, leaving him stripped to what he considered his fraudulent essence. With McCormack’s taunts resonating in his ears, Teddy agreed to two debates, the first one at South Boston High School. This was McCormack’s spiritual home, the very lair of the old Irish Boston and its tribal ways, a place where loyalty was the highest virtue and familiarity never bred contempt.
McCormack had fueled his tank with vitriol when he walked on the stage before an audience weighted with his supporters. There was a devastating contrast between all that McCormack had done in his life and all that Teddy had been given, and the Massachusetts politician poured forth his bill of indictment, arguing that “it was wrong that that young man who really had not worked a day in his life, had never been in the trenches, should get off being a United States Senator.”
Teddy was a man of immense physicality, and his instinct was to give McCormack a verbal licking. In preparing in Hyannis Port for the debate, he had vowed: “Eddie will get twice as much back as he gives out!” The president had heard Teddy’s blustering threats and, as he stood there on his crutches, lectured him on how to proceed in the debate. “Now listen, Eddie,” Kennedy said, calling his brother by the name he usually used, “You forget any personal attack on Eddie McCormack. You’re going to need all the supporters that McCormack has right after the primary. Let McCormack attack you