So I have to mention this: Lewiston-Auburn, and the balance of Androscoggin County, is overwhelmingly Democratic, and voted overwhelmingly for Obama. And yet the Sun-Journal populates its editorial page with Jonah Goldberg and Rich Lowry and Cal Thomas. And then they piss and moan that people aren't "doing their civic duty" by supporting the local newspaper.
Anyway, here's what the Sun-Journal felt their readers would not be interested to read:
In the fall of 1976 I had recently been hired for my first newspaper job, as a reporter for a daily newspaper in a Massachusetts city about the population of Lewiston. Sen. Ted Kennedy was up for re-election, and although the result was a foregone conclusion, he dutifully made the rounds of newspapers in the Commonwealth. I was assigned to interview him.
He was a big and imposing man, the size of a retired NFL linebacker or tight end (and I've met a couple of those). He wore a fine suit and I noticed he had holes in the soles of his wingtip shoes.
We spoke about some of the issues of the day, which I've forgotten. I do remember two things: He told me how his mother, Rose Kennedy (he did not mention his father) had raised all her children to understand that they had been blessed at birth with great wealth and privilege, and that with that good fortune came an obligation to help the less fortunate.
Then he spoke about his son, Patrick, who had recently been treated for cancer. This isn't verbatim, but it's close:
"I'm a very wealthy man," he said. "My son had the best medical care money can buy. What I want to know is, how is it that in this country of ours the child of parents who work hard every day but have no insurance and little money will be treated so differently than the child of parents who, like me, inherited great wealth?"
In the ensuing years, I have often thought about that question. I've thought about it a lot more since the health care debate took off, and since Sen. Kennedy was diagnosed with cancer. I have never heard an answer to that question.
He was a fallible man, to be sure. His name will forever be linked with the word "Chappaquiddick." I have often been impressed at how many self-styled Christians had and have no reluctance to "cast the first stone" when it came to him. Personally, having shared with Ted Kennedy a very Boston Irish Catholic upbringing, I've always been reluctant to cast metaphorical stones at anyone.
I can understand how someone might disagree ideologically with some or all of Ted Kennedy's positions on issues. But I fail to see how anyone can look at his record and see anything other than a life devoted to following his mother's admonition to try to help those less blessed - by God, or Fate, or whatever - than he was.
Political pundits can talk about Kennedy's legislative history. I still think of the question he posed 33 years ago. If ordinary hardworking people and their children are entitled to the same medical care as the inheritors of great wealth, do you call that "socialism"?
If the inheritors (or even earners) of great wealth are by that fact alone entitled to better medical care than people who go to work every day and do the best they can to provide for their loved ones, what do you call that? "Hereditary aristocracy"? That would certainly encompass both the Kennedys and the Bushes and many more rich families, and the present state of health care.
I realize that some will choose to focus on Ted Kennedy's faults and failures. That's a great "out" because it means they don't have to deal with the issues of fairness and social justice that he raised. But in addition to the question he posed to me 33 years ago, I would add these two questions:
1. Should we, who have been blessed with wealth and health, follow Ted Kennedy's example and try to help those less fortunate than ourselves? Politically speaking, isn't Kennedy's mission consistent with the Preamble to the Constitution of the United States, which states that its purpose is, among other things, to "promote the general welfare"?
2. If your answer to question 1 is no, please explain.