Kennedy Makes It Official

And so does Jerry Brown as the attacks on Carter widen

At last, the challenge was formally issued. In Boston's historic Faneuil Hall, where Samuel Adams once preached revolt against the ruling British, Ted Kennedy last week finally proclaimed his insurgency. It was, inevitably, a family affair. When Rose Kennedy arrived to watch the third of her sons' campaigns begin, she received a thunderous ovation from some 400 relatives and friends. Also attending were the widows of Ted's two murdered brothers: Jacqueline Onassis and Ethel Kennedy.

In announcing, Kennedy made a firm but quiet plea for leadership in a frustrated, confused and divided nation: "Before the last election, we were told that Americans were honest, loving, good, decent and compassionate. Now the people are blamed for every national ill and scolded as greedy, wasteful and mired in malaise. Which is it? Did we change so much in these three years? Or is it because our present leadership does not understand that we are willing, even anxious, to be on the march again? ... The only thing that paralyzes us today is the myth that we cannot move."

When the speech was over, a reporter quickly probed one of Kennedy's vulnerabilities. To scattered boos from the crowd, he asked whether Kennedy's separated wife Joan would participate in his campaign. Smiling broadly, Kennedy turned to Joan, who appeared nervous and replied in a quavering voice, "The answer is that I look forward to campaigning for my husband." Ted led the applause for his wife, and behind them their twelve-year-old son Patrick brushed tears from his eyes.

Kennedy promptly took off on a three-day campaign blitz of seven cities, extending from Manchester, N.H., to Charleston, S.C. He drew large crowds, including the same kind of squealers, jumpers and touchers who used to flock to Jack. But tragedy has tempered his approach. While not avoiding large rallies altogether, he is planning to concentrate on smaller, more secure sessions, where he can discuss issues at greater length. Attending the first of these at the Copernicus Senior Citizens Center in Chicago, Kennedy gave a speech touting his national health care program. Silvester Bonnis, 72, a retired factory worker, came up to the podium with his cane to say that if he ever had to go to the hospital, "it would take all that I have saved." Seeing his point made so poignantly, Ted urged, "Pour it on, Silvester."

Kennedy was accompanied by some notable Democratic officeholders: Maine Governor Joseph Brennan, New Hampshire Senator John Durkin, Massachusetts Lieut. Governor Thomas P. O'Neill III, and the biggest catch of all, Chicago Mayor Jane Byrne. Still smarting from heavy-handed pressure to endorse the President, Byrne railed at Carter in a way that made Kennedy's gibes seem mild by comparison. "Statements and threats have been delivered by Carter and his people," she charged. "I do not want to support a candidate because of blackmail and intimidation." Asked if she would meet Carter when he goes to Chicago for a fund raiser next month, the mayor snapped, "If I'm in town."

Kennedy's buoyant campaign opening helped to dim some of the bad memories of his performance on a CBS-TV interview with Roger Mudd the previous weekend. Halting and rambling, Kennedy ineffectually parried questions about Chappaquiddick. When asked how he would offer leadership, he sounded as if he were not sure--an ominous sign. Kennedy claimed, not very persuasively, that he had been "sandbagged" by the CBS show. When Mudd had requested to film him at Cape Cod, Mass., he apparently did not expect to be asked probing questions about his personal life and philosophy. Later he was able to joke about the mishap. When a reporter asked a convoluted question, Kennedy interrupted, "It sounds like me talking to Roger Mudd." But, in fact, compared with his often glib brothers, Kennedy proved to be just as inarticulate on the stump.

In contrast to Kennedy, California's Jerry Brown reinforced his image as a political loner when he announced for the nation's highest office at the National Press Club in Washington. The bachelor Governor was surrounded not by adoring family or worshipful politicos but just a sprinkling of young aides and volunteers. Brown told the largely youthful audience, "I see the problem not so much as the deficiency of one personality but rather the collective failure to grasp the new age into which we are entering ... My principles are simple: protect the earth, serve the people and explore the universe." He described his own long-anticipated candidacy as an "insurgent movement within the Democratic Party to challenge the dying myths that paralyze our nation."

Brown spelled out his differences with Carter and Kennedy. He flatly opposed nuclear power and an increase in defense spending. He favored a constitutional amendment to balance the budget and a revival of the now stalled space program.

"I see a future where we reach out into space itself and bring with us other nations so that at last we begin to sense our unity of the spirit in this small speck of universal time."

To date, Brown has been able to raise only $400,000, scarcely enough to wage a successful primary battle. But, Brown protests, "I can tell you that I will be in as long as it makes sense. If I have to hitchhike, if I have to take buses, I'll be there."

Quoting from such dissimilar sources as Star Wars and Robert Frost, inscribing Latin phrases for autograph hunters, exuding self-confidence and a certain playfulness, Jerry Brown seems determined that, win or lose, he will run the first space-age campaign.

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