Democratic Convention, 1988, Atlanta.

The city was so hot that the air seemed on fire, but inside a monster hall called The Omni the convention was tepid. The candidate was Michael Dukakis. I sat high up over the hall in the press box and listened. You couldn’t hear very well up there, and the speakers droned terribly. Everything I heard was either corny, cheap or lame. I went into a haze to the sound of knocking consonants.

Way down below a burly speck moved to the podium. I was still half asleep when I found myself responding to cadences that resonated with a practiced rhythm. That guy can speak, I thought. His words were clear, sharp with a slight nasal twang. He pleaded for health care and knocked George Bush. I awoke. This man meant what he was saying. He really meant it. Cogent, sincere, convincing. This was the guy! Here was the real candidate, the sure thing, the winner, the leader. Suddenly wild with excitement, I sat forward. At last, we were listening to an articulate, passionate, practiced, fully engaged politician.

“Why isn’t he running?” I asked the journalist next to me.

“Don’t be an idiot,” the man said. “It’s Teddy Kennedy.”

He ended his speech: “Some men see things as they are and say ‘Why?’ We dream things that never were and say ‘Why not?’ Now is the time.”