[Congressional Record Volume 155, Number 164 (Thursday, November 5, 2009)]
[Senate]
[Pages S11201-S11202]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]




                    A NEPHEW'S MEMORIES OF ``TEDDY''

  Mr. KERRY. Mr. President, during his long illness, the Senate missed 
Ted Kennedy and Ted Kennedy missed the Senate. But Ted was especially 
missed by a young Senate page with whom he had a special connection--
his nephew, Jack Schlossberg, Caroline Kennedy's son.
  Jack worked as a page over the summer months, and I got to know him. 
When he wasn't busy with his page duties in the cloakroom and on the 
Senate floor, we talked about the lessons he had learned from his 
uncle.
  Ted was thrilled that Jack was walking the same corridors where his 
Uncle Bobby and his grandfather, John F. Kennedy, had once served. When 
young Jack returned to school this fall, he had a chance to reflect on 
all that had happened during his summer in Washington, but mostly he 
thought about his Uncle Teddy. He wrote about it in an essay he titled 
``EMK.''
  Jack shared his essay with me, and I would like to share it with the 
Congress, because it reflects not only what a tower of strength Teddy 
was to his family, but also the extraordinary qualities of Ted's loving 
nephew, Jack Schlossberg.
  Mr. President, I ask unanimous consent that Jack's essay be printed 
in the Record, and I recommend that it be read by all who knew Ted, all 
who called him their friend, all who benefited from his extraordinary 
career in the U.S. Senate:
  There being no objection, the material was ordered to be printed in 
the Record as follows:

                                  EMK

                         (By Jack Schlossberg)

       When I was little, I could only remember general things 
     about him, like the way his voice sounded, or the feeling I 
     got when we went sailing on his boat. As I grew up I started 
     to understand what Uncle Teddy was saying to me and what he 
     meant. As Teddy became sick, I understood him differently. He 
     was still at times the same person I knew and loved, but his 
     imperfections startled me. During his last few months I began 
     to study every word he said. I idolized him in a way I never 
     had before. No longer was my Uncle Teddy a summer memory or 
     someone I heard about from my mother; he meant something to 
     me. As I watched him go through Boston for the last time in 
     August, I realized that I was not the only person who grew up 
     with him this way, and that multiple generations had. 
     Hundreds of thousands of people knew Teddy as the loving man 
     who had always been there, and who never disappointed them.
       It was my first year playing basketball and my team had 
     made it to the championships. I was ten years old and I had 
     never been more excited in my life. It was a tie game well 
     into the fourth quarter when Teddy showed up. He came 
     barreling into the gloomy PS 188 gym and sat down with my 
     mother and father on the sidelines. He did not cheer too loud 
     or even make himself heard, he just sat there and watched me. 
     After my team's victory, he got up and gave me a great big 
     hug. Soon after, he left and went home, as did I. I did not 
     think twice about him coming to my game. I had not told him 
     about it--he probably asked my mother what time and where it 
     was, and moved everything that he was doing that day around 
     my 11:00 am basketball game. That night I got a call from 
     him: ``The game of all games,'' he shouted into the phone. 
     ``And you scored the winning shot. I can't believe it. I just 
     can't believe it,'' he said. Of course, I had not actually 
     scored the winning shot, but all of sudden I believed I had. 
     Teddy was always there to make your story a little more 
     dramatic and entirely more fun. After he told a story about 
     something you both had done, you started telling the story 
     exactly as he had. At the time, I never understood how much 
     effort he put into our relationship. Not only was he the 
     senior Senator from Massachusetts, but also he was also quite 
     busy, unlike many Senators. It was not as if he called me 
     every day, every week, or even every month, but without fail, 
     when you needed Teddy, he was there.
       A year ago Teddy was diagnosed with brain cancer. A person 
     who never made me sad, and never seemed weak, was said to 
     have months to live. At first I was more baffled than I was 
     upset. We were not talking about your average person, this 
     was Teddy. He was not someone who came and went, he simply 
     was always there. This was the first time I saw him affected 
     by anything, and I was so confused by his vulnerability. My 
     view of Teddy changed completely without any interaction with 
     him. I suddenly became endlessly interested in his life. I 
     read about him, I followed his policy and studied his 
     speeches. Soon after his diagnosis my family and I went to 
     visit Teddy in Florida. For the first time, I was aware of 
     who Teddy was when he was not with me. In Florida, I asked 
     him about his life and his politics, something I had never 
     done before. He explained how he was seven years old (in the 
     eighth grade because he was sent to school with his older 
     brother) and his classmates stole his turtle and buried it: 
     ``I cried for hours and ran outside to dig him up,'' he said 
     with a grin. ``They were so mean over there at Riverdale.'' 
     Although he could not express himself the way he wanted to at 
     all times, he still stunned me with stories about civil 
     rights and Lyndon Johnson. He also triggered the same 
     emotions he always had. As he and his wife, Vicki, sat down 
     to watch ``24'' one night, I saw Teddy as himself. I sat next 
     to him as he commented on the show: ``She's always cross,'' 
     he said about one character. He made joke after joke about 
     every possible thing he could and had everyone in the room 
     laughing. This was Teddy's way. It was not as if every word 
     he said was brilliant, but his way as a person was truly 
     unique. He could make a very depressing evening hilarious 
     just by cracking a few jokes.
       My final memories of Teddy are not really of him, but of 
     what I learned about him. His death was both upsetting and 
     uplifting. At first I only thought of how I would miss him 
     and how unfair it was that he was gone. But, as I went 
     through Boston with him for the last time, I realized that 
     many others loved him too. The drive started slowly as we 
     went through Hyannis and waved to the people we passed on the 
     street. The crowds got bigger as we approached Boston, and as 
     we passed Teddy's famed ``Rose Fitzgerald Kennedy Greenway'' 
     the crowd was enormous. The signs people held that said ``We 
     love you Teddy'' struck deep in my heart. We drove through 
     all of Boston as people lined the streets everywhere. There 
     was no animosity, no hatred, just appreciation and love for 
     Teddy. This made me realize that I was not the only person 
     who loved him, and that the same effort he had made for me, 
     he had made for everyone. He is the only person I know who 
     was capable of making the type of effort he made. Whether it 
     was my basketball game or grandparents day, Teddy showed up 
     and made you laugh.
       The drive continued as we pulled into the JFK Library and 
     saw news cameras, photographers, and another gigantic crowd. 
     It became clear to me then that in both political and 
     personal life, he had something only few have: people trusted 
     him. Everyone who came out to see Teddy trusted that he was 
     going to take care of them, because he always had. I never 
     knew any of this to be true until that day. Teddy was my 
     uncle, so naturally I figured only those who really knew him 
     would feel like I did. But Teddy's charm was universal, 
     although he brought it up a notch in Massachusetts. The final 
     way in which I remember Teddy, is as someone who always was 
     truly who they appear to be. It would have been possible for 
     his trust to apply only to his family and friends, and for it 
     to have been somewhat artificial, the way most people behave. 
     However, Teddy acted

[[Page S11202]]

     toward everyone the way he did with me, and this is the 
     highest praise any public figure can attain.
       Teddy's relationship with me during his life was 
     spectacular. Not once did he disappoint me, and he provided 
     continuous support and much-needed laughs. Teddy's legacy 
     lies in many places. It lies in his legislative and political 
     accomplishments. It lies in changes in the lives of his 
     friends and constituents. It lies in his family bonds, and 
     his love for the sea. However, it also lies in the way he 
     left us. Teddy's illness at first seemed unfair and 
     depressing. This is not the case at all. Teddy was able to 
     teach everyone who watched him how to fight and how to 
     succeed. Many people do not realize that he outlived 
     everyone's initial predictions, and lived seven times as long 
     as anyone thought possible. This was not because his doctors 
     were wrong about the severity of his cancer, but because this 
     prediction did not consider that they were dealing with 
     Teddy. Not once did he stop fighting. In fact, he took the 
     most aggressive and strenuous approach to fighting his 
     cancer, and always remained hopeful. Teddy's death taught me 
     that no cause is lost, and that every day is worth living.

                          ____________________