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Joe had all but announced that he was running for Governor in 1997 when he was hit by two scandals: his ex-wife's devastating book detailing the breakup of their marriage, and the disclosure that his brother and campaign manager, Michael, had been having an affair with a teenage babysitter. His cousin John Jr. wrote that Joe and Michael were "poster boys for bad behavior," and Joe's lead in the polls evaporated. He withdrew from the primary and, after Michael was killed in a skiing accident the following New Year's Eve, from politics entirely. He again came close to running for Governor last spring, then backed away, fueling speculation that he might be holding out for Ted's Senate seat, should his uncle, who turns 70 next year, hang it up in 2006. But a friend who has seen him lately is not so sure. Joe is making money, giving speeches and sitting on boards while he runs his nonprofit energy company, and doing what he wants with his weekends. "He really is, for the first time, as much at peace as he can be," the friend says. "He's a lot wiser than he was 15 years ago. He knows himself pretty well, and he just wants to be happy."
GETTING IT RIGHT KATHLEEN KENNEDY TOWNSEND
When Joe was sweeping the field in Massachusetts in 1986, his elder sister Kathleen Kennedy Townsend, then 35, was racing around blue-collar neighborhoods outside Baltimore, her slip showing and her hair a mess. She had moved to Maryland two years before to be near her husband's family. Ignoring the Kennedy precept that home is where the opportunity is, she had bought a house just outside a reliably Democratic district. So when she decided to run for Congress, she found herself up against a nearly unbeatable Republican Congresswoman. Kathleen seemed unsure how--or whether--to capitalize on her biggest political asset: her maiden name. The name explained why national reporters were trailing her quixotic campaign, but she didn't use it on her bumper stickers and declared that she was running "as my own person."
Big mistake. By Election Day, the party had written her off, removing her name from its list of priority candidates. She lost by 18 percentage points--the only Kennedy ever to lose a general election. What she needed to learn was how to break the Kennedy mold without destroying its value.
If she was ambivalent, Parris Glendening wasn't. Glendening, who barely knew her, put her on his gubernatorial ticket in 1994 primarily for the Kennedy name. But part of the deal was that the traditionally invisible Lieutenant Governor's office would get a portfolio that included criminal justice and economic development. When they nearly lost their re-election bid in 1998, a last-minute ad campaign starring Kathleen saved them. Internal polls saw their numbers jump 12 points when her name was mentioned.
Today the Lieutenant Governor sits in a Maryland statehouse office once occupied by Thomas Jefferson, in a chair her father used as U.S. Attorney General. If she wins next year's Governor's race, as expected, it seems only a matter of time before she ends up on a national ticket.