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"A Secret Service man swiftly appeared, aiming a flashlight at the wet flagstone walk. Shouting a challenge to his boy, Kennedy dived into the cold water and swam half a dozen lengths. He is still in good shape, his body thick but not flabby, the mat of hair on his chest and back now gray. Every morning he either swims or jogs a mile and does 25 pushups.
"Dinner was ham and green beans.
Afterward, Kennedy and his son played a game of Eights, rushing against the clock because the Senator was due to speak that night at a fund raiser for Indiana Senator Birch Bayh at Ethel Kennedy's house at Hickory Hill, about a mile away. There he moved easily through the rooms, recognizing some of the faces from his brother Bob's 1968 primary victory in Indiana. Reminders of other Kennedy campaigns happen frequently, and the reunions always give him a lift."
It is a bittersweet life. For all of Kennedy's bouncing self-confidence in public, intimates say that in private he appears troubled by the breakdown of his marriage and his lingering sense of guilt over Kopechne's death at Chappaquiddick.
When his marriage began to turn bad, there were reports of dalliances with New York Socialite Amanda Burden, Skier Suzy Chaffee, Washington Socialite Page Lee Hufty and Margaret Trudeau, among others. In the past year, however, there has been no report of an affair. Insists Kennedy: "It doesn't happen." Kennedy carefully insulates himself, staying far away from the Washington social scene. Says Washington Star Gossip Columnist Betty Beale: "He never frequents parties and never goes out. To have seen him recently three times in one week was astounding, absolutely astounding."
In the evening, Kennedy usually works in his library, sitting in a high-backed wing chair near a crackling blaze in a stone fireplace. The floor is covered with a gray fur rug. Near him is a white phone, and taped to it is a list of his family's home numbers. When he is not dipping into his attache case for staff papers, he places calls to friends and relatives, including Joan. Says an intimate: "They talk regularly about all sorts of things—decisions about the house, the children and school." At 11 p.m., he watches the TV news and then retires to a king-size bed.
Kennedy finds his weekend relaxation within the clan. He drops by Hickory Hill from time to time, often leading Ethel's younger children, Chris, 16, Max, 14, Doug, 12, and Rory, 10, through tennis or touch football, or a kind of hide-and-seek called sardines. One evening the uncle squeezed between attic walls on the third floor and hid behind a chimney. Says Ethel: "He has a sixth sense of knowing when my kids are alone and need him."
Of his three sisters, the closest to Kennedy is Jean Smith, but he frequently calls Eunice Shriver and Pat Lawford and keeps up with their children. He tries to attend all family birthdays and graduations. Ted's relationship with Jackie Onassis is more formal, and the two are not often in contact. He sees his 89-year-old mother regularly. Ethel speaks admiringly of the gallant way Ted escorts Rose Kennedy into the homes of her Palm Beach friends. Says Ethel: "I don't know many men who show that kind of constant affection."