Always a fighter

It was more than a little poignant that Ted Kennedy fell ill yesterday at the Kennedy compound in Hyannis Port, the same spot where his father lived out his days in a wheelchair after suffering a stroke 47 years ago.

They are creatures of habit, these Kennedys, and like tourists and college baseball players, they head east over the Sagamore Bridge when the weather turns.

Teddy's nephew, Anthony Shriver, runs this thing called Best Buddies, for people with intellectual disabilities. There was a bike ride yesterday to raise money, and there was going to be a concert at the compound so everybody could wind down and have some fun after doing some good, but Teddy got sick.

Teddy's father, old Joe Kennedy, was 73, three years younger than Teddy is now, when he had the stroke. He lived another eight years in a wheelchair, and it drove him mad with frustration. He was in the wheelchair when he found out that someone had shot his Jack, and he was in the wheelchair when he found out that someone had shot his Bobby, and, if there is a God in heaven, He can't possibly let Teddy Kennedy go through what old Joe Kennedy went through.

Ted Kennedy is no spring chicken. But this is all unexpected, because if you had seen him lately, and I saw him just a couple of weeks ago, he looked better than he had in years. His weight was down. He had a bounce in his step, even if he still had that limp. Vicki was on him like a hawk. He was energized by the prospect of Barack Obama becoming the Democratic presidential nominee. He had come out for Obama early, when it wasn't popular, just like he had come out against the war early, when it wasn't popular.

Bertie Ahern, the Taoiseach of Ireland, was here a couple of weeks ago, and he decided to spend his last day in America as Ireland's prime minister in the library named after Ted's brother, the murdered president. Teddy was beaming.

Out of Teddy's earshot, Ahern said, "Teddy looks great."

And he did. And now this.

We are told that we won't know how serious this is, what this means to Ted Kennedy's health and his future, both as a senator and as a human being, for another 48 hours. That's a long time in politics. It's longer when you're lying in a bed in Mass. General, hooked up to all sorts of machines that you don't want to be hooked up to.

Ted Kennedy has fought through a lot in this life. He was privileged, of course, the scion of great wealth and fame, but if you don't think it came at a price, as high a price as any family could pay, then you're kidding yourself. All of his brothers died before their time, one in war, two others in the war that was an America at war with itself. You don't live through that and not come out the other side tougher.

Last year, I went through Rose Kennedy's papers at her son's library. One of Rose's diary entries made me laugh so loud that I drew disapproving stares from the research librarians.

It seems that when they lived in London, when old Joe Kennedy was the ambassador there, a certain little English boy was busting Teddy's chops. Teddy was a schoolboy, in short pants, and he turned to his governess, Luella Hennessey, and asked for permission to bust this English kid in the chops.

Responding more as an Irishwoman than as a diplomat's nanny, Miss Hennessey told young master Kennedy, "Go for it." Neither Rose's diary nor history records how hard Teddy hit the English kid, but I hope he hit him good.

Ted Kennedy has always been a fighter, for people who have a lot less than his family ever did, and he needs to fight now, too, because he isn't done.

As the late, great Luella Hennessey said, go for it, Teddy. Go for it.

Cullen is a Globe columnist. He can be reached at cullen@globe.com