he 1994 Ted Kennedy-for-Senate campaign has gone down, at least in some circles, as one of the true unholy messes in the history of Massachusetts politics.
Buoyed by his personal fortune, Mitt Romney proved a surprisingly formidable candidate. Kennedy's back was driving him crazy, and he sometimes seemed to find the physical rigors of campaigning too much. His staff, a combination of Beltway insiders and local operatives, ran like a horse with a broken leg.
Kennedy ended up winning by 17 percentage points - the campaign essentially was over after the first debate when the senator treated Romney, convincingly, like a starry-eyed naif who would disappear forever in the deep woods of Washington. He was assured, well-informed, and very much the political master.
But I wonder if the challenge six years ago did something to Kennedy's legendary appetite for political combat. Facing marginal competition this year, he first labored mightily to clear the field, and now he refuses to debate his opponents.
He says he is too busy to share a stage with Jack E. Robinson, despite the pleas of a news media consortium. The Senate session is running late, and he would prefer to spend his time in the state talking directly to voters.
With this decision, Kennedy joins the list of politicians who believe they no longer have to appear back home, explain their positions, or ask for anyone's vote.
No sitting senator ever wants to debate anyone. Debates represent an opportunity only for challengers; for incumbents, they are little more than a chance to falter. Even those who do them generally dodge beforehand - with the Senate calendar having furnished the excuse du jour more than once.
To many savvy observers, Kennedy's cop-out was a foregone conclusion, and good politics besides.
''Why go over a speed bump when you're already on the expressway?'' asked veteran Democratic strategist Skinner Donohue. ''I fail to see where the Constitution says a candidate must debate before taking his seat in the Senate.''
Certainly the field in this campaign doesn't offer much inspiration. Robinson's campaign missteps hardly bear rehashing. Libertarian Carla Howell is obviously not going to be the next senator from Massachusetts, either.
So Kennedy doesn't need the aggravation. But, at the risk of appearing naive myself, what about the voters?
Debates give voters a chance to see candidates side by side and weigh their visions of where the state is going and what the candidates propose. Had Kennedy deigned to debate, they would have heard what he thinks he has done, what he plans to do, and what he believes the near future holds for the Senate. The people who elect him are entitled to that.
In 1996, John Kerry debated William Weld eight times, giving voters a good sense of their differences. The debates were the high points of the campaign.
Suspicion lingers that a major reason for Kennedy's refusal is that Robinson would bring up, gasp, Chappaquiddick. Given that Kennedy has been reelected five times since then, and has answered questions about it (reluctantly and intermittently) for more than 30 years, it's mind-boggling that this would be seen as a challenge. It's the worst strategy Robinson could pursue, actually; plenty enough voters forgave Kennedy years ago.
Kennedy has been a model liberal Democratic senator, a force to be reckoned with for two generations. As this centrist mush of a presidential campaign has underscored, he's one of the few real Democrats left.
Still, refusing to meet his challengers is a bum decision. Sound political strategy can be lousy in a larger sense, and this is one of those times. Instead of acting like a candidate, Kennedy is acting like a monument. It's a process that inevitably ends by losing touch with the very people politics is all about.
Adrian Walker's e-mail address is walker@globe.com.
