e is cloistered these helpless days at his wife's mountainside estate mourning the recent death of his father, at the same time facing what must undoubtedly be one of the longest, tensest weekends of his life.
At any point over the next few days, the telephone might ring for Senator John Kerry. Vice President Al Gore might be on the other end. And Gore might begin that conversation with the words, ''John, I want you as my running mate.''
With that, a career that has been overshadowed by others will suddenly be thrust into the clear and open light. Kerry, for the first time in a long time, will be the junior senator no more.
The possibility is growing with each passing hour, such that Kerry intimates who have surveyed the field of vice presidential prospects privately say his chances of being selected are better than 50 percent. It is an analysis deemed modest by many Washington veterans, who increasingly view Kerry, with his Vietnam medals, proven campaign skills, and strong Senate record, as the likely choice. Gore has scheduled an announcement for Tuesday in Nashville.
By yesterday, public proclamations and private whispers had it down to four US senators - Kerry, Evan Bayh of Indiana, John Edwards of North Carolina, and Joseph Lieberman of Connecticut.
Edwards, first elected just 1 1/2 years ago, is seen as too inexperienced and unknown. And Bayh is too short of that undefinable political quality of gravitas. That leaves just Kerry and Lieberman.
Smartly, Kerry has sequestered himself. He is making no pleading telephone calls to mutual strategists and friends. He has restricted his public appearances so as to not be seen campaigning for the job.
It took him a while, but the man whose unflattering moniker was ''Liveshot'' has learned his lessons well, raising the questions: Do we have a new John Kerry, a better one at that?
The faults of the old one have been well chronicled. He is, by many accounts, aloof and arguably arrogant, enraging to local officials who say he only pays them heed every six or so years, coincidentally right around election time.
He complains more than most politicians of his stature, feels more slights, even whines to reporters about coverage that he seems to constantly deem unfair. Even some allies view him as opportunistic, and in a business in which self-centeredness is the dominant gene, Kerry is virtually without peer.
Don Imus calls Kerry a ''pretty man,'' and indeed, even at 56 years of age, he has the type of face that other men want to dislike, including me. Yet I can't.
Here's why. First off, he's smart - smart enough to fashion a prosperous Senate career with a distinct identity in the shadow of the most influential legislator this state has ever known: Ted Kennedy.
He has moved steadily toward the middle in his 16 years in the Senate, providing definition to the oft-sought but ethereal concept of centrism. In 1992, Kerry highlighted problems with affirmative action before any Democrat dared speak ill of it. And in 1998, he denounced the tenure system in public schools, imperiling his relationship with powerful teachers' unions.
He is secure enough intellectually to not only withstand challenges, but also to invite them from a talented group of aides and advisers. He can be personable, even engaging, obsessed about such random activities as the Boston restaurant scene and his fledgling golf game. His long antennae for slights have given him valuable insights into life's pitfalls and setbacks - no small matter for anyone, but especially someone with a Forbes lineage.
Kerry has grown and, more importantly, matured. And come Tuesday, Massachusetts and the nation may see him in a light he's never been seen in before. His time may well have arrived.
Reporter's note: In Tuesday's column, Lance Norwood, the police officer who helped a mother at a carnival by spending $24 of his own money on tickets for two young girls he didn't know, was unfortunately misidentified. He is a member of the Boston Municipal Police. In the editing process, the word ''Municipal'' was deleted from the text. Apologies to Norwood and his unsung department, which protects city-owned property.
Brian McGrory's e-mail address is mcgrory@globe.com.
