The Veteran

Peter S. Canellos writes movingly in the Sunday Boston Globe magazine about some local reverberations from the presidential campaign, as he describes the scene of John Kerry's concession speech November 3.

For once, it was Kerry who was short and sweet. He was gracious and noble in a way that his admirers probably expected. But he was also emotional, digging deeper into himself and expressing his feelings in a few perfect words, delivered in a warm, heavy voice that conveyed a surprising sense of optimism: "I wish that I could just wrap you in my arms and embrace each and every one of you."

He had gained a lot over the past year. For two decades, Massachusetts voters had pulled the lever for Kerry with a dutiful appreciation for his intellect and progressive impulses. But he was mocked as a tone-deaf aristocrat at the St. Patrick's Day breakfast and never approached the level of respect or affection given his senior colleague, Ted Kennedy...But now, as he stood before the crowd at Faneuil Hall, after a grueling 14-month campaign, Kerry seemed to have gained something even in defeat. His life story had been replayed endlessly, but there always seemed to be one thing missing, and it wasn't the presidency. After all the tales of a boyhood spent in various countries, of struggling to fit in at boarding schools, of choosing to fight in the Vietnam War and then opposing it, of winning a Senate seat but standing curiously apart from the political life of the Senate, of having a painful divorce before marrying a woman who still volubly mourned her first husband, John Kerry had won something he may not have had before.

Love.