Kennedy drive may fall to Chappaquiddick
Analysis by
WILLIAM KOGUT
Of the Emerald
The Pennsylvania primary
Tuesday presents a do-or-die
situtation for Sen. Ted Ken
Nedy. If he wins, he can hang on
until the California, New Jersey
and Ohio primaries June 3 and
get another chance at Pres.
Carter. But if Kennedy loses
Pennsylvania, there’s little hope
left for his candidacy.
Polls have shown all along
that Democrats believe Ken
nedy is more able 'o handle the
economy than Carter. Yet mAny
of those same Democrats who
believe Kennedy is better able
to deal with the country’s econ
omic plight have often been-un
able to bring themselves to vote
for the senator from Massachu
setts. The circumstances of
Mary Jo Kopechne’s death 11
years ago weigh more heavily
with Democrats than the state of
the economy today.
A March Christian Science
Moniter story provides a lot for
the skeptics to ponder. Here are
just some of the points made in
that Story:
• The evening party on Chap
paquiddick included five mar
ried men, all friends of the sen
ator, and six young single
women, all of who had worked
on Robert Kennedy’s presiden
tial campaign.
• Most of the guests later tes
tified they had no more than two
drinks during the party, and that
Mary Jo Kopechne was not a
heavy drinker. But a Massachu
setts police analysis of blood
stains on Kopechne's blouse
after the accident found the al
cohol content “would be con
sistent with about 3.7 to 5
ounces, 80- to 90-proof liquor
within one hour prior to death."
• Kennedy says it was his in
tention to return Mary Jo
Kopechne to her motel room
because she said she was
feeling ill. But Kopechne left
both her purse and her motel
key behind at the party.
• Kennedy has always made a
big point of the fact that he had
never driven on Chappaquid
dick Road before the nighttime
accident occurred. But during
Graphic by Tom Ettel
the day, Kennedy’s chauffeur
had driven him over Chap
paquiddick Road, the only
paved road on the island, three
times. The chauffer had also
driven Kennedy over the is
land’s other road, the dirt Dyke
Road, to the beach. Dyke Road
goes over the bridge off which
Kennedy later drove his car
• Kennedy has also always
claimed it would be easy for
anyone late at night to make a
wrong turn at the intersection of
Chappaquiddick Road and
Dyke Road and head out toward
Dyke bridge instead of toward
the island’s ferry slip But a
photograph and a map carried
in the Chronicle don’t seem to
bear out this contention. It
would appear Kennedy would
r
have had to make a very sharp
and distinct turn to the right off
Chappaquiddick Road in order
to,enter Dyke Road
• Indeed, the judge at the in
quest into Kopechne’s death
wrote, “I infer a reasonable and
probable explanation of the to
tality of the above facts is that
Kennedy and Kopechne did not
intend to return to Edgartown at
that time; that Kennedy did not
intend to drive to the ferry slip
and his turn onto Dyke Road
was intentional."
• Nine hours elapsed between
the time of the accident and the
time Kennedy reported it. Alth
ough it may be true that he was
dazed and unaware for those
nine hours, his friends were not.
Specifically, the two lawyer
friends with whom Kennedy
tried to retrieve Kopechne's
body would have to know that
accidents are supposed to be
reported to police within a rea
sonable period of time
Kennedy has asked to be for
given after having been judged
"by the basic American stan
dard of fairness." But fairness
may have nothing to do with
how Kennedy is finally judged.
In Pennsylvania, though, look
for Kennedy to perhaps at last
overcome the Chappaquiddick
factor. In fact, Carter s camp
has virtually conceded the state
to him. The tide now is turning in
Kennedy’s favor. The question
now is, is it turning too late?
mike lee
Cheshire fortnightly
We are the victims of one an
other’s facades.
William H. Whyte Jr.,
The Organization Man
ALL SYSTEMS NORMAL
Ah, old friends. It’s been three
years since I graduated from
South Eugene, and I see a few
of them on campus from time to
time. We always start our con
versations with '‘You’ve sure
changed!"
So it began when I met Rick
the other day. He was the big
elitist of my gang: He would only
listen to jazz and classical mu
sic, he meticulously avoided
fads, and when he TP'd a house
he’d always be so damn neat
about it.
The last time I saw him was
graduation night, back in 77. I
almost didn’t recognize him
when we passed each other in
the street last week — someth
ing about him looked wrong.
"Yeah Mike, I’ve had it with
trying to rebel from peer group
pressures," he said. "From now
on, I’m going to be normal.’’
Aha! I thought That explains
the $15 haircut, the designer
jeans, and — my God — that
commercially tanned skin.
"Why the sellout?" I asked
him. "Back at South High, you
were the consummate elitist,
always putting down anything
the general public liked. You’d
sooner moon the principal than
hum an Elton John hit."
"Don’t put down Elton," Rick
McKenzie
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warned me. “His early works
with Taupin were classics."
"The question remains."
"Why did I change?" He cast
furtive glances to each side and
lowered his voice. "I would go
to parties — when I was invited
— and everyone would gab
about sports, the latest hits,
drugs. I’d politely laugh and nod
on cue, but when I told a witty
joke about politics or the econ
omy — hell, all I got were blank
stares.
"Mike, I was an outcast of my
generation."
He pulled a joint out of his
shirt pocket and lit it, taking a
long drag.
"Y'know Mike, three years
ago I didn't even know what pot
smelled like. Now I can’t even
remember my last breath of
fresh air.”
I shook my head. “When did
all of this happen?”
"A couple of summers back I
went to see Animal House,
which looked like a bad TV sit
com with dirty jokes thrown in.
But while I was feeling ill, the
audience was in hysterics, Lee,
they were rolling in the aisles.
And that’s all anybody talked
about for the,next month
“That’s when I realized I
wasn’t being included. Right
then, I stopped reading the
newspaper and canceled my
New Yorker subscription.
“In two weeks I received more
party invitations than in the
previous six months."
"Wow," I said.
“I knew I was on to someth
ing. I started listening to KSND
— they have that cool ‘Hot Stuff
Stereo' slogan now — and
dancing at all-campus discos.
"By that time, I was having
affairs with three women."
"Gosh,” I said.
"I switched my major from
English to business, had my hair
styled, bought a new wardrobe
and toked pot. To pay for it all, I
dealt speed and coke on the
street.
"When the frat accepted me, I
knew I had made it — certified
normal."
"Gee," I said. "What next?"
"Don’t ask me," Rick said. "I
don’t do anything until at least
five people I know are doing it —
it’s safe that way. Hey, I’d like to
stick around and shoot the
breeze, but I’ve gotta play fris
bee with the gang. We’ll see ya.
"So long," I said. And he rol
lerskated away, blending into
the crowd.
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