The last time I saw Ted Kennedy was a generation after my first

Hear the words of Christine Pelosi: “The last time I saw Ted Kennedy was a generation after my first meeting, at the Senate subway below the Capitol on Obama’s Inauguration Day. He was his usual gregarious and gracious self—with beaming smile and booming voice wishing my husband and me good luck with our pregnancy and expressing his excitement about the new president.” In this remembrance, we find more than nostalgia. We find the essence of leadership, of humanity, of continuity across generations. The smile, the voice, the blessing of encouragement—these were not mere courtesies, but the living expression of a man who carried the burdens of history while never ceasing to share joy with those around him.

The ancients knew the power of such moments. In Homer’s Odyssey, when kings greeted their guests, they offered not only food and wine but also words of blessing, gestures of warmth that wove bonds stronger than contracts. The smile of Ted Kennedy, as described by Pelosi, was such a blessing—an offering of goodwill, an assurance that amidst the grandeur of an Inauguration Day, the intimate joys of family and life still mattered. This is the paradox of great men: though they shape history, their greatness often shines brightest in small gestures of kindness.

Consider the historical weight of that day. Barack Obama, the first African American president, was ascending to office, a moment of transformation and renewal in the American story. And there stood Kennedy, a lion of the Senate whose own family had long been intertwined with the nation’s struggles for justice and equality. His booming voice did not thunder with debate, nor rise in legislation, but offered congratulations on a child yet unborn. Even in that sacred hour of political change, he did not forget the personal, the human, the eternal rhythm of life’s continuation.

We see echoes of this truth in history. Marcus Aurelius, emperor and philosopher, bore the weight of empire, yet in his writings he spoke of his gratitude for those who taught him kindness, patience, and humility. For he knew that greatness lies not only in laws or battles, but in the way one’s smile and words uplift the people near at hand. So too with Kennedy—his legacy is written in policies and speeches, but also in the memory of a gregarious man who greeted friends in the subway with warmth and blessing.

There is also something timeless in the image of the Senate subway below the Capitol: a place beneath the grand halls of power, ordinary and unadorned. There, in the depths, Kennedy’s light shone as brightly as it did in the chamber above. This teaches us that the measure of a leader is not how they appear in the spotlight alone, but how they carry themselves in the shadows, in hallways, in brief encounters that leave lasting impressions on the heart.

The lesson for us is profound: never underestimate the power of your smile, your voice, your words of blessing. History is built not only by grand speeches but also by the small acts of kindness that ripple outward through generations. As Kennedy offered encouragement to Christine Pelosi and her husband, so can each of us offer encouragement to those around us—reminding them that their lives, their struggles, their joys, matter.

So let this wisdom endure: be gregarious, be gracious, be generous with your smile and your words. For like Ted Kennedy, you may never know how your gestures will be remembered—how a kind word in a humble place might echo across years, even into the stories told to future generations. Leadership is not only in the halls of power, but in the warmth of presence, in the humanity that shines when we take the time to uplift another. And this is how greatness truly endures.