"I am not stepping aside for anyone. I don't care how much money my opponent may have, and I don't care about his grandiose ambitions. I am not surrendering to the most expensive press, television and radio blitz in the history of any New York Senate campaign. I have worked too hard for the people of New York to allow this kind of ruthless and unprincipled campaign to ride me out of office."

Beneath the glitter of national publicity, the New York senatorial race has become a bitter affair--especially bitter for the incumbent, Kenneth B. Keating.

Keating is on the defensive. He has been put there by a series of Democratic charges disputing his status as a "liberal." Under the heading, the "Myth of Keating's Liberalism," the attacks come in television and newspaper ads, in campaign literature, and from Robert F. Kennedy himself. By citing specific Keating votes, the Kennedy camp insinuates that the Senator is against housing, against aid to education, against labor, against medicare, against--until the last minute--the test ban, and against the war on poverty. "I'm supposed to be against everything that's good," Keating angrily observes.

"Don't believe these distortions and falsehoods you read," he tells his audiences. He brands Kennedy's the "most reprehensible campaign that has ever been conducted for the Senate in this state." Keating's manner, usually mild and totally lacking in flamboyance, changes as he lists his opponent's sins: he pumps his arms up and down in small chops and his voice rises in anger.

At every opportunity, Keating defends his record. In speech after speech--even in talks he claims "nonpolitical"--he reiterates his support of the civil rights bill, the tax cut, Medicare, the test ban treaty, and the poverty bill in the last session of Congress.

Something ought to be said about the Senator's own tactics. He has charged Kennedy with funneling 60 million federal dollars into the hands of Nazis by ending a 20-year dispute over the World War II seizure of the General Aniline & Film Corporation. He has charged Kennedy with walking out on civil rights by resigning as Attorney General when the Civil Rights Act had yet to be implemented: And, finally, he has charged that through the Valachi hearings Kennedy did an unnecessary disservice to Italian-Americans.

Keating has continually insisted that he does not charge Kennedy with being pro-Nazi, anti-Negro, or anti-Italian; the only thing he claims to question is Kennedy's judgment (and there're his qualifications). Similarly, Keating denies he is actively seeing the backing of any voting bloc and criticizes his opponent for appealing to such groups; yet Keating's bid for bloc support is as plain as the title of one of his campaign throwaways: "Why is Nasser Working to Defeat Keating?"

The atmosphere surrounding the Keating campaign, like the Senator himself, is subdued. It lacks what one reporter who has covered both candidates calls the "Presidential aura" of the Kennedy campaign.

Perhaps a public relations man for one of New York's local television stations summed it up best when he said after a Keating visit to the studio: "It'll be different next week when Kennedy comes. Now, I'm not partisan--I'm not even registered--but when we did a radio program with him, 50 girls walked off their jobs to see Kennedy."

Keating used to be thought of as quiet, dignified, and unimposing; but in this campaign, he has projected the image of a man who is outspoken, angry, and self-asserting.

Despite the change, Keating has been unable to eliminate the image of the past. He is not the magnetic, crowd-drawing candidate that Bobby Kennedy is. Keating can walk from Madison Square Garden onto Seventh Avenue without a soul stopping him to shake his hand or ask for his autograph. He can go to a state Baptist convention in the Bronx to find that scarcely 100 people have showed up to hear him in a hall that would seat four or five times that many.

Certainly, then, Keating does not have Kennedy's "electricity." He will arrive at a street corner for a scheduled "walking tour" of the area and if the advance men have done their work well, an enthusiastic crowd will greet him. For the first few minutes he will be surrounded.

But the crowd does not stay with him. They shake his hand or catch a glimpse of him--and then move on. After he has walked a block and a half, he is relatively free from the pushing and shoving of a mob.

Though Keating lacks electricity, he does possess a certain warmth that wins respect. He almost always wears a huge smile. But not infrequently, he stops to listen to a complaint or a request; then, with his hand clasping his petitioner's, the smile leaves his face and he listens intently. When the quick tete-a-tete is finished, he moves on and his face lights up once again.

For his age (he is 64), Keating displays an amazing amount of energy. Last week, when he was running some 30 minutes behind schedule, he was faced with the choice of cancelling a speaking engagement or not attending the funeral of Herbert Hoover. Keating missed neither.

He limited his speech to ten minutes, and then moved quickly from the meeting room. Once in the hall he began to run with his arms flat by his sides. (The impression was of a speeded-up film of a man walking in huge strides.) He ran to the elevator and, on the ground floor, sprinted in this peculiar fashion to his car. He arrived at the funeral on time.

Despite his age and the enormous obstacles standing in the way of his re-election, Keating rarely seems physically or psychologically tired. Nor does he seem to be merely going through the motions of campaigning; he is in the battle to win--not just to place.

The prospects that he will win seem dim now. He was behind from the very beginning, and even the most optimistic observers feel that he held the lead but briefly.

There are some hard political realities helping Kennedy and hurting Keating:

* the huge vote President Johnson is expected to poll in the state.

* the candidacy of Henry Paolucci on the Conservative ticket. Keating's refusal to support Goldwater has assured Paloucci of two or three percent of the vote, and with things as close as they are, defections are costly.

* sympathy for the late President, reflected in support of his brother.

* money: the Kennedy campaign is far better financed than Keating's. One Keating aide estimates offhand that Kennedy is spending twice as much as his opponent for television. When the votes are counted, what the candidates do personally may have little meaning in comparison to how often and how well they can project themselves over the airwaves; and Keating--both quantitatively and qualitatively--seems unable to match Kennedy in this competition.

Keating is not without his own as sets. His close association with his popular Republican colleague, Jacub Javits, puts him in good stead with a large part of the electorate, including many normally Democratic Jewish voters. And just as Kennedy is capitalizing on Johnson's popularity ("Get on the Johnson, Humphrey, Kennedy Team" is plastered all over New York's buses), so Keating capitalizes on that of Javits (posters of Keating and Javits together, with Javits saying "Keep my Teammate," are located in many New York subway stations.")

Many Democrats, distrusting Kennedy and approving Keating's record, have swung over to the Republican side. And Keating goes out of his way to keep them there.

On balance, however, things do not look good for Ken Keating. What happens to' him if he loses? Many possibilities have been mentioned, commissioner of baseball being the most frequently heard. One aide, who said that the Senator and President Johnson get along very well, even suggested that an ambassadorship might be forthcoming.

The effects of this campaign--both on Keating as a person and on his image--may serve to limit his future role in active politics. If he loses, he does not seem the sort of man who will become an active voice for moderate Republicanism: at heart, he is not a crusader. Yet it appears equally unlikely that Ken Keating will slip silently into oblivion. Somewhere, somehow, he will remain in public service.

As one campaign lieutenant put it, "The Senator couldn't live outside public life. He's not only dedicated to it--he's addicted to it."