I am driving north on Rte. 93 out of Boston, pushing the accelerator to the floor and trying not to lose the maroon Fairmont station wagon. There is a bumper sticker in the middle of the rear window of the Fairmont--"Paul Tsongas, U.S. Senate." In the car is Cecil Andrus, former governor of Idaho and current Secretary of the Interior, who has come to Massachusetts to endorse Tsongas. They have traded compliments about their concern for energy and the environment. Tsongas' driver is doing a steady 75. "As a member of the Select Ad-Hoc Committee on Energy, [Paul] introduced two successful amendments to the National Energy Act requiring conservation studies to reduce gas consumption..."

We pull into Lowell Center, the heart of Tsongas' Congressional district of four years. The Lowell dignitaries are gathered at the headquarters for the National Urban Park. It's not really a park but a city. This is Tsongas' baby--the reconstruction of decaying urban areas. Andrus has come to see how $40 million of federal funds is being spent.

There is a difference in styles--Tsongas knows what is going on. In the car, he is pointing out the sites to Andrus. On the walking tour, it is Tsongas who knows who lives where, who is remodeling what building and how much is being spent on the canal. He gives the entourage directions to the fundraiser. This is to be expected, of course, but it is very much his attitude. Slightly anxious, always looking like he's ready to run and always: "Let's talk about the facts." Tsongas had done his homework.

He walks through Lowell and people stop him on the street, wave at him from their cars--he knows their names. Our group crosses a footbridge and is slowed down by a guest appearance. There is a little girl, Texas-blond and puppy-dog eyes. Melanie Ann Brockington is the national poster child for the 1979 March of Dimes. "Although Melanie is paralyzed from the waist down, she walks well with the aid of leg braces and crutches. Like many girls of her age--eight--Melanie is a lively, independent youngster who enjoys dancing, playing with her numerous friends, reading and listening to Shaun Cassidy albums."

The photographers egg the Secretary and would be Senator on. Andrus and Tsongas sit on their heels and say hi to Melanie. The photographer motion Tsongas to squat more, to get in the picture. They trade autographs--Melanie draws a big heart and writes I LOVE Paul underneath it. Tsongas signs something for her. He looks at his autograph and asks her to write some more, to add the names "Ashley" and "Katina" after "Paul." His aides motion him that it is time to move on but. Tsongas is patient--A-S-H-L-E-Y...K-A-T-I-N-A. His two kids. Always the family man, Paul Tsongas is young and energetic and happily married. He is 37 years old and running strong.

***

"Okay, now, what am I supposed to do here? Is that the high school over there? When do I come in? At the intermission, oh, that's okay." We are standing in a parking lot somewhere in Brockton, Mass. Across the highway is a large concrete, metal and glass structure, "the largest high school in the state," we are told. There are seven of us--one reporter, one photographer, one driver, one advance woman, two campaign workers and one Senator. Ed Brooke pins a carnation on a campaign worker he's never met and looks confused.

We drive across the street. There are two people holding "Hatch-Cowin" posters outside the high school auditorium. They don't seem to recognize Brooke. He stops, tells them how nice it is to see them and climbs the stairs. Inside, the advance woman is pacing nervously. There are two men and three pimply teenagers in light blue tuxedos with too-red-to-be-real roses pinned to their lapels. A sign outside the auditorium reads, "The First Annual Ms. Senior Sweetheart Pageant." No kidding--a senior citizens' beauty contest. Anything for a vote.

Brooke is still shaking hands when the emcee announces his presence. He is hustled through the auditorium door, led down the aisle and runs up on the stage. The crowd--1300 strong and over 65--applauds more than politely for the junior senator from Massachusetts. Brooke grasps the microphone, looking knowingly into the crowd. "I certainly want to express my appreciation to the..." He looks down at the program he has been handed. "...Whitman Bank and to all who had anything to do with bringing this about."

"First, let me assure you that I am not a contestant." There is strained laughter. Brooke, a man famous for his sexual magnetism among other things, looks old--the last few months, the day-to-day campaign trail routine, haven't helped his appearance. The makeup he wears when campaigning smears the knot of his paisley tie and the collar of his striped shirt.

"This is the sort of thing that really warms my heart because it brings joy into so many lives." Brooke is staring at his shoes.

He touches on inflation and the plight of the senior citizen. "One thing I think that we all fear as senior citizens--and I'm well on my way there, I was 59 last week, is what my mother has always said to me, 'Don't put me away,' and I know what she means--we should avoid institutionalization of senior citizens."

Brooke closes to an ovation that might have been standing if the crowd had the energy to make it to its feet. The emcee rushes over to shake his hand. Brooke leans back into the audience on his way out. The old women clamber around him, groping to touch the hand of a former National Senior Citizens Council "Man of the Year." By the end of the day, Brooke will have kissed over 100 women. But he is no longer the young maverick from Massachusetts. You can see it in his eyes. Ed Brooke is growing old and running scared.

***

"Frustrated by the inactivity of the Senate Ethics Committee, and deeply disturbed by the public's lack of confidence in the Congress, Senator Ed Brooke introduced in January of 1977 the first comprehensive Ethics Committee Reform Package. He fought in committee, in conferences and on the floor of the Senate for resolutions to reform the Ethics Committee, to require full financial disclosure for all Senators, and the establishment of a Senate Code of Ethics. Result: The Senate now has a Code of Ethics."