Just before the new year, my dear friend Ted Bodenheimer, who’d been a paraplegic ever since a terrible accident in 1994, died at the age of 73. Recently, I gave a eulogy for Ted at his memorial service.
Despite the many years that separated us, Ted and I had a great deal in common. We were both Jewish boys from the East Side of Manhattan, and we were both passionate about two things: politics, and baseball. Those passions united us, because we were both diehard fans of two teams that always had a way of building up their supporters' hopes each year, and always found a way to disappoint them. I'm speaking of course of the Mets … and the Democrats.
But it was no accident that, for Ted, these twin affinities went hand-in-hand. Ted's deepest instinct was to root for the underdog. In baseball, that meant the Amazins', even when they were anything but. In politics, that meant something broader and deeper. Ted's values orbited around a deep desire to lift up the less fortunate—the disadvantaged, the dispossessed, the diminished. And remarkably, that drive only intensified even after fate conspired to rob him of his mobility, a trauma that might have inspired many people to give up on the rest of the world and look inward.
But not Ted. Oh, most definitely not Ted. I think that's because the values he embodied had taken deep root in him at a young age. Ted, over many years, had compiled an extraordinary collection of political paraphernalia. One of my greatest pleasures was to sit with him as we pulled out box after box and meandered through the contents.
There were endless buttons, pamphlets, pins, flyers, and even guides to long-ago political conventions. Kennedy, LBJ, Carter, Clinton, Obama—Ted had lived through it all, and compiled a far-reaching catalog of everything he'd seen. And the amazing thing was, Ted could tell you the backstory of each item, even those put out by the most obscure candidate for city council whom everyone else has forgotten.
But on our last journey through these archives, we came across one newspaper clipping I'd never seen before.
It's of a major political happening on the streets of New York, dating to the 1950s. And there, beside the article, is a photo of an attendee—a young boy who wanted to take part, who wanted to add his voice to the crowd's and bear witness.
That boy was Theodore Bodenheimer, of course. He was present then because he knew just how important politics was, just how important it was to speak up on behalf of those who cannot speak for themselves. It was a value that stayed with him every day of his life, right up until the last one.
Ted and I had a special relationship. He wasn't a father figure to me, exactly, and I don't think I was quite like a son to him. I say that because, in all the decades we knew one another, our bond was never marked by any of the tensions that are a natural part of any relationship between parent and child. Looking back, I think Ted had something like a grandfather's affection for me, because he took nothing but unbridled pleasure in every success of mine. He was my number one fan, and he always let me know it.
I have the immense privilege each day of publishing a newsletter, and naturally, it's on Ted's favorite topic: politics. It goes out to thousands of subscribers, but there was always one person whose readership I valued the most. I don't think it's any surprise that it was Ted. Whenever he'd call me to talk about the latest news, I took immense joy in the fact that I'd helped inform him about whatever it was we were talking about, whether it was about the latest polls or the newest candidates or, above all else, whether we had a shot at winning.
And his naches, his joy sustained me. On the days when the news seems bleakest—and there have been many of those—I could always know that Ted would be eagerly awaiting my email, and delighted when it landed in his inbox.
I'm going to miss that. I'm always going to miss that. You can't just replace your number one fan, and I wouldn't even want to try. But Ted will always be there in my heart, cheering me on. Much as I wish, I can't do anything about the Mets. But I'm so, so glad that Ted finally got to see his other team pull off a big win last year. And I'm going to honor Ted's memory for the rest of my days by doing everything I can to chalk up as many more victories as possible in the years to come. For all the people who need our help—and for Ted.