This article originally appeared in the Beacon Hill Paper, September 29, 1998.

But when both men later decided not to make a run for Congress, everything changed. I was suddenly a top-tiered candidate with a credible background, a strong campaign organization and the ability to raise considerable money.

Over the summer we did indeed raise that money, created one of the best field organizations of any of the ten candidates in the race and otherwise acquitted ourselves well. Yet five months later I lost, not narrowly, but by an embarrassingly large margin, coming in ninth in a field of ten.

What happened?

I had believed early on that this race was about more than who would succeed Joe Kennedy. It was about the Democratic party itself: what did it believe, what would its future be? That, I thought, was what my campaign would be all about. I was a politician in the mold of Paul Tsongas. My politics were a blend of social liberalism and economic pragmatism. And I ran as a maverick. I was unhappy with the current legacy of the Democratic party, a party that may very well understand the issues that face ordinary people but simply didn't get it when it came to solutions.

I was by no means certain that most voters agreed with me, but that, after all, is the point of elections: to choose where we go.

And then along came Ray Flynn.

When Boston's former Mayor announced for the job, just days before signatures were due to the Secretary of State, he became the instant favorite in a crowded field. Early polls conducted in May showed him with about 15 to 20 percent of the vote — not a lot, but enough to make him the front-runner.

The flip side of those numbers was critical however. Fully 80 percent of the district regarded Flynn's candidacy as an anathema. Consequently, the dynamic that drove the entire race was a mantra of, "Anyone but Flynn."

Other candidates who scored well in early polls (mostly due to previous name recognition) were then looked to as potentials to beat Flynn. Those who had little early name recognition (Susan Tracy, Alex Rodriguez, Chris Gabrieli and me) were never given a chance.

In the last few weeks, this anti-Flynn animus became almost frenetic. All of the candidates, me included, received letters from good hearted souls asking us to withdraw from the race so that someone else could emerge to take on Flynn.

The day before the election, a woman in Watertown told me, "I don't care which one of you it is, so long as it's not Flynn."

Friends of mine walked out of voting booths election day, looked at me with guilt and said, "I'm sorry, but I had to vote for someone the polls said would beat Flynn."

Indeed, the proof of this proposition is not me but Chris Gabrieli, who spent $5.5 million boosting his name recognition and boosting his favorabilities (that is, the percent polled who liked him) to enormous heights. Yet few of those who regarded him with such favor committed to vote for him. Early polls had showed Chris out of the running. The press and the general public thought he couldn't beat Flynn. Thus perception became reality.

In a sense, it's a shame. The 8th Congressional District has not really thought through its politics since Tip O'Neill was first elected. His successor's election — that is, Joe Kennedy's — was more about celebrity than ideas.

The world has changed much since the early 1960s. We had an opportunity this year to think about politics and policy. It was an opportunity lost.