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To the editor: On a rainy night in 1974, I was at a reception at Mathilde Krim’s New York City townhouse for Ted Kennedy. It was raining so hard on the Northeast coast that Kennedy was three hours late. When he arrived, he bounded up the staircase and introduced himself to my wife, Kathleen, and proceeded to apologize for the delay. The meeting was to propose a documentary film about healthcare in America and what we should be doing about it.
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