When Ted Kennedy arrived in the U.S. Senate 47 years ago, it was -- harking back to Lincoln, Webster, Calhoun and Clay in the mid-19th century -- the dawning of a second golden age of mesmerizing oratory, high drama and enormous productivity.

His seat mates on both sides of the aisle were some of the most able and distinguished ever to stride the nation's Capitol. But rank partisanship and the thirst for combat stopped at the chamber doors.

After hours these fierce adversaries would repair to the Carroll Arms, the Monocle and other popular watering holes for dinner and friendly conversation.

They included the likes of Everett Dirksen, the Republican minority leader from Illinois known for his bombastic speeches which earned him the label by his critics, the "Wizard of Ooze." A JFK supporter and Vietnam War hawk, he helped lead the 1964 Civil Rights bill to passage.

There was Richard Russell, the crusty conservative Georgian, who chaired the powerful Armed Services Committee with an iron hand for 14 years. Both Russell and Dirksen have Senate office buildings named after them. They are joined by their colleague, the deeply respected Philip Hart of Michigan, the "Conscience of the Senate" who died in 1976, just days after a third building received his name.

Another looming presence was the genial Sam Ervin of North Carolina, a constitutional scholar with genteel Southern breeding who first denounced the watershed Brown v. Board of education ruling outlawing segregation and later reversed himself. He liked to say he was "just a small-town lawyer," but his deft conduct of the Watergate hearings is largely credited with ending Richard Nixon's presidency.

Alongside these giants was Hubert Humphrey, the "happy warrior" and fiery speaker from Minnesota, who might have become president himself but for the cross he bore from having supported the increasingly unpopular Vietnam War waged by his boss, President Lyndon Johnson.

These were among the august assemblage that greeted Ted Kennedy when he took his seat as the junior senator from Massachusetts.

I first met him when I went to work just out of graduate school as a legislative aide to John Tunney, the California Democrat, who was one of Kennedy's closest friends and roommate at Virginia law school.

I can recall a contentious floor debate in 1973 over a bill Tunney co-sponsored for funds for anti-riot equipment, tanks and other hardware to curb street violence. Kennedy gave Tunney his vote with little enthusiasm.

Next up was a bill sponsored by Kennedy that was of marginal benefit to Californians. Not aware, Tunney was exiting the floor as Kennedy leaned over to me and said, "I just backed his dog. I assume he will be backing mine!"

Tunney quickly complied.

Such good-natured bargaining was commonplace then. Arguably more vital legislation was adopted in the 25-year span from 1965 to 1990, much of it bearing Ted Kennedy's stamp, than at any time since or prior.

That era of cooperation has given way to one of confrontation and plain nastiness as the ideological divide is widening.

Kennedy was the last and perhaps most talented soldier among this noble band of patriots and his passing casts a long shadow. Kennedy's endorsement of President Barack Obama enshrouds him in a legacy that no other American political family can match.