Why did it take Kerry so long to craft a message, take to the airwaves, and spread the word in cyberspace? Different cliques in the candidate's circle of friends, advisors and staff offer strikingly similar critiques of the campaign.

For most of the past two years, Kerry's campaign was "troubled by an inside-the-Beltway view of the world" that was "preoccupied by his biography" and "did not understand the depth" of rank-and-file Democrats' "resentments of Bush," declared one political activist who has known Kerry for more than 30 years. "His own instinct was to oppose the war, but they [Kerry's Senate staff] talked him out of it," this Kerry confidant continued.

Other longtime Kerry associates blame the campaign staff for not being tough enough on Bush and Dean, for failing to tell Kerry to his face to be more plain-spoken and less policy-wonkish, and for shutting them out of strategy sessions.

Significantly, of all the Democratic presidential campaigns, only Kerry's is publicly mired in internal quarrels, although Gephardt, Edwards and Graham are also running behind earlier expectations. With the exception of Dean's campaign manager, Joe Trippi, only Kerry's campaign has what one Massachusetts political operative calls "celebrity consultants," who may be eager to preserve their reputations, whatever the outcome. And Kerry also suffers from Massachusetts' distinctive political culture, with its long memories, deep pessimism and biting wit. Just as Boston baseball fans are used to watching the Red Sox lose pennant races, Massachusetts political hands are accustomed to seeing local heroes, from Edward Kennedy to Michael Dukakis and Paul Tsongas, stumble when they reach for the presidency. So, while other candidates have hometown cheering sections, Kerry faces a chorus of kibbitzers, eager to explain to the national press why their state's latest standard-bearer is no John F. Kennedy.

Before Labor Day, rumors were rife that Kerry would shake up his campaign staff, perhaps replacing or demoting campaign manager Jim Jordan, a former executive director of the Democratic Senate Campaign Committee. Over the past two weeks, Kerry has alternately encouraged and denied these rumors while two opportunities passed by to shake up his staff without risking reports that his campaign was in disarray. His relaunch would have been an appropriate moment to announce new staff, and the commemorations of Sept. 11 might have overshadowed campaign news.

Now, Kerry campaign press secretary Gibbs says that the campaign will not have "unplanned changes," such as replacing current staffers with new ones, but instead will "continue to add staff and grow, as campaigns do." Lehane's departure creates an opening for a new communications director, likely to be congenial to Shrum. And, since the campaign still does not have a chair -- usually a part-time position filled by a political veteran -- Kerry could place a senior strategist above Jordan. The most-mentioned possibility is John Sasso, who managed Dukakis' successful campaigns for governor, planned his presidential run, and returned during the final weeks of the 1988 campaign when Dukakis gained ground. Sasso turned down Kerry's offer to manage his presidential campaign but might accept a call for help similar to Dukakis' pleas in October 1988. Another prospect is Boston political consultant John Marttila, whose clients have included Delaware Sen. Joseph Biden and former New York City Mayor David Dinkins.

But layering in new staff might further confuse a campaign that already double-teams key roles, with two media firms (Shrum, Devine and Donilon, and Greer, Margolis, and Mitchell) and two pollsters (Boston's Tom Kiley and Washington's Mark Mellman).

Still, the pre-mortems on Kerry may be premature. He continues to have enormous potential -- as a candidate, and as a president.

Former Kerry speechwriter Bill Woodward remembers the senator as "intellectually curious," interested in talking through complex positions on issues such as affirmative action and education reform. Former Clinton White House aide Minyon Moore recalls: "When the president invited senators to talk policy in his residence, Kerry always stood out. His depth, his knowledge of policy issues, his thoughtful line of questioning was always thorough and impressive. I said, at that time, This guy can be president."

But, to become president, Kerry will have to be more persuasive, and that means finding the voice he had years ago.

Long before Clark or Dean were well known, Kerry was seen as an eloquent orator, with a commanding presence. "When he was younger, he was a speaker of style and grace," recalls University of Massachusetts journalism professor Ralph Whitehead. "He modeled himself after President Kennedy. Since then, the country has changed, the culture has changed, public discussion has become coarser, and Kerry seems frozen in time."

Recently, while Kerry's message has been shaping up, he has been loosening up. In a New Hampshire diner, he choked up with tears after a jobless mother told him about the hard times she's suffered. Several days later, he jammed on the guitar with the rock musician Moby.

But what he needs, most of all, is to communicate outrage and answers not only about an increasingly unpopular involvement in Iraq but also about unemployment, stagnant wages, shrinking health coverage, plundered pension plans, and other crises confronting working Americans.

A Kerry friend since the early 1970s, Marco Trbovich says, almost wistfully: "Kerry has a powerful sense of injustice." But that moral passion is something Kerry has yet to communicate in this campaign.

As his TV spot recalls, Kerry has spoken powerfully in the past. As a 27-year-old former Navy swift boat commander, recently returned from Vietnam, and without advisors and staff, Kerry eloquently and memorably told a Senate committee: "How do you ask a man to be the last man to die for a mistake?"

If Kerry finds the voice he had as a younger man, the former front-runner could be a contender again.

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