Corbett prepares for his next journey

PITTSBURGH - Gov. Corbett wept Tuesday night, but it wasn't over the election results.

Midway through his concession speech, before about 200 supporters and banks of cameras, Corbett said he was most proud of the success he had during his term increasing services for people with intellectual disabilities.

A little girl appeared on the stage at the Omni William Penn Hotel, tiptoed behind him, and reached for the hand of his wife, Susan.

Her mother, standing just a few feet in front of the governor, burst into sobs.

Corbett was talking about legislation he signed requiring health-care providers to connect government services with expectant parents facing a prenatal diagnosis of Down syndrome, to ensure early treatment for their children.

Suddenly, Corbett could speak no more. The man once derisively called "the Tin Man" could not hold back the tears. Neither could Susan Corbett, Lt. Gov. Jim Cawley, or anyone else on the stage.

In an instant, everyone was crying as 11-year-old Chloe Kondrich - for whom the act was called "Chloe's law" - shyly looked down at the floor.

Corbett went on to wish his opponent, Tom Wolf, well, saying he engaged in a "well-fought fight," and urged his supporters to give the winner a round of applause, which they did, if not enthusiastically.

But first, he said - as he looked at son, Tom, a new father of twins, and daughter Katherine, mother of 3-year-old Liam and expecting her second child - there were domestic chores ahead.

"First off, there will be babysitting duty," he said as the crowd laughed.

Then, in characteristic fashion, Corbett disappeared behind closed doors without taking any questions from reporters.

But that wasn't the end of the night for the first couple of Pennsylvania. Around midnight, the Corbetts appeared at the hotel pub, where some of his closest allies were drinking away the defeat.

The first couple drew a round of applause.

Corbett, in shirtsleeves, worked the room, greeting a small group of friends and staff exactly a decade after celebrating his first statewide victory - for attorney general - in the large ballroom upstairs.

There were hugs and huzzahs as he thanked his top strategists and staff, then sat down with a pint of beer in his hand and kibitzed with reporters.

He looked more like a man relieved than a politician defeated, despite enduring what would go down as a history-making loss. It was as if a great weight had been lifted.

"It's not the end of the journey," he had told supporters in the concession speech hours earlier. "It's the beginning of another one."