This “backstory” is a part of a collection of articles that describes some of the obstacles that Seven Days reporters faced while pursuing Vermont news, events and people in 2024.
I have a confession: I took a photo with Bernie Sanders.
I know, I know. But before you grab your pitchforks, hear me out. There’s a good excuse, and it begins with an unexpected phone call in March from my grandfather.
“Colin, if you ever meet Bernie, could you take a picture with him for me? I’d like that.”
The request was unexpected not because of my grandfather’s politics; Tommy McTygue had been a proud Democrat his entire life and was fond of Vermont’s independent U.S. senator. His timing is what surprised me.
Unbeknownst to him, I had landed an interview with Sanders a few days earlier to talk about issues facing Vermont seniors as part of our yearlong “This Old State” series. It would be Seven Days‘ first sit-down with the senator in seven years — and my first time meeting him.
I promised to do my best. “Great, thanks,” my grandfather replied, hanging up before I could say goodbye.
I felt anxious as the interview drew near. Journalists aren’t supposed to ask sources for favors, and it wasn’t hard to imagine the photo popping up somewhere later and potentially undermining my credibility.
On the other hand, a photo was a small gesture for a man who, in many ways, inspired my journalism career.
For more than three decades, my grandfather served on the city council in Saratoga Springs, N.Y. His political career played into some of my fondest childhood memories: being towed in a wagon during the July 4 parade; racing around the historic Canfield Casino with my cousins during his annual St. Patrick’s Day fundraising parties.
My grandfather taught me that you do not have to hate people with whom you disagree and that politics can be a force for good, even if that is rarely reflected in the headlines. (Trust me, Tommy got his share of negative ink.) He also reminded me to stand up for the little guy, a lesson I’ve embraced in my own career.
And so, after I had exhausted my questions for Sanders, I mentioned the call from my grandfather and popped the awkward query: “A photo, please, Senator?”
Sanders, to his credit, took it in stride and resisted making any wisecracks about quid pro quos.
My mother framed the photo and displayed it in my grandparents’ living room, where Tommy loved to point it out to visitors. “How ’bout that?” he’d say with a smile.
In September, five months after I sat down with Sanders, my grandfather was hospitalized due to complications from a prolonged illness. He died shortly after, at home, surrounded by family.
Long before he passed, he had asked that I write his eulogy. When his time came, I put it off for as long as I could, then wrote it in a sprint one morning from a window seat at Burlington’s Kru Coffee, with a view of Sanders’ congressional office across the street.
After the funeral, friends and family gathered at my grandparents’ house. As we mingled around the living room, someone brought up my tribute and suggested that my grandfather would have approved. He was so proud of you, they said.
I glanced over at the photo and smiled.
“I know,” I said. “I know.”
The original print version of this article was headlined “Worthiest Ethical Lapse”
This article appears in Dec 25, 2024 – Jan 7, 2025.
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