About
@lynn_bartels
Colorado’s political decline seems to correspond with the decline of local news coverage.
#copolitics
I won’t go so far as to suggest causation, but there’s certainly a correlation between the fall of local news and the fall of Colorado’s freedoms and economy.
We used to have an army of local political reporters. The kind who knew where the bodies were buried because they helped dig them up. They had experience, dogged determination, and a professional hatred of getting scooped by the competition.
They understood that the real political intrigue wasn’t in Washington, D.C; it was in the thousands of governments scattered across Colorado.
Lynn Bartels was their field general.
She was the ace political reporter for the Rocky Mountain News until its collapse and then she moved to The Denver Post before it morphed into a newsletter. (The Post is so skinny these days, I don’t know how many copies to buy to line a birdcage.)
Bartels reported on me off and on for decades, and she could be rough. It wasn’t personal. It was her job to go after anyone involved in politics. We became friends. How could we not? She never took herself too seriously, always took her reporting seriously, and laughed at my adolescent jokes.
She claimed she turned me into a star by reporting on me during my days on the RTD Board in the 1990s. I claimed I turned her into a star reporter by creating so much RTD dysfunction for her to write about.
And thus began a decades-long friendship built largely on insulting each other and laughing.
Get this: both newspapers had full-time reporters assigned exclusively to the RTD beat, covering one of the largest and most wasteful governments in Colorado.
The longest laugh I ever got from her came when she was complaining about a drought in her sex life. “What are you complaining about?” I asked. “You f— someone every time your name is on a byline.”
I would also tease her that reporters are genetically incapable of performing simple math. I even gave her a yellow traffic sign that read: “CAUTION: Journalists Doing Math.” She hung it proudly in her cubicle and would occasionally call me to double-check the numbers in a story.
She was one of the army of great people there for me when my daughter, Parker, died. While the “CAUTION: Journalists Doing Math” eventually came down from her cubicle, Parker’s picture never did.
But in her soul, Lynn is a political reporter. There was nothing she loved more than catching politicians in their hypocrisy. When she retired, you could almost feel the collective relief from the elected class.
Lynn is one uppity, stubborn lady and a genuine piece of Colorado history. She has never been intimidated by a politician, special interest group, or industry.
She is unshakable.
All of which means she has the skills to stare down the cancer she has been battling for some time.
And like all of us who watch helplessly as someone we care about fights for life and dignity, I don’t really know what to do to help.
When my daughter Parker was fighting a ravenous cancer, Lynn wrote about it with compassion. She made me feel a little less alone. People who never met Parker got to know her, at least a little.
So that’s why I’m telling you about Lynn.
She spent a career making sure the rest of us weren’t alone when government lied, cheated, wasted money, or abused power.
Now it’s our turn.
Lynn, you are not alone.
(Note the picture of the most beautiful little girl on Lynn's cubicle.)