HINESBURG — David Zuckerman had high hopes for an important public policy role after he was elected lieutenant governor in 2016.
With 18 years in the Legislature — seven terms in the House, two in the Senate — Zuckerman thought his experience gave him more to offer than the minimal duties of the No. 2 job: presiding over the Senate, helping select Senate committee members and chairs, serving as acting governor when the chief executive leaves the state and, of course, the most important duty — first in the line of succession.
Raising Zuckerman’s hopes that he could contribute: for the first time in recent memory, the four top leadership positions — governor, lieutenant governor, Senate president and House speaker — were all held by new people. Maybe the dynamic could be different, he thought. Maybe his role in the No. 2 job in Vermont could be more than John Nance Garner’s famous observation that the U.S. vice presidency “is not worth a bucket of warm spit.”
Instead, the longtime Progressive was frozen out, sidelined and left in political no-man’s land between the Republican governor and the Democratic leadership in the Legislature. He’s liked parts of the job, including presiding over the Senate, deciding who to call on next, the ability to pick a voice that might calm a heated floor debate. And the loquacious, high-energy pol has used the bully pulpit to raise awareness about social and economic issues through events like the traveling “Movie Nights” that have also boosted his statewide name recognition.
But after years as an activist legislator — who readily dove headfirst into highly charged issues like closing down Vermont Yankee, labeling GMO foods, pot legalization, death with dignity, advocating for civil unions and later marriage equality — shepherding a Senate floor debate or screening a documentary doesn’t require or generate the same kind of passion.
“It’s been mixed,” the wiry, ponytailed Zuckerman said recently of his four years as lieutenant governor. Having virtually no policy role, he said, “is by far the thing I miss the most.”
So in January, instead of coasting to a likely easy reelection, “Farmer Dave” announced he’d run for governor and try to knock off the incumbent, Republican Phil Scott.
Then the pandemic hit.
Rejection from both directions
Zuckerman’s first rejection for a policy role came almost immediately after the 2016 election. Scott, after three terms as lieutenant governor, won the open governor’s seat easily over Democrat Sue Minter and former Major League pitcher Bill “Spaceman” Lee. In the lieutenant governor’s race, Zuckerman fought off two credible challengers in the Democratic primary, Speaker of the House Shap Smith and Rep. Kesha Ram. Then, he defeated Republican Randy Brock, a state senator and former auditor, in the general election, by 7 percentage points.
Vermont is one of 18 states where the governor and lieutenant governor are elected independently and do not run as a team.
Just weeks after the election, during the transition, Scott told Zuckerman he would not extend the same offer Democrat Gov. Peter Shumlin had to then-Lt. Gov. Scott allowing him to attend cabinet meetings. Scott said the meetings were political theater, with Team Shumlin making all the important policy decisions after Scott left the room.
Shumlin and Scott, who both served in the Vermont Senate, did work together, traveling the state, for example, after Tropical Storm Irene. They issued a joint statement trying to allay fears after the election of Donald Trump.
By contrast, Scott and Zuckerman have shared little time together. In their overlapping two terms, they’ve had a single one-on-one meeting to discuss policy. To Zuckerman, Scott’s decision to keep him out of the loop, including his weekly Covid-19 assessment meetings, has been “a disservice to the state.”
“I’m supposed to be prepared to be governor were he to become incapacitated. That is part of my constitutional duty,” said Zuckerman.
Chief of Staff Jason Gibbs said Scott believes effective teams require “good chemistry.” Based on Scott’s experience with Zuckerman when they both served in the Senate and on Zuckerman’s voting record, Gibbs said, “it was clear that he would be an incompatible addition to an Executive Cabinet.”
(Zuckerman also complained it took months to have Scott’s weekly schedule sent and that he’s received as little as 30 minutes notice when Scott’s left the state. Gibbs said the governor stays in charge even when he’s outside Vermont borders and that the lieutenant governor and House speaker are notified “as a courtesy.”)
Despite the snub from Scott, Zuckerman was undaunted. He loves talking issues, sometimes to excess he’ll admit, whether it’s with a like-minded Progressive buying vegetables at his Burlington Farmer’s Market stand or a MAGA hat-wearing Trump supporter in the BTV airport departure lounge. He is perseverant and hiked the Appalachian Trail while at the University of Vermont almost 30 years ago, ending in Maine on the seventh anniversary of his father’s death.
So before the 2017 legislative session started, Zuckerman reached out to the leaders of both chambers, Speaker of the House Mitzi Johnson, D-South Hero, and Senate President Pro Tem Tim Ashe, D/P-Chittenden. He hoped they might be more receptive to his input being closer politically than he is with Scott. Zuckerman points to Sen. Bernie Sanders, I-Vt., as his political inspiration; like many Progressives, including Sanders, Zuckerman also runs as a Democrat to avoid splitting the left vote.
He also hoped his personal ties to the two leaders would help. Zuckerman lived on the same farm as Johnson in South Hero. After moving to Burlington, Zuckerman rented a room in his house to Ashe soon after Ashe stopped working for Sanders. The two have also played together on local soccer teams.
However, the message back from the two Statehouse leaders, Zuckerman said, was quite clear: “I don’t remember exactly how it was relayed but it was ‘We’re the Legislature and you’re not. So we’ll have our meetings. But you won’t be a part of them.’”
Ashe said: “It’s extremely hard to pull the Senate together for broader policy discussions and planning, and I needed that to be the priority.” However, he said he appreciated Zuckerman’s advice, ideas and support, and complimented his handling of floor debates. Johnson declined comment, as she has about other candidates this election season.
One meeting with the governor
Six months into office, Zuckerman made another stab at getting more involved. In his view, Trump was already wreaking havoc and Scott was fighting with the teachers union over health care. Despite the earlier brush-off, Zuckerman reached out to Scott to pitch three ideas he hoped they would work together on to show bipartisanship. He scored a 30-minute face-to-face in the governor’s fifth-floor Pavilion office.
His first idea, Zuckerman knew, was a non-starter for Scott: a legalized tax-and-regulate cannabis industry. He only spent a few minutes on that idea but told Scott it could be his “Get out of jail free card” that could generate enough revenue for Scott to keep his “affordability” agenda, hold the line on taxes and help the most vulnerable.
Zuckerman’s second idea was to incorporate some of the state’s human services into the schools to improve access and save money in two of the largest areas of state spending.
The third proposal was to make Vermont a leader in Lyme disease research. Zuckerman’s wife, Rachel Nevitt, has been devastated by the inflammatory disease caused by a tick bite. Zuckerman described as “humbling” the effects she has suffered physically and mentally. Once an avid bicyclist, she no longer rides. For a period, she didn’t drive to Burlington by herself fearing an episode halfway there. The illness is exhausting. “Sleep is not really sleep,” Zuckerman said. The brain fog, he said, has prompted her to put the phone in the fridge and the milk on a shelf.
“It’s humbling to see someone who was so physically and mentally capable become a fraction of who they were,” Zuckerman said during an interview at Full Moon Farm in Hinesburg, a certified organic 155-acre operation with long and stunning views where he and Nevitt and 10 or so workers raise chickens, pigs, rabbits and fields of vegetables.
Zuckerman’s idea was that he and Scott tap some of their large donors and endow a research position at the University of Vermont Medical Center to study diseases related to Lyme and other tick-borne illnesses.
After the meeting, he waited for a response.
Crickets.
More than a year later, Scott was speaking at the Vermont Women’s Fund annual event and spoke of Vermonters “working together” to solve problems. A month earlier, at a Women’s Fund press event, Scott had mentioned how he and Shumlin had toured the state together after Irene.
Zuckerman, also attending the annual event, bumped into Scott and asked why he’d never responded. The governor, Zuckerman said, politely told him: “They just weren’t ideas that my team felt were things we could work on.”
The January announcement
When Zuckerman announced his bid in January, he already faced significant odds.
First, he would have to beat a well-financed, credible challenger in the Democratic primary, Rebecca Holcombe, the former education secretary who resigned in 2018 over policy differences with Scott on education issues.
Zuckerman enjoys wider name recognition than Holcombe, having run two statewide campaigns, but trailed Holcombe in fundraising $480,000 to $289,000 as of July 1. (The next report is due Aug. 1.) Political analyst Eric Davis said the two represent different wings of the party, Zuckerman the Sanders progressive side, while Holcombe’s base is rooted in the “nonprofit and public sector administrators” sector, Davis said.
Should Zuckerman defeat Holcombe and newcomer Patrick Winburn — a Bennington attorney who has poured almost $200,000 into his campaign — in the Aug. 11 primary, beating Scott in the general election will be an uphill battle. The last incumbent Vermont governor to lose reelection was F. Ray Keyser in 1962. Scott’s “nice guy” image, though bruised by several vetoes and tangles with the teachers union, has remained largely intact after almost four years in office.
Scott’s approval rating was 65% at the end of 2019, the fourth highest among governors, and has mostly received high praise for his coronavirus response. The former construction company owner and stock car driver has cross-party appeal and remains the only Republican serving in a statewide office in liberal-leaning Vermont.
Scott had also distanced himself from Trump, avoiding a tar-and-feathering by Democrats eager to link any Republican office seeker with the polarizing president. Scott was the first Republican governor to support an impeachment inquiry of Trump. After the acquittal, Scott said the president had abused his powers and shouldn’t be in office. He said Trump’s damage to the party brand had cost Republican seats in the Vermont Legislature in the 2018 elections.
For months late last year, Zuckerman was undecided whether to run, weighing family responsibility and the future of Full Moon Farm. Meanwhile, Holcombe launched her campaign the previous July.
When he jumped in, Zuckerman’s game plan was to run against Scott on the issues he had rejected from the Legislature — paid family leave, raising the minimum wage to $15 an hour — and also push a progressive agenda including aggressive efforts to address climate change paid for in part with a “wealth tax.”
To some, Zuckerman was gambling that he would face a less-crowded field in 2020, instead of waiting for Scott to step aside and risk being stampeded in the expected crush of Democrats who would seek an open seat.
Voters frustrated with a lack of “vision or action” from Scott, Zuckerman said in January, would create a groundswell.
“There’s going to be a huge wave — I think — of energy,” he said.
Before his campaign could even get off the ground, the pandemic hit, upending lives and campaigns. On March 13, Scott declared a “state of emergency’’ and issued a “Stay Home, Stay Safe” order. Since then, the governor has dominated the airwaves, drawing thousands to his two-hour-long press updates Monday, Wednesday and Friday (recently reduced to twice a week) carried on statewide television.
Meanwhile, in June, Zuckerman had fewer than 100 viewers for the updates he held on the internet on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
Vermont has also had success stopping the spread of the coronavirus. Even hardcore Zuckerman supporters acknowledge the admirable job Scott has done managing the crisis. Some cluck he should have issued a public mask mandate sooner and even Scott admits the backlog of unemployment claims has been a disaster, but otherwise he gets high marks.
Zuckerman said the pandemic has unquestionably made the campaign “harder” but noted everyone’s life is more difficult. He insists that regardless, pandemic or not, now was his time to run.
To political analyst Davis, the pandemic turned Zuckerman’s campaign upside down and has forced him to put aside his original playbook.
“The virus has just thrown David Zuckerman for a complete loop,” Davis said. “He can continue to make the same arguments, but Phil Scott, who’s not campaigning at all and I think will barely campaign between now and November, is basically going to make the argument that Vermont is among the most successful states in the country in dealing with the virus and it’s necessary to have continuity and steady leadership.”
“And that’s a completely different environment from the one David Zuckerman was preparing to run in,” Davis said.
The governor publicly announced he didn’t plan to campaign much, and wouldn’t hold rallies or try to raise money while the epidemic holds its grip. He did participate in a Republican primary debate last week and is expected to get financial support from the Republican Governors Association.
While it’s uphill, Zuckerman’s case isn’t hopeless, Davis said. He noted Zuckerman’s strength beyond Chittenden County, doing well in areas like Windham County, where the Vermont Yankee nuclear power plant was located, and in the more Republican Northeast Kingdom, where Sanders has also done well statewide. In 2018, Zuckerman received more votes defeating Don Turner than Scott did in his race against Christine Hallquist, 158,530 to 151,261, a difference that analysts warn is not definitive but an indicator of Zuckerman’s appeal beyond his base in the more progressive Chittenden County.
Smith, who finished second in the 2016 primary, said he underestimated the depth of Zuckerman’s activist network. While generally complimentary, Smith said his fellow UVM alum could also be a tough campaigner. Despite Zuckerman’s growing up in privilege, the “sharp elbows” of the Zuckerman campaign highlighted that Smith was “the son of a banker,” portraying him as out of touch. The truth, Smith said, was that his father was an assistant manager at a bank, but “you gotta put your big boy pants on because politics ain’t beanbag, you’re going to have some negativity.”
Zuckerman is not everyone’s cup of tea. Some see a holier-than-thou attitude epitomized when he gives out carrots, not candy, when driving his tractor at parades. He was met with some eye rolls when he gave each senator a dry bean as part of his inaugural speech to the body after taking the oath as lieutenant governor. The bean, he said, was a metaphor that each child “deserves an environment where they can blossom.”
He can take 10 minutes to answer an uncomplicated question. He can be intense and carries a whiff of certainty about his positions not uncommon to Progressives. Several insiders questioned whether he practiced what he preached and paid his farm workers $15 an hour. His reply: “$14.29 an hour and remember that was supposed to go up to $15 over time.” His closest friend in the Senate described him as “precise.” His best friend growing up called him driven, competitive, with a strong work ethic, who as a teenager would insist on finishing a farm project before having fun.
Brock, his 2016 Republican opponent in the lieutenant governor’s race, went silent for 15 seconds when he was asked if he respected Zuckerman. Brock summarized the race as one about “character, integrity and trustworthiness.” Zuckerman will surely face questions as he did in 2016 over his unapologetic taking of questionable reimbursements for mileage and meals when he served in the Legislature.
Holcombe, his primary opponent this year, has also gone hard at Zuckerman over his views on vaccinations. Zuckerman claims his position has been distorted, that he supports vaccinations, particularly now, but his explanation requires longer than debates or forums typically allow. And it’s a hot-button issue during a pandemic and one where Davis, the analyst, says Zuckerman is “vulnerable.”
In 2015, then-Sen. Zuckerman opposed removing the “philosophical exemption” for vaccinations, which allows parents to opt out of having their children vaccinated. Zuckerman claims his opposition was because the proposal hadn’t been properly vetted and he was concerned that some prone to allergic reactions weren’t getting the “medical exemption” the state also allows.
He was a hero, however, to a “vaccine choice” group. In a recent interview, he admits to larger concerns about vaccinations but says they are political and not about science. Given how the federal Centers for Disease Control has downplayed the effects of Lyme disease, Zuckerman said, and the power of the pharmaceutical industry, “it makes one at least have a questioning mind … but that isn’t a question of the science.” His daughter, now 14, he said, has always kept up on her childhood vaccinations. He also points to co-sponsoring a bill in 2007 to add Gardasil, which protects against HPV, to the list of recommended vaccinations.
In 2015, facing a backlash from vaccine supporters, Zuckerman tearfully spoke of his father’s death from stomach cancer when he was a teenager and what he saw as a failure of medical science. His father, Walter Zuckerman, was a thoracic surgeon and wearing a lead vest was not standard safety protocol at that time.
“Why do I tell you this? Because science is good, but it is not perfect,” he said. “Such imperfection can cause harm. Absolutism can cause harm.”
A committed activist
Zuckerman’s supporters see a committed, tireless activist. Sen. Chris Pearson, a fellow Chittenden County Progressive and his closest ally in the Senate, called Zuckerman “energetic, compassionate, progressive and trustworthy.” He noted that Zuckerman’s support for issues like marriage equality, GMO labeling and death with dignity came long before they gained wider popularity and were passed into law. (Former presidential candidate Dennis Kucinich sent out a fundraising appeal noting he worked with Zuckerman on GMOs.)
Carina Driscoll, a former state representative and the stepdaughter of Bernie Sanders, said she has been soldiering alongside Zuckerman for almost 20 years in the progressive “revolution,” starting when they both represented Burlington in the early 2000s. At a rally, she highlighted his longstanding ties with Sanders starting with his volunteering on the 1992 congressional campaign while at UVM. (He ran for the Legislature in 1994 while enrolled, and lost, but won two years later.)
Zuckerman — whose long-shot bid this year would have seen a ballot box bump with Sanders as the Democratic presidential nominee — said recently he hadn’t wanted to push Sanders after he ended his campaign in April. But on Monday, the Sanders gave his endorsement. Zuckerman said he also hoped his mentor will actively support the campaign. (In late January, Sanders endorsed Executive Councilor Andru Volinsky in the New Hampshire governor’s race. Volinsky faces a primary before the winner takes on incumbent Chris Sununu.)
“David is principled. He’s honest and he’s actually very skilled at navigating the political process,” Driscoll told a crowd of supporters at the campaign’s first outdoor rally in Williston in late June. “But most importantly, his heart is in the right place.”
The Covid-19 crisis has exposed stark economic and racial inequities, Driscoll said, a point Zuckerman echoed in a later interview. He said the biggest lesson he learned from Sanders is that wealth inequality is at the root of many societal problems, including systemic racism, but is also not confined to people of color.
“We have different extremes of wealth inequality, and it’s clear communities of color have across the board an average of one-tenth the wealth of white folk, but there are plenty of poor white folk as well. And you tie it all together with Covid and essential workers. These frontline workers who have been essential all along to getting us this cheap food, or food in general, but they’re undervalued,” Zuckerman said, touting his support for raising the minimum wage, paid family leave and universal health care.
Campaigning during Covid-19
The usual methods of campaigning are impossible in the Covid-19 world. Going door to door, holding rallies, chatting up folks at county fairs, venues where an extrovert like Zuckerman has excelled, are out of the question. Creativity is required.
That first campaign event in late June, the day after the Legislature recessed, looked more like the scene at a drive-in movie theater.
Held at the Isham farm in Williston, about 100 cars and pickups parked 10 rows deep in a large field, spaced socially distant on either side. Some occupants, roughly two or three to each vehicle, sat on the hood or right in front. Masks were required. The campaign handed out Zuckerman dark blue cloth masks complete with a red tractor over his name. Many ordered food prepared under a tent available to be delivered like a car hop. There was music, live and recorded, kids running around, a festival atmosphere.
Down in front, a large white hay wagon served as the stage.
“He should have a screen up there, right?” said Cindy Mackin of South Burlington, a retired educator.
Sounding a familiar theme of Zuckerman supporters, Mackin said Scott was doing “an admirable job right now and we stand with him” on the coronavirus response, but quickly added that his previous vetoes on raising the minimum wage and paid family leave should not be forgotten.
“This pandemic is going to end and we could still be left with a governor who doesn’t support the things we support,” she said as Tracy Chapman’s “Talkin’ Bout a Revolution” boomed in the background.
Mackin and others spoke of Zuckerman and Sanders in the same political breath and pointed to their alignment on issues like income and economic inequality. Several spoke of a 2014 event for Zuckerman at the Isham farm where Sanders had also appeared.
Maureen Lynch, fisheries program manager at the Vermont Fish & Wildlife Department, said Zuckerman’s focus on climate change appealed to her, as well as his push for economic justice.
Sitting in a lawn chair in front of her car, Lynch said she appreciated the effort the campaign made to organize an event where people could feel safe.
“It makes me respect those (organizations) more and makes me want to support them a bit more. So having a drive-in event like this, taking the care to do this, makes me want to attend more,” Lynch said.
Zuckerman, in a blue dress shirt and white pants, bounded across the field, checking logistics, talking to reporters. After speakers, including Chief Don Stevens of the Nulhegan Abenaki Tribe and Driscoll with her introduction, Zuckerman concluded the event with a 30-minute stump speech that wrapped up just before a welcome rain arrived after days of drought-like conditions.
From left, Chief Don Stevens of the Nulhegan Abenaki Tribe, and Maureen Lynch and Dan Fingas at Zuckerman’s “drive-in” rally in Williston in June. Photos by Mark Johnson/VTDigger
A life of privilege
David Zuckerman grew up in Brookline, Massachusetts, in a life of privilege.
“We were certainly fortunate,” he said.
The family spent summers in Virginia where his mother Natalie had bought property years back. It was there that Zuckerman cultivated his love of the land, clearing brush, spending three summers with others rebuilding a house from scratch.
According to his best friend, Korey Whitfield, who grew up across the street from Zuckerman in Brookline and joined him during the summers, Natalie not only inspired Zuckerman politically — she was on the Brookline School Board — but also physically.
“She was unhumanly hard-working,” Whitfield said.
“She couldn’t have been more than 100 pounds or 110 pounds, I think. And yet, she’d be out there chopping wood to clear out land. All day long,” he said. She’d grown up on a family farm in Dover, Massachusetts.
Natalie graduated from Radcliffe College in 1956 and received a Ph.D. in biochemistry from George Washington University. Later she earned a nursing degree from Boston University in hopes of opening a clinic with David’s father.
During her 15 years on the school board, Natalie Zuckerman was also well known for outspoken advocacy for students and parents, which “sometimes led to fiery exchanges.” She was an advocate for an afterschool program to help “latch-key” kids and helped draft a policy to protect the privacy of students and school staff with HIV/AIDS. She also supported the Massachusettes voluntary school desegregation program.
Her obituary quoted her saying: “I guess I’ve never curtailed my tongue, she remarked.”
Zuckerman’s most recent financial disclosure statement showed dividend income in 2019 of almost $25,000 and more than $170,000 in capital gains. Those gains, he said, came from sales of stocks in fossil fuel companies and others that he inherited when his mother died at the beginning of last year. Zuckerman has a 62-year-old half-sister, an international agricultural economist, from his mother’s first marriage. His brother, Charles, 52, is a licensed architect in California.
Claims that Zuckerman is a “Trustifarian,” living off passive income, don’t ring true, Whitfield said. They call one another brothers, not friends. Zuckerman always brought Whitfield’s mother a card on Mother’s Day, sometimes before Natalie, who downplayed the holiday.
“He’s a farmer at heart,” Whitfield said. “I’d be like, let’s go to the watering hole and he’d say, no, we have to finish these chores first.”
David Zuckerman and childhood friend Korey Whitfield grew up in Brookline, Mass. Photos courtesy Korey Whitfield.
Not only has the pandemic dominated, the Black Lives Matter and the protests have also taken center stage. Zuckerman hosted a show on racial equality in June with Capt. Garry Scott, director of fair and impartial policing for Vermont State Police, and Xusana Davis, Vermont director of racial equity. Zuckerman says of calls to “defund the police,” he’s open to shifting resources but urges caution.
“You don’t do it with a cleaver, you do it with a scalpel. It is precision work. And there’s real delicacy, trying to do precision work when there’s this much energy involved. It’s sort of like the emergency room, right? You’ve got trauma, and you’ve got intense energy and immediate resolution that’s needed. And yet, the surgeons and the emergency room doctors and the nurses still have to have an incredibly steady hand to do the work in a way that saves that life. And in this regard, those in elected office have to be very steady and delicate to do the work that moves us forward without getting quite as wrapped up in the intensity of the moment, and it’s almost impossible. None of us are going to get it right,” he said in an interview.
As a white person, he said he learned from the slights directed at Whitfield, who is Black, but said as a person of privilege, he has much more to understand.
“I don’t know that any of us will ever be woke, right? It’s a journey. It’s kind of like Nirvana. Like you’re never going to, as a white person, fully know and understand all the privileges of being white, or all the challenges of not being one. But we’re all in the journey at different places,” Zuckerman said, adding his fortunate upbringing was “dumb luck.”
“The financial privilege, the political exposure” growing up in the birthplace of John F. Kennedy and former Gov. Michael Dukakis, all helped lead him where he is today.
Zuckerman will be 49 in August. The wrinkles are more pronounced and his black hair noticeably thinning on top, yet he also maintains a youthful elfish appearance and energy.
Sitting at a picnic table at Full Moon Farm, he said his parents hammered home that “with privilege comes responsibility.”
He labeled it “irresponsible” to not run in 2020 given the worsening climate change and Scott’s vetoes.
“Yeah, it’s comfortable being lieutenant governor,” he said.
“But I also was in a position to, I think, be the strongest candidate, to have a chance with that crapshoot. And when the governor wins by 10 and 14 points, it gives him so much more power to block the progress of the Legislature. And my goal is to win. But if I lose it is going to be really close. And that is going to potently shift the dynamic of the power of the Legislature. And I happen to think, I still have a chance to win.”
Spreading his arm into the distance, he said, adding he would always be an activist too, “If I were to lose, I have this to fall back on. This is not a bad life.”
