I used to have this thing against politicians.

I used to think they were nothing more than fast-talking, tell-the-people-what-they-want-to-hear well, politicians. For me, it got to the point where the word "politician" became some kind of negative clich. "God, just like a politician " I would catch myself thinking. Negative connotations follow politicians everywhere. Why do you think they're always in that threesome that "walks into a bar" or the trio "sitting on a boat."

However, the longer I've been in journalism the more I've come to realize that they're not all that bad. Actually, just in the past few days, I've given a lot of thought to my changing view of politicians - not all of them, just enough to stop painting them with such a broad stroke.

This epiphany hit me Monday as I was talking to Jim Vickerman, a senior Minnesota Senate member who announced earlier that day that he's done with this senator business at the end of the year.

Even back when I knew as much about politics as I did 19th century Russian poetry, Vickerman's name always stuck with me, more than likely because we're both Tracy boys. I always thought it was cool that such a big name in the state was from my hometown.

Vickerman's a true, old-school politician. He's a Walton among Simpsons. And that's meant in a good way. He entered office when the state was in the depths of a farm crisis, at a time, he said, when the idea of creating jobs out of ethanol and wind were "dreams," when World War II veterans "were facing the twilight of their lives without dedicated homes here or anyplace else in the state outside Minneapolis" to care for and comfort them.

Perhaps this is another reason he continues to carry such name recognition for me. He cares about things I, you, we care about - agriculture, renewable energy, hunting and fishing, our veterans. He appreciates these things. He appreciates his wife, his kids, his grandkids. Not saying other politicians with families don't, but it's the way he talks about them that makes you feel like he's almost part of your family, too. Even when talking on the phone you just know his eyes light up when he speaks of his family.

As I chatted with him Monday, it was like talking to my grandfather. Vickerman, who's closing in on 80, is proud of all that he's been able to accomplish, all the mountains he's climbed in the name of public service during the last 20-plus years, and it's good to see him leaving on his own terms. Truth be known, he probably could've served in office until his dying day.

Vickerman, who said losing his hometown of Tracy to redistricting years back was "a real blow" to him, has been a voice for southwestern Minnesota farmers ever since he started in 1986 and many of you no doubt took solace in the fact that we had a local guy with clout in St. Paul - and by local, I don't just mean a man from a small town near you, I mean a man with real small-town values.

I get the same feeling in talking to Sen. Dennis Frederickson, another seasoned, well-respected senator with similar values and beliefs to Vickerman's. Frederickson has long been a supporter of the environment and the outdoors, and that's part of what draws me to him as well. But, like Vickerman, I also appreciate the way he speaks to the voters - like he's one of them, not above them like some politicians for some reason think they are.

"It's always difficult when a long-time colleague and friend leaves, because we work together to represent our parts of the state," Frederickson, a Republican, said of Vickerman, a Democrat. "We have a long-established relationship, we know and understand each other's perspective, we know when we may disagree. But we also know that most times we are going to agree and work together to better our district."

A Republican and Democrat working together? Novel idea. This is a case where longevity can foster a strong relationship, even if two people are on opposite sides of the fence.

"When a new senator comes in, you don't have those long ties and that history of working together," Frederickson added. "It takes a certain amount of time to establish those kinds of relationships."

After Frederickson retires, I can see him and Vickerman sitting on a couple of terribly uncomfortable rocking chairs on Vickerman's front porch out in the country, looking back at their time as state senators, talking about what they would've done had they not gone into public service, talking about how politics has changed during the years, how much politicians have changed. I doubt they'd use the term "whippersnappers," but I guess it wouldn't surprise me if one of them did.

Vickerman, like the late Paul Wellstone before him, spoke for the farmers, and I think I can speak for most of them when I say his voice in St. Paul will be missed after he steps down, even by those who don't know all that much about politics or follow it that closely.

When Vickerman tearfully told his closest supporters of his decision to step away from the Senate last weekend, he said he told them he's not irreplaceable. Maybe not. But you're not going to find many more like him out there.