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A look under the hoodie: Inside Sen. John Fetterman’s first week back

The Pennsylvania Democrat returned to the Hill after being hospitalized for weeks for depression. First big decision: Suit or hooded sweatshirt?

Sen. John Fetterman (D-Pa.) leads a hearing April 19 on Capitol Hill examining the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP) and nutrition assistance programs. (Jabin Botsford/The Washington Post)
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On Sen. John Fetterman’s first day back at the U.S. Capitol after a mental health crisis and a long hospital stay, his staff debated a fashion quandary: Could the Pennsylvania Democrat wear a hoodie and a suit at the same time?

He’d done the four-hour car ride from Braddock, Pa., to Washington in navy gym shorts, sneakers and a hooded Carhartt sweatshirt the familiar uniform of the comfort-craving Fetterman, whose anti-fashion bolstered his everyman image during his successful run for office last year. On the campaign trail, he put on a jacket and tie only occasionally, often at the urging of advisers who insisted he at least attempt looking senatorial to the undecided voter.

When he came to Washington in January, however, he surprised staff by insisting on suits for his public engagements. They didn’t know it was a sign of the depths of Fetterman’s depression — that the politician who had built his populist brand on not caring what others thought of his appearance was afraid of being judged.

Now, with his depression in remission, Fetterman was eager to ditch his suit — except that on the Senate floor, you need to wear a tie. Adam Jentleson, his chief of staff, suggested a compromise: a shirt and tie under the hoodie, then throw a jacket over the hoodie. When Fetterman emerged in his casual-business-formal turducken, another senior staffer rejected the bulky look. Fetterman agreed. He eventually opted for just the suit and a new pair of black suede high-top sneakers.

The question of what the senator should wear was part of a larger challenge, which is reintroducing Sen. John Fetterman to Washington — on his own terms. “In a very strong way, that was the first day I was in my job,” Fetterman said in a brief interview with The Washington Post.

The senator felt nervous when his Chevy Tahoe pulled up to the throng of reporters and curious tourists awaiting his arrival outside the Capitol. As he walked in, he turned to the crowd, put his hands over his heart, then threw them up in a big double wave. “Good to be back, thank you!” he shouted.

Fetterman walked through the Capitol to a set of windowless rooms in the basement of the Dirksen Senate Office Building, a temporary workspace for new senators awaiting renovations on their regular offices. Staffers seated nearby answered constituent phone calls about Fetterman’s health. “He’s doing really well,” one said flatly into the receiver. “According to his CBS interview, his depression is in remission.”

He walked in to a standing ovation. Many of the people working for Fetterman had never interacted with their boss. Before seeking inpatient treatment at Walter Reed National Military Medical Center in February, Fetterman had limited his circle to a small group of trusted aides. Now, Fetterman was excited to get to know everyone. He thanked his staff for “keeping the fires burning” in his absence.

On the desk in his personal office, Fetterman found a handwritten note of well-wishes from the alternative rock band R.E.M., along with a gift: a hoodie.

Fetterman hadn’t wanted his stroke to define his Senate career after it almost derailed his campaign. He feels differently about the ways in which his mental health crisis might shape his work. “Depression has become kind of like a policy [priority],” he told The Post. “If even one person can get help as a result, then that’s what I want to do.”

He was already a star when he arrived to town in January to take the crucial seat he won for the Democrats. But Fetterman was then still grappling with the aftereffects of the stroke he suffered last May, and his depression was advancing. In the weeks between his victory and his swearing-in, his aides struggled to get the senator-elect to engage with his new job. Sen. Chris Murphy (D-Conn.), who had campaigned with the “big, bubbly” Fetterman, found his demeanor “kind of shocking” when his new colleague arrived in January: “It was clear he was not the guy I had met,” Murphy said this week.

Sen. Robert P. Casey Jr. (D), the other senator from Pennsylvania, recalled Fetterman looking somber at the Senate Democrats’ day-long retreat on Feb. 8. At the time, Casey had attributed his colleague’s mood to the iPad that Fetterman was relying on to transcribe conversations since the stroke had left him with symptoms of an auditory processing disorder, where he would sometimes miss words that people were saying. (Use of closed-captioning to help overcome such symptoms is common for people recovering from strokes. Last fall, Fetterman’s doctor wrote a letter saying he could “work full duty in public office.”)

“I didn’t know he was also struggling with depression,” Casey said in an interview, looking back on that early February retreat. “Right then, he was probably at a low point.” Fetterman was admitted to George Washington University Hospital later that day and underwent evaluation for signs of another stroke. When one was ruled out, his aides grew concerned that the senator seemed emotionless. A week later, he went to Walter Reed and stayed for 44 days.

In the hospital, he learned that, in addition to auditory processing difficulties, he suffered from hearing loss and needed hearing aids. Fetterman started having brief phone calls without the aid of text transcription. He took long daily walks and lost more weight. Rebecca Katz, his close friend and political strategist, brought him a stack of news clippings on one trip to Walter Reed: personal accounts from Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson, Michael Phelps, and Bruce Springsteen, all describing their personal bouts of depression and mental health. Their frankness encouraged Fetterman to speak candidly about his own suffering. “‘I didn’t know I could be better — I didn’t know other people were dealing with this, too,’” Katz recalled him saying.

Fetterman’s staff could tell his depression was receding when he started teasing again. A frequent target of his jokes: Jentleson, his chief of staff, who visited Fetterman daily at Walter Reed. “Of course you drive a Subaru!” Fetterman mocked one day as his longhaired top aide drove away. (“He thinks I’m a big hippie nerd,” Jentleson said.)

Back at work, his first stop after his own office was Casey’s, where Fetterman dropped off beer and cake for the staff, a small gift to thank them for their support during Fetterman’s absence. “I love this man!” Fetterman howled as he folded Casey into a half-hug. As the two walked together to the Senate floor for his first votes, a reporter asked Casey how it felt to be back after a two-week recess. “I’m happy to be back — I’m happy to have John back,” he replied.

Later in the week, Fetterman spoke at a news conference introducing a bill to crack down on congressional stock trading. He led his first Senate subcommittee hearing on SNAP benefits, speaking clearly, if sometimes haltingly and with the occasional malapropism. Republican attacks on his speech used to terrify him: “He always used to say, ‘How bad was that?’ after something minor,” Jentleson says. With his depression under control, the attacks no longer bothered the senator. “They ran clips when his speech was halting,” Jentleson says. “He went back to not caring.”

He bantered with interest groups that swung through his office, like a dairy farmer concerned about the rise of nondairy milk. “I really wanna go hard about that oat-milk-kinda-bill-type stuff,” Fetterman told her. “I’m not anti-oat-milk. It’s just an oat beverage.” He relaxed into encounters with constituents, offering hugs and handshakes as he posed for photos. “You’re wearing a suit, too!” he teased a young boy advocating for Down syndrome research.

“I feel like I was two different people,” Fetterman told The Post, referring to his experiences before and after treatment. “I’m somebody who’s delighted to have my picture [taken], or just have conversations, or be involved — I wasn’t part of that at all before.”

Fetterman reserved most of his spontaneous interactions for his colleagues. He mimed freeing a group of Democratic senators trapped in a stuck Capitol subway when he passed them on his walk to vote on Tuesday morning. “You were great on MSNBC!” he said to Sen. Robert Menendez (D-N.J.) when they crossed paths a few minutes later.

His medical absence denied him the usual bonding rituals with fellow senators, but Fetterman has a small circle of colleagues with whom he has become friendly: Casey — whom Fetterman describes as his “mentor” — and Democratic Sens. Amy Klobuchar and Tina Smith, both of Minnesota. He’s closest with Sen. Peter Welch (Vt.), the only other Democratic freshman senator, and Sen. Katie Boyd Britt (Ala.), a newcomer on the Republican side. Britt joked that they bonded because her husband, a former offensive lineman for the New England Patriots, shared John’s high-altitude eye line.

“John displayed real courage in seeking help,” Britt said.

“Good to see you, brother!” said Sen. Cory Booker (D-N.J.), who wrapped him in a quick hug and handshake outside the Senate floor on Wednesday afternoon. “I don’t know him yet, but I really, really like him,” Booker said of their brief interaction. Back in his office later that day, an aide handed Fetterman a packet of information about his Thursday schedule — “a book for tomorrow,” she said. Fetterman, who was on his way out the door and wasn’t using his iPad transcription, seemed to accidentally hear “Booker” and told his scheduler he would like to find time for the senator and him to hang out in the coming weeks. She politely corrected him and made a promise to find time on the calendar.

All week, Fetterman had emerged from his personal office in the early evening to needle his staff for working late: “It’s Miller time!” he’d say. So, on Wednesday evening, Fetterman’s staffers squeezed themselves into the conference room for a happy hour. When Fetterman walked in, everyone yelled, “Surprise — it’s Miller time!” Fetterman gave a small smirk. A staffer handed him a beer, and he popped it open.

“Actually, I’d trade this in for a seltzer,” he said. “I love seltzers.” His staff protested; the senator finished his beer, anyway. Fetterman stood in the corner of the room near the doorway and surveyed the room. After a couple of minutes, he said: “This should happen more often.”

His week ended on Thursday with a series of afternoon votes. Fetterman was running late after getting fitted for hearing aids at Walter Reed and didn’t have time to change out of the hoodie and shorts he was wearing into a suit before going back to the floor.

That’s when Fetterman figured out a hack that some of his more tenured colleagues already knew: If he walked up toward the doors of the Senate and signaled his vote, he could remain off the floor and wouldn’t have to change into his suit. The junior senator from Pennsylvania could do his job, and stay comfortable — even though he got there late.

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