Today marks the retirement of a fine journalist. Mark Stodghill, a fixture around the Duluth News Tribune for as long as I have been a lawyer and judge (over thirty years), is putting the old dust cover on the Underwood, placing his No. 2’s in an old “Grandma’s Marathon” coffee cup, ripping off the last pages of his last notepad, and turning in his final story. Those of us that have known Mark as the guy who covers crime and the criminal justice system will miss him. Why? Because Mark could always be trusted to write a fair, balanced, and thorough version of any particular investigation or trial no matter how sensational or scintillating or sordid the facts might be.
I first met Mark when, after having my head shaved bald and fresh from twelve weeks of basic training at Fort Dix, New Jersey as an enlisted man (I joined the Army Reserve at 26 to pay off my student loan debt from law school), I joined a host of other young and not so young professionals playing basketball over the noon hour at the Duluth YMCA. I was never much of a ballplayer as a kid and certainly didn’t improve with age. But to keep up my “fighting weight” (I lost not only my hair but 30# in boot camp), I decided to join the noon-time games for exercise.
There were some mighty good ballplayers in the mix; former Duluth high school legends Rodger Hanson, Lew Rickert, and Thor Sorenson (now Pastor Thor) were always involved in the “A” game, a serious never-ending battle featuring the top players in the gym. Chief County Prosecutor Gary Bjorklund, private investigator Dan Olson, and Dr. Chris Chapman played in the “A” games as well and Stodghill was right there with them, a talented ex-college ball hawk and shooter. Some of the guys who took the court for those contests (none that I’ve named here) behaved as if those games were preludes to future greatness. Those guys made it tough on novices like me and my fellow Denfeld alum, Chief Public Defender Fred Friedman, and neurosurgeon and former college football star, Dr. Bob Donley. It’s not that the three of us were unathletic. We simply weren’t ex-college or high school basketball stars. We could run the court. On occasion, we could put the ball through the hoop. And Donley and Friedman in particular could certainly occupy the paint and rebound. But we weren’t in the same class as the real “A” players and when, on occasion, the top game needed additional bodies and we were allowed into the inner sanctum, well, we didn’t exactly measure up.
But as intense as Stodghill was on the court during those tilts, he never once demeaned or talked down to the “B” level guys who were pulled in as extras. I stand by this observation: You can learn everything you need to know about a man or woman’s character on the playing field or the ball court. And what I learned about Mark’s character during those games is that he’s a class act, not one to rest upon his past glory or place himself above folks who might not share his athleticism.
After tearing my left ankle pulling down a rebound during one of the “B” level noon games (Donley tended to it, thought it was broken, and made me go to the ER), I hung up my game and, once the cast was off, went back to running at noon. My acquaintanceship with Mark was put on hold until I filed for election for an open judicial seat in 1998. Mark covered that election and was the first person to call me from the press after the polls closed.
“How does it feel, Judge Munger?” he asked.
My family and friends and supporters were gathered at Blackwoods in Proctor waiting for the election results on television. Given that it was the same year Jesse “The Body” became governor and that there were more interesting contests for the news to cover than a bland judicial race, those gathered at Blackwoods had no idea where I stood in the polls before Mark called. His question confirmed that I’d made it, that seven months’ of hard work had paid off.
“I think you’re telling me I won.”
“Correct. Would you like to comment?’
After that night, our professional paths crossed regarding many cases, notorious and otherwise. Having started my collegiate education as a journalism major, I always appreciated Mark’s candor, his honesty when asking questions. With Mark, “Off the record” meant that what I was telling him would never appear in print and never be used to embarrass me. “On background”: same thing. And if Mark needed information about a case that wasn’t confidential or otherwise protected from the press, but couldn’t be gleaned from the court file, I never hesitated to return his call and provide what he needed because I knew Mark Stodghill was journalistic integrity personified. Mark played the news writing game just like he played hoops: with passion and grit but always within the bounds of the rules. Not many athletes or newspaper men or women can make that claim.
Here’s to one of the good ones. Now, from one writer to another: Mark, it’s time to get started on that memoir…
Peace.
Mark
