Born To Be a Newspaper Man

by Martin J. McGowan Jr.

The Retirement Years

My retirement years, numbering 17 at this writing, have been spent in three major ways, possibly four. They include state government service, major surgery and part time newspaper reporting. The fourth would be the time spent on my hobby of amateur radio.

The state government service began in 1991 when I was named to the Minnesota Ethical Practices Board by Gov. Rudy Perpich. I was named in a rather unusual way. Jeff Bertram was named to the board but he could not get confirmation for the appointment in the state senate. Jeff's brother, Joe, was a state senator and the senate, for various reasons, mostly a conflict of interest, rejected Jeff. I was then named and was confirmed without difficulty. Appointments to that board are unusual in another way because they require confirmation by both houses. Other state appointments are confirmed by only the Senate.

The name of the board at that time was a misnomer. It had nothing to do with ethics. Principal duty of the board was to deal with campaign finances. The name has since been changed to the Campaign Finance and Public Disclosure Board to more accurately reflect its responsibilities.

Membership on the board was regulated. It included active members of the two major political parties. Former legislators from both parties were another category. That language had to be changed with the election of Jesse Ventura on the Reform party, now the Independence party, ticket.

I was chairman of the board twice. The vice chairman had to be from a party other than the chairman. There is a professional staff to keep the records that can be voluminous considering all the people who file for state political office. Candidates must file reports on specific dates, listing money received, from whom donated, where the funds are kept and how they are spent.

During my tenure there were only two major cases that required unusual action. One was the case of Rep. Randy Staten, of north Minneapolis. He would never seem to get his reports in on time. He resorted to slipping them under the office door just after the office closed on the day the report was due. We did not consider that to be timely filing.

Staten had another problem. His financial records did not balance. We could never determine where his campaign money originated or where it was spent. He had so many violations that we finally cited him to a special committee of the House of Representatives to determine what penalties should be assessed. I had to appear before the special committee to state our grievances. He was found guilty for violating election regulations and did not run for another term.

Another case for us was of a man running for the legislature who didn't want us to know where he kept his campaign funds. One of the first regulations was to tell the board which bank had the funds and how much he kept there. This fellow was quite elusive and we finally determined that he kept his funds outside the county of his residence. He ran for several state offices and once won the nomination of the Republican party for one of the constitutional offices but lost in the general election.

In my second term as chairman a thorny issue arose following the election of Gov. Arne Carlson. He was unsuccessful in seeking the endorsement of the Republican party for governor. That went to John Grunseth. Late in his campaign it was discovered that he had gone swimming nude in a pool with some young girls. Eventually he was so embarrassed that he resigned the nomination. There was only a short time before the general election so the Republican party officials picked Carlson to be the candidate since he finished second in the race for the endorsement at the party convention. Surprisingly Carlson came on to win the election.

State funds derived from the checkoff on income tax forms are available to candidates. Carlson's campaign committee came to the board to ask for the funds that had been designated for Grunseth. However, the law said those funds had to be requested a certain number of days prior to the election. Because of Carlson's late filing he was inside that required number of days, not outside that number.

Our legal counsel rendered an opinion this made Carlson ineligible for the state funds. I said while it might be logical to give the funds to Carlson, the eventual nominee of the party, technically he did not qualify and I would oppose dispersing the funds to him on the basis of our legal counsel's opinion. Another board member joined me in my decision. That made it clear Carlson did not have the votes on the board to get the money to pay off campaign obligations. They dropped the matter-but did not forget the decision.

My term on the board was up and it was required that a former DFL legislator would be needed to fill the post. I felt I qualified so I made an attempt to see the right people on the governor's staff to discuss the appointment. They declined to see me. I also asked a Republican member of the board to write a letter of recommendation for me but she also declined. It was apparent I would not be reappointed so that ended my state service.

I had to miss presiding at one of my meetings in 1986. I was involved in a series of radiation treatments for prostate cancer which came on quite suddenly. On Dec. 8, 1985, I attended a national convention of Ethical Practices Boards in Chicago as chairman of the Minnesota board. I was just preparing to clean up for the convention banquet when I had a sudden and severe hemorrhage. I became quite concerned about what to do in a strange city.

I called home and talked with Betty. She consulted medical authorities in St. Cloud. They said it was my choice whether or not to go to a hospital in Chicago or go on home. I chose the latter course. I didn't want to be examined by strange doctors and possibly be confined to a hospital in Chicago far from my family. But getting home also involved some problems.

It was about 7 p. m. I didn't have time to notify the other members of our delegation of my predicament.

I called Midway airport and found that the last flight to Minneapolis on Northwest Airlines was at 9 p. m. So I quickly packed my bags and checked out of the hotel. I caught a cab outside the hotel and headed for the airport. Midway is an airport near the downtown area, which makes takeoffs and landings a bit tricky. At least the terminal was not far away, not like O'Hare in the far away suburbs.

I made it to the airport in plenty of time, dashed to the counter and purchased a ticket. There was actually a bit of time before the plane was due to leave. This increased the tension. But once off the ground I settled back and accepted the bag of peanuts the steward offered. It isn't much of a flight from Chicago to Minneapolis, about an hour. Betty was there to meet me and we set off for St. Cloud. In due time we arrived and went to the hospital. There I shed my bloody suit and went to bed.

In the morning I had a biopsy ordered by my doctor. I was ready to go home but Dr. Ehlen asked me to wait a while. He came in later and said I had prostate cancer, which he said was at the Grade B level, meaning that it was starting to escape outside the prostate. He said to go home and rest and after the holidays he would remove the prostate.

While waiting and wondering during the 1985-86 holidays Bob Hollenhorst had heard of my diagnosis and asked if I wanted a second opinion at the Mayo Clinic. I certainly did.

Bob had done a favor for a colleague, Dr. Utz, and so he asked a favor in return. Dr. Utz agreed to look at my situation and scheduled an exploratory operation to see if the cancer had spread very far from the prostate. I left it with Dr. Utz to decide what to do when he got in the area. If the cancer had spread he could go ahead and remove the prostate. If it had not spread then I preferred to leave the prostate and treat the condition some other way.

So he went into my groin area and removed over 40 lymph glands. At many hospitals that would be the end of the preliminaries. The patient would be sewed up again and go home for a week or two to await the outcome of the tests. At Mayo, however, the surgeon can request immediate results of the tests. Dr. Utz did so and the tests showed the lymph glands were clean. So after I healed from the surgery I was sent home to plan for radiation treatments.

There was a doctor in St. Cloud who was a radiologist trained at Mayo. I was referred to him and we began the series of five treatments a week for seven weeks. After getting his bill for $2,700 I was surprised to have him tell me he no longer participated in the Blue Cross-Blue Shield health coverage, even though he was listed as a participant in the Blue Cross-Blue Shield manual. This required me to make an appeal to their main office that I had been misled. The BCBS officials agreed that since the St. Cloud doctor was the only one in the area doing that work they would pay the charge.

That should have been the end of that story. My PSA (Prostate Specific Antigen) tests remained low until about five years later the count began to rise. This meant a return to Mayo. The doctor I saw had a very poor bedside manner and he scared me. He said, "There is nothing more we can do for you. We will have to put you on hormones." I was very depressed at the holiday season that came at that time.

But we started the treatments with a hormone called Lupron. I took monthly shots in alternating hips. These monthly shots at the hospital cost $500 each and I was mighty grateful that Blue Cross-Blue Shield covered them. Eventually a three-month shot was developed at triple the cost. Then Dr. Timothy Yeh, my oncologist and family doctor, wanted to give me the shots at his clinic because he said he could do it cheaper. At last count the charge was over $1,600, but those treatments brought down the PSA count. The reading has stayed down. I am not cancer free but I have been able to lead a normal life for almost 15 years when this was written.

There are some side effects like hot flashes. The Lupron also has the effect of a chemical castration rather than the surgical procedure called an orchiectomy. But as I hear the stories from other men at a Man to Man support group I consider myself to be lucky. My prayers have been answered.

This discussion of my medical history may not be interesting to some readers, but it all was quite a significant part of my life history. This is true because some of the things done prolonged my life. Some of them involved major technical steps.

That was particularly true in the case of my heart surgery. It all happened by surprise in 1996.

One day I was out for a walk on our township road. I tried to make a round trip that resulted in a one-mile walk. I was about halfway to the county road when I came to a sudden stop. I was gasping for air. I was sweating profusely and could barely move.

Fortunately, I had stopped in front of the driveway of Bob and Natalie Ayers who at that time came out to get their mail. I hailed them and said I needed a ride home. They drove me home and just thought I needed a rest.

This was on a Saturday and I just rested on Sunday. I thought it wise to go to the doctor on Monday. My doctor, Timothy Yeh, was not in the office that day so I was examined by a house doctor at the clinic. His diagnosis was that I just had heartburn and he prescribed some Zantac.

On Tuesday I covered the county board meeting at the courthouse for the Lake Country Echo as usual. If I didn't exert myself I seemed to be all right. But at noon I decided to walk to the Senior Center two blocks away to see if Betty was there. She wasn't so I started back to the courthouse. On the way I didn't think I would make it. I was totally exhausted but I finished the meeting and wrote my story.

I decided this had to be more than heartburn. I got in touch with Dr. Yeh and he put me in the hospital for tests. They revealed a major problem and I was shipped off by ambulance to the heart department of the St. Cloud hospital. There I had an angiogram which showed a severe blocking of the major artery that is located down the front of the heart. There was also minor blockage of two other arteries of the heart.

I was barely out of the tests when a doctor appeared at my side saying he had done thousands of heart bypass surgeries. I said I was ready to go. So I was scheduled for surgery the following day. An anesthetist also came by to ask some questions.

After I was wheeled down to the surgery area there was a delay. The previous operation took more time than scheduled. Dan and Pam were there and we visited n a side room while I lay on the gurney. Finally, they were ready and I was wheeled away.

Operating rooms are impressive. When I first arrived, I am impressed by the numerous powerful lights and the equipment. I am not certain if the casual banter of the nurses getting things ready helps to allay any fears or increases the tension.

At any rate, it doesn't take long to be in dreamland, thank heavens. I am grateful for that, particularly in heart surgery. I don't think I could stand witnessing what the surgeons do in that kind of surgery.

Only later did I realize that they take their special power saw and cut down my breast bone and spread my chest like two sides of beef. Meanwhile, the doctors have sliced open my left leg and removed a vein that runs from my ankle to my groin. That is used to slice into pieces that are attached to the heart in places that will bypass the blockages.

The heart is stopped during this procedure and a heart-lung pump takes over keeping circulation in my system. This lasts about a half hour. The heart is then brought back to life by electrical stimulation to take over again. Then everything is sewed up and I was sent off to the recovery room. It is there I awakened with a mouthful of tubes used to assist in breathing. I was then taken to a private room.

I noticed a bandage around my waist. I found out later that hidden under the bandage were two wires coming out of my chest. I was told the wires were connected to my heart in case a pacemaker might be needed to restore heart rhythm. As it happened that first night I had an irregular heartbeat. The doctor was called but he decided just to observe and after a while things returned to normal.

A few days later those two wires were just pulled from my chest. I now have two marks where the wires had been and a nice ladder type scar where the chest had been opened.

Betty and Maureen spent the first night with me at the hospital. Sean sent a gift to Betty of some charges to his credit card so Betty could stay at a motel in St. Cloud rather than drive home to Brainerd every night. In due time I went home to recuperate. In six weeks I was back covering county board meetings for the Echo.

I still marvel at how all this was done. The thought of being kept alive by a pump says something about how medical science has progressed. Again my prayers were answered. Recently there were news accounts telling of a study on those who used the heart-lung machine for open heart surgery. The report said a high percentage of those who used the machine later showed signs of forgetfulness and lack of concentration. I don't think that happened to me. I attribute any signs of forgetfulness just to age. The heart-lung machine has been replaced by a technique where surgeons operate on the beating heart and avoid the use of the machine.

While making plans and sending out invitations to the 55th reunion of my high school class at Appleton I was having major difficulties walking. My back rebelled at each step. I had to grab a wall or Betty walking beside me. This called for a visit to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester.

The doctors there decided that two nerves to my left leg were being pinched in the vertebra. This required surgery called a laminectomy. In this process the vertebra were opened where they pinched the nerves. It was also found necessary to fuse the bottom two vertebra into one. I was told that something was scraped from my hips to fill in around the fusion. This later gave me new trouble by becoming arthritic and painful.

Although I didn't make it to the class reunion, my good friend in the class, Rev. Tom McElligott, stopped on his way to the reunion to see me at our motel on the night before the surgery. He later went to Australia with his wife, also an Episcopal priest, to serve at a college.

My recovery was at St. Mary's hospital in Rochester. The doctor must have felt I needed some pain killer so he prescribed some morphine. That would explain why during the first night I looked to the foot of the bed and it appeared the bed and I were standing vertical. I looked out the window and it seemed that all the buildings were lying on their sides.

To allow my back to heal I needed a back brace. To make one I was taken to a room where there seemed to be a framework of heavy pipes. Although I may have been a bit groggy, it seemed to me that I was suspended in the air in this framework. Then something was slapped around me from neck to waist. This was then hardened in two pieces with straps to hold them together and keep me upright. From then until Christmas I had to wear that thing every time I was out of bed.

On our trip home I believe we said the Rosary all the way. We stopped at the home of our daughter, Maureen, in Chanhassen so I could take a break. We made it home all right and I was so grateful for Bob Hollenhorst being there to meet us and helping us in with our baggage. I didn't get to Mass six weeks before the surgery and missed Mass for six more weeks after I got home. I had to be content with seeing the Mass on television, supplied by the St. Cloud diocese.

I was limited in what I could do. There was somebody who came to the house and gave me baths three times a week. A nurse also called on me regularly under home health care to take blood pressure readings and other tests. I was also instructed in exercises I could take after the body cast was removed.

I had a walker and I first went 100 yards. Then I walked over to Hollenhorsts next door. Gradually I extended the distance and before long in the spring I was able to walk a mile.

Just to complete this medical chronology I can recall having my tonsils out at age six. I don't know where it was done but I recall clearly sitting on my father's lap on the porch at the home of my uncle, Allen McGowan, at 1610 Thomas Ave. No., Minneapolis, a part of town that is now populated by African-Americans.

I spent Christmas, 1959, in the Appleton hospital recuperating from gall bladder surgery. It was done the earlier way, with a major opening. Now it is done with a small hole and the gall bladder is drawn through that hole.

At that time St. John's Catholic church had Bingo sessions every Sunday evening with the proceeds going to pay off the debt from construction of a new church. There is that old joke about a person walking past a church and hearing Bingo calls remarked that this must be a Catholic church. My Aunt Gertrude thought it was sacrilegious to be gambling in a church, her church.

I was a regular caller and on this particular Sunday evening I got about half way through the session when I was really feeling ill. I asked for relief and went home. There I suffered more and called Dr. Ed Kaufman who came to our house. They did make house calls in those days. He decided I needed surgery. I even made a confession to Fr. Phil Szymanski, since this was my first major surgery.

While I was checking into the hospital a call went to Dr. Austin McCarthy, of Willmar, brother of Sen. Gene McCarthy. He was the surgeon for that part of Minnesota. By about 1:30 a.m. the surgery was performed, assisted by Dr. Kaufman and Dr. Joe Rorem.

All went well except that I didn't stay home long enough and I went back to work too soon. The first day back at the Press office I put in a full day of work and became so exhausted I had to almost be carried home.

I obtained a driver's license at age 15 by paying 50 cents. I drove a car for over 60 years without any driver's tests. Thus it came as a surprise to me when I went to renew my license at age 76 that I couldn't identify the marks in the machine which tested my eyes. I did have enough vision in one eye that I could qualify for a letter from my eye doctor, Dr. Peter Larsen, of St. Cloud.

He determined I had macular degeneration, an ailment common to old folks. In this condition the macula at the back of the eye which focuses on details gives way and it becomes difficult to read or make out small items. I have peripheral vision to see where I am but often I cannot identify people approaching me. They may think I am snubbing them but in reality, I cannot be certain who they are.

One of the more pleasant things I did in retirement was to be a part time reporter for the Lake Country Echo, the weekly paper in Pequot Lakes. They had a reporter covering two municipalities, Lake Shore and East Gull Lake, as well as the Crow Wing county board. This reporter wanted to move to Tucson, Ariz., so I was pleasantly surprised when the Echo editor, Lou Hogland, called me and asked if I would be interested in the position. I gladly accepted.

The two municipalities had monthly meetings and the county board met every Tuesday. I turned out quite a bit of copy covering those meetings and was paid by the published inch. It produced a welcome addition to our retirement income.

When I was hit by the heart problem requiring surgery I had to take six weeks off. When I resumed work, I covered only the county board while Betty took over the meetings at Lake Shore and East Gull Lake.

We did this for three years until my vision problems became too severe to do the work and so we resigned. Without the vision problem we would have enjoyed continuing because it kept us active and involved with public affairs.

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