Final Tribute, Great Editor

The Appleton Press - Appleton, Swift County, Minnesota
Volume LXXIV - Thursday, January 14, 1954 - No. 42

Forty years ago today, Jan 14, 1914, M. J. McGowan came to Appleton from Benson to assume the duties of publishing the Appleton Press. He fell short by just 10 days of reaching this anniversary, having passed on to his eternal reward on Jan. 4, at his home in this community which he served so long and well.

It is fitting that this anniversary should be noted. But in this instance it becomes more than just an ordinary anniversary. It becomes a final tribute from the many friends in all walks of life he acquired during a long period of civic service.

For this week the editorial section, which he built into one of the most outstanding in the entire state, will be given over to the tributes of his editorial brethren, the friends from political and religious life and relatives who were unable to attend his last rites:

EDITORIAL TRIBUTES

editorial note: these tributes are lifted from the printed letters of support from the Jan 14, 1954 edition of the Appleton Press, cited above. where possible, the heading from the other paper is produced, otherwise the writer (editor/publisher) is cited as the section heading. other un-cited text may be attributed to Martin Jr - mjm iii, Jan 2nd, 2016, Houston TX

LETTERS OF TRIBUTE

Martinis

With the death of its author, the Martinis column, the shining light of this newspaper for many years, goes dim. For any other members of The Press staff or family to take over the column would be presumptuous. There was only one Martinis author and only one who could write the column as he did.

With his passing the column must come to an end, leaving a void that will be most difficult to fill not only on this page but in the hearts and minds of the many who read it through the years with interest and profit.

The Cub's Corner

THREE PERSONS EXERCISED the greatest influence upon my early and formative years. On Monday of last week the final member of that trio, my father, passed away, finally finding the peace he so richly deserved.

Nothing is so difficult as trying to say how I feel at this time. It is actually impossible to do justice to such a task. Yet I feel that I must set forth on this page my thoughts about him, not in boastfulness, but in tribute.

Naturally I am prejudiced, but I feel he was a truly great man. His writing talents were many, yet they were kept in relative obscurity by the circulation of a small town newspaper. He was destined for bigger things but through the consistence of his nature he stayed in this community, devoting a life-time of service to it.

Life was not easy for him. It treated him harshly in many ways.

First his father was taken from him when he was but 12 years old. A high school education was deprived him and as the eldest son of a family that then comprised nine children he and his older sister Gertrude, sought to become breadwinners for the family. Through their perseverance and the strong will of their mother it can be said they succeeded. Their younger brothers and sisters bestowed on them the affection ordinarily given to the heads of families - which they were.

This lack of a formal education never showed in his writing. He could write some of the most clear and concise remarks that I have ever read, always getting to the nub of the question. He could be sharp and biting or warm and human as the situation demanded, all with a command of words which would be a credit to a college speech teacher.

His first marriage was a tragic experience. Their first child died at birth, but later I came along and survived. Then after but four years of married life my mother, too, was taken from him by tuberculosis and I was left to live with it.

Compensating for these early setbacks was his second marriage. In later life this brought him the home life, the love and the family that were denied him earlier.

Between these times I was left largely in the care of his mother and sister, the other two of the trio I mentioned at the outset. Grandma McGowan died in December 1934, and Gertrude in July 1951.

These latter two took care of me and as a consequence, I suppose, I did see too much of my father and he had little opportunity to take very active charge of my upbringing. Consequently ours was not the palsy-walsy type of father-son relationship. But nevertheless it ripened into a mutual understanding of the abilities and accomplishments of each other. Reserved, perhaps, but it was always there.

We came to know and understand each other best during the years we worked side by side in the publication of this newspaper. It was at great sacrifice that he put me through college. World War II broke out and I was rejected for military service. At about the same time the help began to drift away from The Press. Thus he was faced with a problem in keeping this paper going.

While it was not what he or I intended he asked me if I would care to help out and learn the linotype. The was certainly the least I could do for what he had done for me. So I sat down and pecked away, learning the trade right here in our shop. I never knew then what a favor he was actually doing for me in having me learn a trade as well as this most important phase of newspaper work. It has come in handy many times since.

At any rate he and I, a girl in the office and a part time boy after school put out this paper during the war years. It meant many long hours of work for both of us. But I was young and could take it. He was no longer young and it ultimately affected him.

While he knew printing well, having started as a printer's "devil," it had been 30 years since he had really done hard work in the back shop. Returning to this eventually wore him down.

At the end of the war help became available again and none too soon, either. The doctors told him his lungs were bad - a condition called emphysema - and that he would have to quit work and confine his activities. This is what he had to do for the last five or six years as his heart weakened, too.

But he accepted his lot and learned to live with it. He had his hobby of gardening and a large yard to supervise. At the same time he kept up his column work and home, personal column, garden column and feature stories and occasional editorials if I was gone on a trip or ill. This kept his mind active, anyway, even if his body could not be. At the same time he checked the monthly balance sheets and kept a guiding had on the overall operations.

In those first years of his confinement I was busy enough learning the front end of the business, just keeping things going from day to day, to pay much attention about larger matters. But gradually I assumed more and more responsibility. Nevertheless, all major decisions were reached by consultation with him at his home.

This is what I miss most now. No longer do I have the secure feeling of knowing that when I get stuck at the office that I can turn to him for help and guidance. Now I must make those decisions myself.

Following my marriage and the arrival of our children he had added interests. He would never hold them while they were babies, but as they grew bigger he would have them sit on his lap and hear them prattle. Later as they went to school he loved to have them drop in, get told of their experiences and play Canasta with him. I take solace that he continues to live in each of them.

Two years ago he became deathly sick. I still don't understand how he survived that period of hospitalization, but he did and came home to spend two more years with us. He was living on borrowed time, perhaps, but it was not wasted time.

Certainly now I miss him and will more in the days and years to come. But it is selfish of me to cling to him for myself when I should be thinking of him. I was shocked to see him begin to use a cane in walking. That indicated his weakness. Any exertion taxed his feeble strength and even breathing became an effort. At the end he seemed to have lost the will to fight any more and who can blame him in that condition.

Now I should be thankful that he lived to see many thing that he enjoyed, including the building of a new church, in which he took such an interest. He made his peace with God and was ready to go. Therefore it is better that he go and find the peace he longed for and needed.

His deeds will live long as memorials to his ability and while I cannot speak to him across the grave I feel his presence around me and know that he is watching from a better place on high. I will to do as he would want me to do.

May his soul and all the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.

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