Ilsa Minor

After more than 13 years, I’m leaving the Daily Press. This is my last issue.

For those of you who know me through my governmental coverage, it may be an odd choice to run a goodbye column on page 6A, but I’ve been responsible for the lifestyle pages for many years now. Those birth, wedding and anniversary announcements; graduations; pasty sales and church functions — I’ve been here for them all.

I’ve gone back and forth over the past two weeks about whether or not a column was appropriate. I’ve never been a very public person and the often-political nature of my work has created firm rules in my mind about sharing anything about myself that might suggest I have some sort of agenda. Considering how many times I’ve been accused of holding beliefs completely contrary to what I actually believe, I think I’ve done a decent job of staying an enigma.

I suppose, in that way, this is something of a hello as well as a goodbye. Too bad I’m going to spend most of it talking about other people.

The first time I remember having my name in print was thanks to a journalist friend of my parents named Mark Scarborough. He took a photo of my mother and I when I was a baby and ran it in the Wisconsin Rapids Daily Tribune, my hometown’s local paper, where he worked at the time. When he discovered I’d started my own career in print journalism, he wished me well, but confided in a family member that he was concerned about my life choices.

Mark tried to leave the industry and become a teacher, but he could never quite get away from journalism. He wrote a couple books and returned to his hometown paper, The Edgerton Reporter. In 2013 — about a year after I started at the Press — he went outside his newspaper’s office to take a short break with some of his coworkers, sat on a park bench, and died. He was 53.

While Mark has remained a specter throughout my career — a constant reminder not to let the same news that so many people try to “detox” from kill you — he was not what started it. I fell into this position by fate.

Thirteen days after I graduated from college my mother died, prompting the kind of deep, lost soul-searching that only grief can. The U.P. was not my home, but it was where my parents lived at the time, so I found myself 883 miles from my small Kansas college, trying to figure out what I should do with my life. I enrolled in a seminary before realizing how much money it takes to be qualified to make a vow of poverty, held a couple of odd jobs, and ultimately landed at Bay College to take a few extra history courses so I could apply for a dual masters program in history and library science.

My longterm goal at the time was to be a museum curator or archivist. I’ve always loved old things and to this day surround myself with anachronisms.

My degree is in communication with an emphasis in public relations. When I was in school, I took a PR writing class taught by a wonderful woman whose name I’ve forgotten but whose day job was doing public relations for the 4-H program in Kansas. We met once a week for three hours, and each week included a quiz on the Associated Press Stylebook. She never told us what we were supposed to know for the quizzes. We had to learn it all.

So when I saw the flyer on the job board looking for writers for Bay College’s “Bay Beacon” newspaper and paying $20 an article, I figured, why not?

I think I wrote two pieces for the Beacon. After that, the editor told me he thought I was “too good” for them and suggested I apply for an open part-time staff writer position at the Daily Press. I probably applied out of sheer flattery.

I don’t remember that man’s name either. I only knew him for a few weeks, but he changed the entire course of my life and deserves many thanks.

Eventually, the part-time position at the Press gave way to a full-time one. Then, in 2016, I became the news editor. Most of the people who worked at the Daily Press when I started are long gone, but the one constant in the newsroom has been Editor Brian Rowell.

I think I’ve buried the lede a bit. Brian certainly should be higher in this column. He’s been a mentor, a friend, and a source of unwavering support. He’s made me not just a better journalist, but a better person.

Of course, he’d tell you his greatest thanks should be for putting up with me every day. That’s true too.

Today is also Brian’s last paper for the Daily Press. That’s happenstance. The circumstances around our departures are different; it’s only the dates that match.

I can’t say if either of us will be able to stay away from writing or from journalism. There’s certainly still stories to tell.

I do have one more thank-you to extend as I wrap up my goodbyes. I want to thank you, the readers and wonderful people I’ve met over my 13 years and 5 months with the Press. You’ve impacted me in ways that even I don’t have words for and have made my career a rewarding and memorable one.

Please keep asking hard questions, challenging people in authority, demanding answers, and holding people accountable. I believe a functioning society is made of people searching, in equal amounts, for truth and for justice. Truth without justice is pointless, and justice without truth is just vengeance in a mask. Good journalism is part of maintaining that balance, but it’s not something any reporter or newsroom can do alone. We need you.

So, Dear Reader, this is goodbye. Thank you for the memories.