Marty

In August 1999, I finished mowing the lawn to find a phone message from Martin Rozenman, offering me my first journalism job. To the day, eleven years later, he entered the hospital for the last time. This morning, he was gone.

2010 has not shaped up as a good year for people I consider mentors; first Mr. Young, my high school English teacher, and now Marty Rozenman. I won't profess to have known Marty well personally; he was guarded, and there was always a reporter/editor distance.

But I doubt I'd still be writing professionally without his guidance and journalistic skill. As a college English who worked on a student newspaper with little journalistic input, Marty was where my education in the field began.

If you can judge a person by the outpouring of emotion at their passing, Marty's influence stretched far. Facebook tributes popped up quickly and hundreds of former SNP'ers (face it, a lot people had stints in that newsroom) expressed their sadness. It's no surprise - no one said a bad thing about the man.

It took a while for me to figure Marty out. I had little interaction with him during my first eight months at SNP. Then a shuffling of reporters changed that. Knowing he would be a tough editor, I bid for the Upper Arlington News municipal beat and turned out some of my favorite stories in the next year. His even tone and demeanor put the fear of God in me at times (this was before I knew about SNP's "no-kill cat shelter" firing policy). I can't remember even talking back to Marty; I questioned him, but only in ways that respected his position and years in the business.

While reserved and level-headed - he never yelled at me, no matter how badly I butchered a name - he was damn funny. His bone-dry wit sometimes made it hard to discern when he was joking. Who in attendance could forget his Goodbye Bash at SNP, when he used his Top 20 list and dry wit to shame Jim Toms into buying a new photocopier? The room roared in approval.

Even as Columbus City Hall reporter, I could throw ideas off Marty. Luckily, his departure did not end our acquaintance. When he joined the Dispatch as a copy editor, his 4 p.m.-midnight shift opened up his calendar. We had the occasional business lunch after he departed SNP and before I left for Nashville. We would usually keep our conversation to happenings in Columbus, music, Upper Arlington's isolation from the outside world, and Cleveland sports. He knew sports like few others.

We got back in touch during his time as a Dispatch reporter. When he got swept out in the big Dispatch layoffs, he asked me to serve as a reference for him, which couldn't come close to paying him back for all the journalism knowledge he doled out. From my computer in Nashville, I saw his byline occasionally back in the Dispatch, usually on articles about the Columbus suburbs he knew so well.

Even though he had been severely ill at times, this was a surprise. Marty always bounced back from adversity, even if he never spoke about it. What health burdens he shouldered I can guess about; it's better to remember the way he modestly went about business.

At the time I had criticisms, but age has let me see Marty for who he really was: a stand-up family man with a wonderful sense of humor. Almost as important, he was as good a first boss as any new college graduate could hope to receive.