Mike Matson

This column was published November 29, 2025 in the Manhattan Mercury . I remember a journalistic colleague once asking Topeka gay-bashing Baptist minister Fred Phelps on camera how it felt to live, work and operate in the lunatic fringe.   This was in the early ‘90s, pre-Internet, before social media.   Phelps grew red in the face and thundered forth with pure venom. In his mind, he was right, the rest of us were wrong.   Lunatic fringe? How dare you?    In his unwavering cer

I’ve driven through Marion County dozens of times. It has always struck me as the prototypical, quintessential rural Kansas county.   An aging and dwindling population, Romanesque limestone courthouse taking up an entire city block in the county seat, production agriculture-based economy, mom and pop shops on Main Street, the Marion High School Warriors under the Friday night lights.   The human beings behind all those enterprises hit me similarly. Salt of the earth, give you

This column was published November 1, 2025 in the Manhattan Mercury . If you live long enough, you bear witness to small, subtle changes in how to deal with someone who wants your time and attention.   The career began with “while you were out” slips of pink paper, progressed to telephone answering machines featuring little audio cassette tapes, digital voicemail, email and text messaging, direct messaging via social media, video calls, and a myriad of apps, all aiming at the