Albert Lea's Mr. Mayor is Mr. Dad now, caring for girls missing Mom

Before Tuesday's election, Mike Murtaugh was easy to spot around Albert Lea -- helping his 15-year-old daughter, Erin, with her paper route, accepting hugs at the local lunch spot, baking cookie-dough brownies for 8-year-old daughter Tierney's Halloween party.

He got what he wanted on Election Day: He lost.

Murtaugh, 49, who was completing his first two-year term as Albert Lea mayor, made an emotional decision in September to quit the race for reelection. He was needed at home. On Aug. 7, his wife, Geri, a vivacious community journalist, died of breast cancer. She was 48. The Albert Lea Tribune, where she worked for 24 years, devoted an entire 12-page Lifestyle section to memories of the "beloved wife, mother, co-worker and friend."

But Mike Murtaugh's name was still on the ballot. His business card still read "Mayor." That required unusual don't-vote-for-me-campaigning. Many ignored his plea and voted for him anyway. He garnered nearly 2,000 votes, or 28 percent. First Ward Councilor Vern Rasmussen won with 4,200 votes, or 62 percent.

Murtaugh is glad the race is over so he can tackle bigger challenges, like cooking. "Like any guy, I grill," he said. "I made grilled-cheese sandwiches for the first time in my life."

He's also learning to juggle, getting his girls out the door in the morning, and to violin practice and figure-skating, and driver's ed and school concerts. Last November, Murtaugh's IT job was eliminated. He's considering work as an energy consultant but currently lists "Father to my daughters" on his résumé.

"If I ever try for public office again," he said, "it will be after our daughters are out of school and on their own."

Murtaugh grew up in Albert Lea, a city of 18,000 in southern Minnesota where it's hard to not know everybody. He's greeted at the Lakeside Cafe by childhood friend and cafe owner Steve Tubbs, who asks how he's doing.

A woman with a huge red purse approaches Murtaugh as he eats his lunch. "I'm going to give you a hug," she says. Her grandson and Erin are school friends. She offers to help Murtaugh with sewing.

He met Geri, who grew up on a farm in Steele County, when both worked at the Tribune in the late 1980s. He was an advertising representative. Geri was the city editor. At night, she proofread articles as he readied ads. "After a while, I decided if she didn't have anything to do, I'd ask her out." She didn't, so he did. They married on Oct. 26, 1991.

Geri had a double mastectomy after breast cancer was diagnosed in 2008. "After the surgery," Murtaugh said, "we were all pretty confident." In July 2008, the political bug bit Murtaugh as filing for city offices was closing. He told Geri, who had just begun chemotherapy, "I want to run for mayor." He told himself, "If things don't go well, I can withdraw."

Geri did fine, missing only two weeks of work throughout her treatments. That fall, he beat Mayor Randy Erdman by 437 votes. "I did better than Al Franken," he joked. "He's a good person and it wasn't personal," he said of Erdman. "I just about fell over when I was going through sympathy cards for Geri and found one that he had sent early on, with a nice memorial. He didn't have to do that."

Being mayor was an enjoyable 10 to 20 hours a week, and Geri was feeling good. Last July, she began experiencing flashing vision. On July 22, she was rushed to the Mayo Clinic. The cancer had spread to her spine, pelvis and liver. She died two weeks later, with Mike by her side.

The primary was three days later. Murtaugh, who barely campaigned, beat Rasmussen. A week later, the Coalition of Greater Minnesota Cities honored Murtaugh for his work on behalf of outstate Minnesota. Still, it was growing obvious to him that he couldn't continue.

He had no time to preside over twice-monthly evening City Council meetings, and no energy to deal with a city manager search. "I had Geri's estate to manage, thank-you cards to write, just picking up the pieces." He resigned in mid-September.

Murtaugh boxes up half of his sandwich and heads out of the cafe. He can't be late for Tierney's Halloween party at her small Catholic school where he volunteers. He carries in a big purple bowl covered with ghoulish bats, and a Tupperware container filled with cookie-dough brownies. "Geri was famous for these," he said. "Mine probably aren't as good."

They're a hit. He looks relieved, promising to e-mail the recipe to parents gathered around him. After the party, Tierney gets in line to head to her after-school program. Erin texts her father that she's on her way to meet him. There's a school concert that evening.

"Erin has really taken on the laundry," Murtaugh said. "Tierney was up early today to bathe and get her costume on. We've kept the same things going.

"But it's hard," he said, "knowing that the girls don't have their mother."

Gail Rosenblum • 612-673-7350 • gail.rosenblum@startribune.com