Leading judiciary through COVID has been toughest task for Chief Justice Lorie Skjerven Gildea

Lorie Skjerven Gildea keeps on a wall in her chambers a photograph of her hometown of Plummer, Minn., pop. 292, that has adorned her offices throughout her public service career.

It serves as a reminder both of where the chief justice of the Minnesota Supreme Court came from and the people she serves, after a decade leading the high court and the state's judicial branch.

"I am an advocate at bottom, and so I enjoy advocating for a cause," Gildea said. "And for me, the cause is the justice system."

Appointed chief justice in 2010 by Gov. Tim Pawlenty, Gildea now is Minnesota's longest-serving chief justice since Oscar Knutson held the seat from 1964 to 1973. During her tenure she has overseen a dramatic transformation of the high court and vast technological changes in how Minnesotans can access the court system — which has proved essential in the unprecedented and ongoing COVID-19 pandemic.

"Being the chief justice that had to sign an order restricting access to courthouses was momentous — and not momentous in a good way for me," said Gildea, who led the first Supreme Court oral arguments conducted virtually in the court's 163-year history. "At the same time, though, we were able to keep the doors open to justice."

A recent lawsuit over the future of the state Board of Pardons — on which Gildea serves with Gov. Tim Walz and Attorney General Keith Ellison — launched a sharply worded dispute with Walz, the first public spat with a governor since she became chief justice.

It's about a court fight over the constitutionality of the board's rule that all three members must approve clemency applications. After Gildea determined the board needed to reschedule its June hearing until after the litigation was resolved, Walz called her position "unfounded" and "directly harmful to the applicants who have a right to have their applications heard in a timely manner."

Until now, Gildea's relationship with Walz has largely been amicable. The chief justice said she has enjoyed working with him to bolster the judiciary's ties with the executive and legislative branches. She added that she appreciated that Walz let her chart the judiciary's path through the pandemic, which has involved mask mandates and remote court access.

In a statement, Walz described Gildea as a "passionate and effective advocate for the judicial branch and a staunch believer in judicial independence."

Gildea, 59, spent more than a decade as the University of Minnesota's associate general counsel before joining the Hennepin County Attorney's Office in 2004. A year later, she was appointed to the Fourth Judicial District bench in Hennepin County before Pawlenty named her to the Supreme Court in 2006.

Those who have crossed paths with Gildea during her legal career recount examples of her ability to forge personal connections and provide sage advice on their careers.

Lola Velazquez-Aguilu, lead counsel for brain modulation at Medtronic and currently one of three finalists for U.S. Attorney in Minnesota, met Gildea when clerking for Justice Alan Page. When Velazquez-Aguilu, a former federal prosecutor, first applied to the U.S. Attorney's Office, she said she sought Gildea's advice.

Gildea relayed her experience of twice unsuccessfully applying to the same office earlier in her career. After those rejections, Gildea said, her husband, Andy, drove her to Fort Snelling where she could stand on a balcony near departing planes at Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport and scream at the top of her lungs.

"This is great, you'd be great at the job, they absolutely should hire you, but if they don't, just know it works out," Velazquez-Aguilu remembered Gildea telling her. "She's saying that to me as a justice on the Minnesota Supreme Court."

Gildea assumed leadership of the court at a time when four of the seven justices had been appointed by Republican governors. Now five of the justices on the court were appointed by Democrats, including one by Walz.

Gildea's peers say a strict adherence to unwritten yet formal rules of respectful conduct among the seven jurists has helped maintain collegiality and avoid discord.

"She is a formidable intellect and a real force when advocating for her own judicial philosophy and reasoning," said David Lillehaug, who retired from the court last year and now practices law at Fredrikson and Byron.

"I think of her as kind of a Viking — she's willing to fight hard for her views but at the end of the day willing to compromise for the good of the court."

Lillehaug said Gildea's conservative judicial philosophy most often turns up in her reliance on court precedent. She breaks new ground only "after a great deal of thought," he said.

Eric Magnuson, Gildea's predecessor as chief justice and now an attorney at Robins Kaplan, first worked with Gildea when she was associate general counsel for the University of Minnesota. He spotted early some of the traits that have guided her as a jurist.

"When you argue a case in front of her, she'll ask about controlling precedent and press lawyers hard on why it doesn't dictate the outcome here," Magnuson said. "When I worked with her as a lawyer, she had a great ability to get to the point. For her, often the point is what has the court said before and why isn't that the answer now."

One of the most consequential cases of Gildea's tenure was the 2017 lawsuit between the Legislature and Dayton over the governor's veto of the state budget. With Gildea writing its opinion, the court determined that it was not the judiciary's place to intervene when the other two branches of government are gridlocked.

"She showed leadership in the case," Lillehaug said. "If someone else was a chief who wasn't as committed to the institution of the court, it could have been a different experience."

Gildea describes navigating the pandemic as "mud-walking." Last year, she prioritized ramping up communication among the state's judges, cribbing Walz's #stayhomemn campaign with a #stayintouch initiative for the judicial branch.

She also drew upon her sessions with a personal trainer for both strength training and new life lessons. During a particularly challenging task, she said, her trainer would instruct her to pick a spot on the wall to focus on and breathe.

"There is a really important life lesson in that when you're walking through the mud of this pandemic, focus on the decision at hand and stay focused on that and move forward," she said.

Gildea prioritizes her time riding a horse she boards in Corcoran. No one at the barn cares what she does for a living, she said, and she finds solace in the humbling experience of learning new techniques.

She is also known to be a die-hard Gophers women's sports fan, and said she is looking forward to returning to the stands to occasionally "engage in feedback with the refs that is maybe not appropriate for a judge."

Court of Appeals Judge Tracy Smith, who worked alongside Gildea at the U before both went on to judicial careers, said she never sees Gildea's "energy flag for the job" of leadership. "Her commitment to the law and the good administration of the [Judicial] branch is always unchanging," she said.

Gildea's current term expires in 2025, but she declined to say how long she intends to remain on the court.

"I hope that I will be remembered as a chief justice who was grateful every day to have the chance to serve the people of her home state," Gildea said. "Every administrative decision that we make is grounded in the trust and confidence of the people and access to justice."