A life well-lived

Mark F. Barnett – a curious, bespectacled renaissance man who parlayed a deep passion for wordsmithing into a journalism career he then abandoned for a job he dutifully kept shrouded in secrecy from his non-work friends – slipped the surly bonds of earth on Tuesday, July 11, 2023. Always one to live at full speed, Mark met his fate at age 55 while riding his Vespa home from work, enjoying a green light in a St. Louis intersection until an unfortunate encounter with a truck.

Just like the times on his motorized conveyance, Mark’s life was quite a ride – a journey that began when he was emancipated from the womb on June 3, 1968, in Illinois. A preacher’s son, he found purposeful rejection of conformity to be his true religion. He wore tiny-lensed spectacles befitting a neurosurgeon in theater. He embraced poetry, sweater vests and bowties, perhaps fashioning himself as a modern Mark Twain because he was mesmerized by the simple complexity of words.

Like Twain himself, Mark found journalism as an outlet for his wordsmithing and storytelling for a time, first as a copy editor and page designer at The Joplin (Missouri) Globe and then as a night news editor at the Wichita (Kansas) Eagle. He inspired reporters to experiment with words and take chances with their writing, celebrating those who tried. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained” was his mantra, and he had a particular knack for polishing stories to a high gloss, always driven to deliver prose that gave readers a ride.

He ultimately went big time, as a supervising editor for The Associated Press in Louisville. Mark later served as a Knight Fellow at the University of Missouri-Columbia, working with students on stories for the Columbia Missourian newspaper. He also taught news writing as adjunct faculty at Saint Louis University, tormenting students about precise writing and wordcraft while pursuing a master’s degree in communication. That quest short-circuited when Mark, the editor always partial about words, rebuffed his advisor’s push to edit his thesis about new storytelling ways.

Most recently, Mark worked for the National Geospatial-Intelligence Agency, a federal governmental outfit where he insisted employees like him are sworn to secrecy about what goes on behind its doors. Even to his closest friends outside of work, Mark wouldn’t dish. One of the few times he had nothing to say.

From inside agency walls, clandestine sources say this: Mark was a smart, funny, unconventional, caring and constant presence whose booming, contagious laughter often preceded his physical appearance. He had no coworkers, only current and future friends. He was a mentor to many and selflessly gave his knowledge, ideas and skills to anyone who needed them. Though he characterized himself as a contrarian by nature, this characterization was belied by his positive influence, which rippled across the agency with every new job role he assumed. Mark was often referred to as “The Mayor” because he was known and respected by all he encountered.

Mark reveled in being an odd duck and wore those feathers as a badge of honor. During his time in the Joplin newsroom, he was affectionately dubbed the “Bearded Freak,” drifting along the facial hair continuum from long, otherworldly Rasputin-esque facial hair to a goatee, sometimes trimmed, and back again. The nickname persisted, even though – unlike his political leanings – Mark’s approach to bristles grew more conservative over the years.

He was an unceasing font of good cheer and homebrewed beer, quick with a deep belly laugh. He had a sharp, dry wit and an inadvertent flair for humor, such as the times he somehow frequently managed to fall up the Joplin Globe’s treacherous stairs, tripping in his deadline haste. This “graceful” humor continued into his later career: after an ankle injury necessitated an implanted screw that then malfunctioned, Mark cited this as “medical evidence” that he “had a screw loose.”

Mark was a connoisseur of coffee, nonfiction books, vaguely depressing photos and unique glasses – for years wearing a pair that looked like they belonged to the steampunk love child of Sally Jessy Raphael and John Lennon.

Much like Dr. Seuss, Mark loved cats and hats. Fedoras, not trilbys. He said he preferred cats over dogs as he couldn’t stand being looked at with adoration. Perhaps he just needed a break, since he was adored by virtually every human he ever met.

But most important, Mark was a devoted soulmate to Sarah, his wife of 20 years. She cherished his eccentricities, opened their home to both cats and hats, and traveled to the far reaches of the globe with Mark, hand in hand. Like so many others, Sarah treasured Mark’s incredibly generous soul, his warmth and his fervor for welcoming others into his circle as a collector of good people.

It was a love affair that seemed destined. New to Louisville, at a point when Mark had called it home for months, Sarah gravitated to a church and toward fate. During her first visit, Sarah settled in the back row next to a retired pastor who was quick to introduce himself after the service. During an ensuing social, the pastor excused himself briefly, snatched a coffee pot out of Mark’s hand, and herded him over to Sarah.

“You two need to meet,” the matchmaking minister declared before shuffling away.

The rest was history. Mark went on to edit Sarah’s doctorate dissertation three times with no quibbles from Sarah, who was the anti-Mark in terms of recalcitrance about having her graduate writings adjusted. Their bond blossomed, and thoughtfully chosen words again came into play when the two exchanged vows and rings at the altar in December of 2002. Of course, Mark sported a bow tie – and, despite their protestations, required his groomsmen to as well.

In addition to Sarah and countless grieving friends, Mark leaves behind his mother, Ethel Barnett, of Elkville, Illinois; three brothers, David Barnett of St. Louis, James Barnett of Carbondale, Illinois, and Stephen Barnett of Good Hope; and many nieces, nephews, and cousins.

He was preceded in death by his father, James Barnett.

Mark has been reduced to ashes at his request because he wouldn’t be caught dead in a casket. No services are planned, but a celebration of Mark’s life will be held later this fall, where he’s certain to be listening from high above, that infectious laugh in full effect. The family is suggesting donations in lieu of flowers. A few of Mark’s favorite causes include Trailnet, Tenth Life Cat Rescue, and the literacy project at his church, The Gathering.

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