Ancy Morse, who died May 3, relied on resilence, humility to carve a ground-breaking legal career

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2 days ago

May 31—ROCHESTER — In the early stages of Ancy Morse's legal career, people had a hard time wrapping their heads around the concept of a woman attorney.
On her first job, Morse walked into a conference room to meet with a client, who thought she was there to bring him coffee. When Morse explained to the elderly man that she was his attorney, the man was incredulous.
"By God, now I've seen everything!" he said.
Disbelief was the price Morse paid in forging a legal career that had few antecedents. In the early 1960s, Morse became the first female attorney to practice law in Olmsted County. In 1983, she became the first female district judge outside the Twin Cities area when she was appointed by then-Gov. Rudy Perpich.
Morse died May 3, 2025, at the Homestead Senior Living Facility in Rochester after a battle with cancer, according to her obituary.
During her 16-year tenure as judge, Morse presided over thousands of cases involving child custody battles, divorces, sex abuse cases and civil disputes. But the case with which she became inextricably linked was the 1989 trial involving David Brom, a 16-year-old Lourdes High School student who killed his parents, a younger brother and sister with an ax while they slept in their rural Rochester home.
Morse sentenced the teen to three consecutive life prison terms, acknowledging to a packed courtroom the emotional agony and difficulty in overseeing such a fraught case. Calling the case "inexplicable and unfathomable," Morse struck an undercurrent of sympathy in her ruling, calling Brom a "seriously mentally ill boy, driven to despair by a pathetically sick and depressed mind."
She felt the law had failed to keep pace with advances in psychiatry and later joined the defense in vainly seeking changes to the state standard governing mental illness defenses.
In charting her way in a male-dominated field, Morse had to get used to the many double-takes she triggered in people who had never seen a woman attorney before. In law school at the University of Minnesota, Morse was one of six women, according to a July 16, 1973, Rochester Post Bulletin article.
Her classes were populated with returning veterans from World War II on the GI bill. It could be a tough crowd. It was made all the more formidable and intimidating when the professor closed the door at the start of class and declared the day "Ladies Day," meaning only women would be allowed to answer questions
"She told me there was never time for pettiness, just perseverance," said her son Mark Morse said.
When she was admitted to the bar, it was Morse and 166 men who took the oath.
A woman attorney just didn't compute for many at the time.
Early in her career, Morse represented a woman in a divorce proceeding, but the judge mistook Morse as the woman seeking the divorce. When trying to serve legal papers on a party in the jail, the guards suspected her of being a girlfriend of one of the inmates and called her office to check, according to the book "Taking The Lead: Rochester Women in Public Policy," which devotes a chapter on Morse.
Morse's dream of practicing law had taken root as a young girl growing up in International Falls. Her grandfather, Aad Tone, had been a pioneer lawyer in Koochiching County whom she would accompany on trips to the courthouse.
Being raised in a small town, Morse was taught to fish and hunt. In school, she had free reign to participate in a wide variety of activities and pursuits. "...and a woman will lead them," yearbook staff from International Falls High School prophetically inscribed next to her name.
Her mother, Esther Olson Tone, had aspired to be a lawyer, but those dreams were dashed when Esther's Scandinavian parents' savings were looted by a banker. So those ambitions were transferred to Morse.
"Maybe, I just got tired of people saying, 'You'll never do it,'" Morse told one reporter.
A profoundly formative chapter in her life was her selection as one of four senior Girl Scouts to represent the U.S. at an international conference. Morse joined the Girl Scouts in the third grade and remained active for decades. The conference she attended was held in Switzerland and changed her life. She no longer felt like she was from a small town. She felt that she belonged anywhere.
"It emboldened her. It gave her a community of women to support and reassure and advocate for," said a daughter, Kelly Nowicki.
As she pursued her legal education, Morse often found support in a small network of men, including her uncles and her future husband, Bob Morse. Both had attended grade school together. Bob Morse would stay after class to wash down the blackboards. But beyond earning some brownie points, Bob hoped to catch the eye of the teacher's blonde-haired daughter, Ancy. Bob attended the University of Minnesota along with Ancy, becoming a psychiatrist at Mayo Clinic.
After working as a lawyer for many years, Morse was encouraged by her legal peers to apply for a judge vacancy. Mark Morse said his mom didn't expect to get the appointment, but thought it would be an opportunity to let Olmsted County know that "there is a female attorney in town." To her surprise, Perpich picked her.
"She was often encouraged by others to do things that she didn't necessarily think she was ready for — or good enough for," Mark Morse said. "She was very humble that way."
A lifelong Minnesota Vikings fan, Morse and her family were season ticket holders for many years. A favorite story Mark Morse likes to tell is how Mark and his wife attended a Vikings game and were seated behind his mom and dad. Morse didn't like the arrangement and proceeded to convince the 30 or so other attendees in her section to scoot two seats over, including two people at the end of the row to move back one row, so Mark and his wife could sit down next to her.
"She was very confident in what she felt needed to happen and very capable of making it happen," Mark Morse said.
Mark Morse said he never saw his mom betray any umbrage or resentment at the slights she encountered in her legal career. As she advanced in her career, she became a role model and support to other women professionals.
"You hear a lot of people demand respect. She never did," Mark Morse said at her funeral. "Her approach was the Nike of women's rights; she just did it. And that humility, tied with performance, was an amazing message to others."