Who knew that heroes come from rural Newell?

Kregg Halstead

Growing up in the 1970s in beautiful, scenic and picturesque Storm Lake, I was fortunate in many different ways. My two older brothers, Kevin and Kent (Storm Lake High School classes of 1977 and 1979) had wide circles of friends, not only from Storm Lake, but from neighboring communities like Alta, Early, Schaller, Truesdale and Newell. As the youngest brother, I inherited many of those friendships. Some have lasted a lifetime.

One name I remember hearing again and again was Rusty Martin of rural Newell.

My memories are admittedly those of a young boy stretching back half a century. I associate Rusty with bicycles, the early RAGBRAI rides, and conversations around our home. I vaguely remember him stopping by once or twice, perhaps meeting our parents. What I remember most clearly is the impression he made. He struck me as exceptionally intelligent, academically gifted, and remarkably thoughtful. I recall hearing that he had earned the opportunity to spend a year in West Germany as a foreign exchange student, because of his successful studies in German. Even then, however, what seemed to define him was not simply his intellect but his quiet kindness and gentle nature.

As my brothers left for college and life moved on, I alas never saw Rusty again in person.

Several years later, however, his name suddenly began appearing in newspapers across Iowa and beyond.

By then, Rusty had become Student Body President at the University of Northern Iowa. But he was making headlines for something entirely different: his refusal to register for Selective Service. Eventually, he was arrested and federally prosecuted.

At the time, I found it difficult to understand. Whatever one's opinion of Selective Service — and whether it should exist after the military draft ended in 1973 — why would someone voluntarily invite such overwhelming consequences? Refusing to register meant risking eligibility for federal student aid, disqualifying oneself from many federal jobs, facing criminal prosecution, potentially serving time in prison, paying substantial fines and enduring intense public criticism or even social isolation.

The personal cost seemed almost unimaginable. But the more I read about Rusty and his case, the more I came to understand something important.

Whether one agreed with his position or not, here was someone willing to sacrifice his own future for principles he sincerely believed were protected by both the United States Constitution and the Iowa Constitution. He was prepared to lose almost everything in defense of those beliefs.

That takes an uncommon amount of courage but also an unshakeable belief and faith in not just democracy but also in the rule of law. In 1985, Rusty’s lengthy legal battle came to an end when a federal judge found him guilty of failing to register for Selective Service, placed him on probation for three years and imposed a $10,000 fine — a staggering amount at the time.

I have often wished that, alongside the sentence, the court had acknowledged something else. Something like: “Mr. Martin, although this court finds you guilty under the law, from Henry David Thoreau to Susan B. Anthony, our treasured, cherished, and enduring over more than 200 years U.S. experiment in democracy has always depended upon citizens willing to follow their conscience, even when doing so comes at great personal cost. While I must impose this sentence, I respect your willingness to accept the consequences of your actions and convictions.”

Instead, the message Rusty received was far different — that he was irresponsible, radical and somehow a threat.

Those descriptions never fit the person I remembered. Rusty was not an extremist. Nor was he a pacifist. As he himself wrote, he believed there were just wars, citing the Civil War and World War II as examples. His objection was not to all military service but to what he viewed as an overreaching governmental requirement and the federal and state constitutional issues it raised.

I often found myself asking: where does someone find that kind of courage? Who willingly takes on the federal government, the military establishment, and public opinion knowing the odds are overwhelmingly against him?

Few people do. Rusty did.

Whether one ultimately agreed with his legal arguments or not almost becomes secondary. What deserves recognition is his willingness to stand publicly for his convictions and accept the personal consequences that followed.

History is often more complicated than the headlines of the day.

It is also striking that Rusty’s legal battle unfolded during an era of shifting political views. President Jimmy Carter reinstated Selective Service registration following the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan, despite later becoming internationally respected for his lifelong commitment to peace, humanitarian work, and human rights. President Ronald Reagan, meanwhile, expressed reservations during the 1980 presidential campaign, remarking that compulsory registration assumed “your sons belonged to the state.”

These tensions reflected a broader national debate that extended well beyond one young man from Northwest Iowa.

It is also worth noting that, after the mid-1980s, federal prosecutions for failing to register with Selective Service effectively ceased. Many factors likely contributed to that change, and history rarely turns on the actions of a single individual. Nevertheless, Rusty’s case became one of the defining legal challenges of that era and undoubtedly remains part of that larger story.

Later in life, Rusty became involved in another profoundly difficult public issue: the right of terminally ill individuals and Alzheimer's patients to make deeply personal end-of-life decisions. Once again, he chose to engage one of society’s most emotionally charged and ethically complex debates.

Agree or disagree with his positions, one cannot ignore a remarkable pattern. Twice in one lifetime, Rusty Martin chose the harder road. He consistently placed principle ahead of personal comfort. I cannot honestly say that I knew Rusty Martin well. But I knew of him and respected his courage in following and sticking to his convictions.

I remember the bright, kind young man from rural Newell who rode bicycles with my older brothers and their friends often meeting at the Villager restaurant after a bike ride. 

Years later, I watched Rusty become someone willing to stand almost alone in defense of what he believed.

Communities like ours celebrate athletic champions, military heroes, business leaders and public officials. We should. It is the right thing to do.

But perhaps there is another kind of hero as well. The person who follows his conscience when doing so costs him dearly.

The individual who reminds us that democracy depends not only on those who govern, but also on citizens willing to challenge government peacefully when they believe it has gone astray.

Rusty Martin was that kind of person. He was, in his own uniquely Iowa way, a man of uncommon conviction and courage.

Northwest Iowa has produced many remarkable people. Rusty Martin deserves to be remembered among them. He was our very own Muhammad Ali.

RUSTY MARTIN grew up on a farm in Sac Country over the Buena Vista Country line. He graduated from Newell-Providence High School in 1978 and attended the University of Northern Iowa. In addition to his legal fight against mandatory Selective Service registration noted above, he became noteworthy in the Right to Die debate. He was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s disease in 2024 but due to Iowa lacking a Right to Die law, he traveled to Switzerland where at a clinic outside Zurich on August 18 with the assistance of a medical team he ended his life not wanting to reach the stage of Alzheimer’s where he would no longer recognize his family. He left a wife and five children. He loved biking and was an active and enthusiastic participant in numerous of the early RAGBRAI’s in the 1970s joining numerous Storm Lakers on the ride across Iowa.      

Kregg Halstead graduated from Storm Lake High School in 1984. He enjoys sharing his cherished childhood memories of life in Storm Lake during the 1970s and 80s.