CHARLOTTE — You know him as the force behind Action 9, the one who’s fighting every day to help people in our community -- now, we’re celebrating Jason Stoogenke because he’s done something that is remarkable for anyone, but especially at this point in his life at the height of his career.
Jason’s always been an achiever, from student government president at Towson State University and earning a law degree from the University of Maryland. Right after law school, Jason pursued his true passion and became a sports anchor and reporter in Dalton, Georgia.
Jason made his way to Charlotte and Channel 9 in 2006; 12 years ago, he took over the Action 9 segment, investigating and solving consumer problems.
Those cases were often legal in nature, and many people assumed Jason was an attorney because of his law degree.
But no one is an attorney until they take and pass the Bar Exam.
So last fall, 25 years after law school, Jason developed a plan to study for the exam while also working full time.
When he sat for the Bar in February, not only did he pass -- he did so with flying colors.
Then, just last week, the final step in his journey: he was sworn in as an official attorney by Mecklenburg County District Judge Rex Marvel, with former Charlotte Mayor and U.S. Transportation Secretary Anthony Foxx by his side.
>>In this video at the top of this page, hear from Jason as he shares his journey to becoming an attorney with Channel 9’s Erica Bryant.
In his own words
Maybe it was a midlife crisis.
No. That’s not right.
It wasn’t a crisis at all.
It was a good thing. It was growth.
A midlife growth?
Let’s go with that.
Either way, it was a journey.
A journey that brought me to the day I stood in court.
My left hand on the Bible, my right hand raised.
My grandfather’s college ring on my finger. A grandfather I never knew (he died years before I was born).
A grandfather who wanted to practice law, but WWII changed his—and so many other people’s—plans.
“I, Jason Stoogenke, do solemnly swear that I will support the Constitution of the United States…”
The oath went on.
Words like “sincerely,” “truly,” “honestly.”
And then: I was an attorney.
At 50 years old. More than 26 years after law school.
Law school. Back before cell phones (kind of). Back before the web (kind of).
University of Maryland. I graduated in 1999.
My dream was to pursue sports broadcasting.
I had a chance, so I took it. Sports anchor in Dalton, Georgia. The Carpet Capital.
I assumed I wouldn’t be able to hack it.
I figured I’d probably last six months, return to Maryland, and practice law.
But I knew I had to try.
And I knew I wouldn’t be able to do the reverse: start in law, wake up at 50 years old, have kids and a house, and leave for a weekend sports job in a small TV market somewhere.
So off to the Peach State.
And it’s worked out. More than worked out.
It’s been my calling. Year after year. Station after station.
Fast forward: last summer. Walking the neighborhood, thinking about life.
One project I never saw to completion: being an attorney.
I ran 25 miles of the marathon. Still had one to go.
People would say, “You went to law school. So you’re an attorney.”
And I’d have to correct them.
I’d have to tell them this whole story. Like one big footnote. A glaring disclaimer.
It sounded like I had done something wrong. Failed out.
Saying I tried my hand at TV first sounded like an excuse.
So I decided to sit for the next Bar Exam: February ’25.
Just applying to sit for the test took effort.
I had to provide pages upon pages of records. Civil. Criminal. Driving records. Employment records. References. And the list went on.
Pretty much everything since I was 18 years old.
That’s not too hard if you just graduated law school in your ‘20s.
But when you’re 50…
I worried I may never even get the chance to take the test. That I’d never even get the chance to pass or fail.
But weeks passed and, finally, I got the message: I had provided everything. I could sit for the exam.
The relief.
But that was just the beginning.
The studying.
I was ready to give up every weekend studying. That’s commitment, right?
I thought (foolishly) that would be enough.
I ended up studying every day from around August/September to the day of the exam (the end of February).
I didn’t miss a single one. Except for one: the day before the exam. I took that Monday off to decompress.
I studied three hours per day on days I was working at Channel 9. I studied 10-12 hours per day every day I was off.
I thought I’d just review everything. But I ended up having to learn and re-learn everything from the beginning of law school.
After all, I had not taken all the subjects on the test in law school. Many were electives, and I didn’t elect to take wills, trusts, secured transactions, etc.
So I had to teach myself those from scratch.
I spent the first three months working my way through all the courses. I spent the next three taking a review course.
So as the days got shorter, the weather colder, the desire to get out of bed harder, I studied. And studied. And studied.
35-40 hours per week on top of my consumer reporting.
70+ hours Christmas week alone.
It became an addiction. I was really learning law.
It was starting to all make sense. Perhaps for the first time. “That’s why my teacher in law school said that!” “Now I see why that’s important!”
I made notes. And charts. And graphs.
I color-coded. Underlined. Highlighted.
I wished I had an “Attack Outline” for each subject. A Bar Bible. One book that had a flow chart for answering any question quickly.
So I built my own. And photocopied it (just in case).
Then the physical training.
No more caffeine. No more sugar. “I don’t want to be all wired the morning of the test, dragging in the afternoon.”
Sleep schedule.
Potty breaks: holding it in. (No joke.)
Then the exam itself.
Drive to Raleigh, stay in hotel, try to sleep.
Try to wake up on time. (Two alarms and a wake-up call.)
Two-day test.
A big ballroom of tables. Examinees. Nerves.
12 hours total.
Subjects all mixed together.
Severe time constraints.
Time management. Here’s where being a TV reporter really helped. We think in terms of minutes, seconds, frames.
Then you wait.
About a month or so later: the message: return to your portal.
“I am happy to advise that you passed…”
That’s all I had to read.
Who cares about the rest.
I read it again.
And again.
I was out on a story. In Troutman, in the car, heading back.
The tears started. The adrenaline withdrawal. The chills. My throat. Words. No words.
Compose myself. Have to compose myself.
And the whole time I was waiting for the results, I was studying for another test: the ethics test.
Not as long or involved as the Bar Exam itself, but challenging in its own right.
You need to pass that as well to be an attorney.
A few weeks later, those results posted.
Again, passed.
This is really happening.
My eyes get salty now, months later, as I write this line:
An attorney. I waited a quarter of a century to say these words.
I cup my hand over my mouth.
My chest tightens. I wonder if anyone is watching.
Then one day: the actual license arrived.
Big envelope. Do not bend. Beautiful calligraphy. Words about character and knowledge.
And one day: my bar card arrives. I get an actual bar number. Five digits. They add up to 21. My birthday: the 21st. That has to be a sign.
And then the actually swearing-in.
You can’t use all those terms—attorney, counselor, esquire—until you take the oath in Court.
It’s customary for an attorney to introduce you to the Court when you’re sworn in.
Anthony Foxx (former Charlotte Mayor and U.S. Secretary of Transportation under President Obama) did me the honor of being the one to present me.
Kind, thoughtful, and deliberate with his words as usual.
He holds the Bible. Judge Rex Marvel recites the oath. I repeat phrase after phrase.
Promise after promise.
Meanwhile, a rush of images flies through my head, out of order and in rapid succession.
Studying. Test day. Pencil. Proctor. Review course. Walking. Thinking. J.D. Maryland. Dalton. Channel 9. Action 9. Helping consumers. My family. My work family. May it please the court.
And it’s official. Lawyer. Counselor. Esquire. Attorney. Counsellor (yes, two Ls) at Law (in the words of the license itself.)
So midlife: yes.
Crisis: not at all.
(WATCH: Action 9 helps inspire new bill to protect NC homeowners)
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