Indiana


17
Apr 17

Scenes from our weekend ride

It was lovely out on Saturday. We expected storms yesterday, but it was basically another nice day.
It was a nice day to rest and wonder what I’d done to myself the day before, and what has happened to my legs.

It was a long ride, but a slow one, is what I’m saying, and it became something of a mental slog, but the views were nice. Here are a few of them now.

About halfway through we passed this store:

That’s actually one of those little places you see on an online map only if you zoom way, way in. Needmore. I’d never heard of that until last week, so I looked it up. The story goes that an early visitor to the late-19th century settlement said there needed to be more there, and the name stuck. Still happens to be the case.

Also, turns out there are three different Needmore communities in the state. And now, the country roads and trees that make an afternoon on the bike feel so nice:


4
Apr 17

Television projects you can watch, on this very page!

At 2:18 p.m. I received a project that ate into my day, and will probably do the same tomorrow, as well. So, here, have some videos!

This is the late night show the students produce on IUS. This one was taped on Friday and was shared today:

There are some nice interviews there and, everyone’s favorite: Woke On An Elevator.

Tonight the What’s Up Weekly crew shot their show, catch up on the latest in pop culture here:

And the sports talk show from last Sunday night. Watch this and you’ll be all up to date:

Until tomorrow, that is. So, then, until tomorrow!


3
Apr 17

This post covers the last 176 or so years

Such a gray day on Saturday. It all blends together as big globs of clouds, but the history function at Weather Underground says it has been a week since I’ve seen the sun. I haven’t taken to putting hashmarks on the wall to keep track. Yet. But on the eighth day in a row of this I realized a few things. First, this is well-passed its sell date. Second, you need features in the foreground to make this backdrop pop:

I went to the movies Saturday, saw Logan, and did some other things, and watched the sky.

Sunday was a terrific improvement. The temperature snuck up into the mid-60s and the sun came out to play and it was otherwise, you know, a nice April day:

I went for a bike ride, a 43-miler that started to fall apart around mile 12 or so. There was a lot of up-and-down, and the up is always slower, even more so when you’re having a slow day in general. But the weather was nice and the views weren’t bad either:

And I looked up the first use of the words bicycle and velocipede in the impressive Hoosier State Chronicles — a digital newspaper program which is a terrific read. It isn’t complete, of course, but it is authoritative.

Aside from a few ads, here is the first mention, in The Hendricks County Union, on March 8, 1866:

The Hendricks County Union started out as the Danville Republican in 1846 and took the Union name in 1864 when a returning Civil War colonel, Lawrence S. Shuler bought the rag. Shuler’s unit had fought in the Second Battle of Second Bull Run, Antietam, Chancellorsville, Gettysburg, Spotsylvania and more. So newspapers probably seemed a breeze. He sold it the next year, though, and after a series of name and ownership changes and consolidations, the paper finally enjoyed a long run from 1890 until 1931 under one owner.

Then a World War I veteran bought what was called the Hendricks County Republican. Edward Weesner, who’d learned the business working on the Stars and Stripes, ran the shop until he died in 1974. His daughter, Betty Jean Weesner, had been working there for some time and took over. She was, says a Saturday Evening Post column, a Unitarian Democrat running a paper by then simply called The Republican. She graduated with a journalism degree from Indiana in 1951. She died this time last year. Her obituary says she never retired. The Republican was a two-person shop, a small-town weekly, and Weesner’s longtime assistant Barbara Robertson died a few weeks ago. It was also the oldest paper in the county, with roots back to the James K. Polk administration. You hope it comes back, but it would be a surprise if it did. This is one of the ways old newspapers die.

Meanwhile over in Vanderburg County, at the Evansville Journal, these two mention appear in the same column of miscellany on September 15, 1868:


Already, they were concerned with speed. Perhaps always they were.

The Evansville Journal started in 1834, The location of the original building, which was razed after a fire, seems to be a parking lot today. Apparently the paper had endured three fires over the decades. Finally, the Evansville Journal News building, would survive. It was one of those places built way out of town, until Main Street came to it. The two-story beaux-arts brick building with a limestone facade, circa 1910, is listed on the National Register of Historic Places. There’s a deli and ice cream joint in there now. The Journal was sold to the cross-town competition in the 1920s and lasted until about 1936 or so.

Here now is the Daily State Sentinel, with a local notice on September 30, 1868:

Twenty-five miles per hour! Much better than a carriage. Le Maire, of course, being French for “the mayor.” Mississippi Street was renamed Senate Avenue in 1895. Third Street, I am forced to assume, was also renamed. But I’m not sure when or to what. So I’m counting roads and if my guess is right the former site of Le Maire’s shop is not either a condo, a distillery, a parking lot or one of a series of apartment/business buildings. The provenance of the Daily State Sentinel dates back to 1840. The paper that became The Sentinel was originally The Indiana Democrat, and Spirit of the Constitution, this being firmly in the times when towns had more than one publication and representing a variety of political parties.

In fact, you probably remember hearing about the Copperheads during the American Civil War. The people that had this paper during that time — ownership was an almost-fluid thing in most newspapers back then — found themselves wrapped up in the Copperhead Trials. After more owners and changes to the masthead than you can count, the paper closed its doors for good in 1906, when it was known as the Indianapolis Sentinel. I haven’t yet discovered anything about monsieur Le Maire.

Finally this bit, which was published in the Daily Wabash Express on March 13, 1869. It was in rebuttal to something that ran in an Indianapolis paper, and I believe this part was an excerpt of the first piece. Either way, we’re settling on terms and facts here, in 1869, and that’s just charming:

This paper also has roots to 1841, but it became the Daily in the 1850s. A few years after this, the ancestor of this paper would boast one of the first female editors in the state. Mary Hannah Krout is, in fact, credited as the first woman to edit a major daily in the state. She did that for about six years before going to Chicago, and then covered the revolution in Hawai’i and wrote from London and China, as well. She was a prominent suffragist and wrote eight or nine books, too. The paper would stick around until April 29, 1903.

I wonder what the weather was like that day.


29
Mar 17

And this is just the good stuff

Today was a 11-hour day, the sort of day where I had dinner after 10 p.m., the sort of day where you do a lot of little things that don’t show your work, but builds toward bigger things. Or that’s what I’m telling myself.

Here are some shows the IUS students have rolled out today and yesterday:

And the late show, which features two sets of guests, including the morning show hosts:

I’m told they’ll also be on the front page of the paper tomorrow, too.

One of the graphics used in a television studio:


Remember, yesterday, when I mentioned Roger Cohen? Here’s a podcast we recorded with him:

Tomorrow, another 10-hour-plus day!


23
Mar 17

This post solves no mysteries

I saw this truck a few weeks ago and thought of this joke. But, that day, he left before I had the chance to take a picture. And you really need this snapshot for this:

Do you ever see trucks that make you think the people in charge of creating the shell corporations or government fronts aren’t even trying? There’s a company in town with vans that say “Commercial Service” on the sides. What is that? The generic handyman? Is that like those no-brand-name vegetables you can get at the grocery store? And where do those come from, anyway? A white truck with the word “Veggies” in big block lettering on the side? Probably picked those up at a place called “Farm.”

Commercial Service. Circle City. Uh huh. I’m on to this. And it has nothing to do with the sort of things I’ve been watching on Netflix recently.

Circle City is a second-generation family concern, founded in 1946. Joe Corsaro’s son, Daniel, has been running the operation for the last 40 years. I watched a brief video where one of the family members, another Joseph Corsaro, said they ship to “roughly 14 states.” Phrasing like that jumps out, doesn’t it?

I looked in the newspaper archives. Seems there might have been at least two families with that name. One Joe Corsaro became a police officer. While I’m not sure if that’s our guy, the other big newspaper mention is from 1919, when a Joe Corsaro, 10, accidentally shot his little brother, Peter. In 1920 Peter, then just 6-years-old, was hit by a car.

Peter lived. A book called Indianapolis Italians told me his business name. The About Us section on that site says he bought a newsstand in 1946, grew it for decades, sold it to his kids in the 1980s and stayed on until he died in 2002. Considering his 1919 and 1920, that’s not too bad.

And it is that sort of attention to detail that really does make you wonder whether it is all a front.

More spring:

Yes, most everything is blooming now. Why, I even saw some weeds in the neighbor’s floor bed.

I’m sure there are some in ours, as well. The neighbor’s you can see from our kitchen window. I just haven’t yet look that closely at ours. So, you might say, I have looked for no clues.

Here’s something else you have to look closely at:

I no longer have a young fighter pilot’s eyes. I’m fine up close, but I lose some detail at distance. Even still, I had to get within eight or 10 feet to see it. Even then I was thinking, What kind of stick-figured character with no feet would hula hoop anyway? And why do it on this little access road? The motion lines were actually selling me on the idea, but the asymmetrical eyes made me look a bit closer.

The mysteries of the ages are always around us.