Last night I held another IUZoomington meeting with a true television legend, Rick Karle. The man won 24 Emmy awards in sports and then decided he’d go over and try some news. There’s more to it than that, there always is. But he’s one of those people students need to hear from. He’s been doing it longer than they’ve been alive, after all.

I told the story about the first time I met him was on the phone, when I was in undergrad. I was calling in scores from a women’s volleyball or basketball game or something. It was a big deal. An OMG, Rick Karle, kind of deal. But, then, he’s from a place where, as a colleague of ours put it, the people on the local news are among the community’s celebrities. And it’s true. Also, the guy’s just good at what he does. Always has been.

So it was nice to see him last night. He talked about what he sees from interns and new reporters coming into the business, and what our gang should be doing to show off the right sorts of things.

Most of the people in the session tonight were sophomores and juniors, but they, and the seniors, all lost a lot in having their campus experience shut down in March. The next four or five weeks of TV would have been really valuable for them, so I’m trying to make it up to them some kind of way.

It’s really nice that so many of the people I know in the working media are so generous with their time to talk with them. (This is the third or fourth one of these I’ve done in the last few weeks, and some of my colleagues in the school are doing others, besides.) It’s a small business, and no one ever forgets where they came from, which is a nice perk.

Let’s look at the paper. We’re going back to this day 103 years ago, which seems apropos, in some respects given our particular moment in time. And this day 103 years ago, it was getting serious.

The sub chaser was the Smith, and it escaped the night. Sub chasers, I’ve just learned, were small, light and fast vessels. They built about 300 of them for U.S. service, and more for France. And there isn’t an easily found repository of what each did. But I did find one reference to the Smith, which sailed on an Alaskan patrol in 1923, so it survived the war.

The subhead of that story talked about the 20,000 Germans killed along the front at Rheims, 10,000 captured and 50,000 injured. Europe was about to enter the third year of this thing, and that’s the second item on the American story. It was a war brutal on a scale we can scarcely understand today. This would have probably been the beginning of the Second Battle of the Aisne, the Neville Offensive. This part was meant to be a 48-hour effort. It launched on April 16th, and lasted into the second week of May. The idea was an entire push across the lines in France, trying to knock back the Germans. Tactically successful, but without reaching its objectives. The Germans had something like 163,000 casualties from this push. The British, French and Russians had something like 350,000.

Of course no one could see that on April 17th, and certainly not from this far away. Across the way there was a message from President Wilson. War was coming. There was no escaping it now.

In between, a student got picked up, and written about in a way that would never happen today. Also, he wore his hair in a pompadour, which is really how you knew something was the matter with the guy.

There’s also a note that the high school was going to show a film, “How to Garden.” And the Republicans and the Democrats couldn’t get along in Indianapolis. There’s a note from a murder trial in a neighboring county, and a piece of propaganda about signing up for the Army and a railway man hurt his hand. But this brief talked about a really bad day.

On the second page there is finally a photograph. It’s showing you how they load lumber in Kentucky.

There are two fashion photos on that page. Then, as now, it probably only applied to a thin slice of the readership. There’s far too much worry about the war, about growing things, about how trains work, for people in their readership to spend time with handsome frocks of satin, georgette sleeves and satin collars and cuffs.

This is across the street from our building at campus.

In 1928 the Ritz Theatre was built in that spot. Later renamed the Von Lee, it had three screens. They played movies there until 2000. Now there are campus offices and a restaurant in the shell of the building. It is, quite literally, a facade.

Fred Bates Johnson did it all.

Really, all of it. He was a school superintendent, a journalist, a disgruntled journalist …

He felt this was still not enough and thought journalism was a “chancy” profession and that courses should be offered to train people in the field. He suggested to the late Dr. William Lowe Bryan, then president of Indiana University, that the university start a school of journalism.

After a faculty study of the proposal, Dr. Bryan asked Mr. Johnson to return to the I.U. campus to be the university’s first journalism professor.

Although a course in instruction in news gathering was taught in the English department for a short time during the 1890’s, Fred Bates Johnson succeeded in getting “The Course in Journalism” added to the curriculum of Indiana University during the year 1907-1908. Also at that time the university published a suggested four-year liberal program as a preparation for journalism.

So he became a journalism professor. Then a lawyer, a soldier, a judge advocate and a member of the Public Service Commission. So he basically started the journalism program that would, in 107 years or so, become The Media School. Thanks, ‘fessor.

And finally, remembering this is 1917 …

Two decades prior, the G.A.R. had hundreds of posts all over this state, and more than 400,000 members across the country. Three years after this notice Indianapolis hosted the national encampment, one of several Indy hosted, but the numbers were falling away fast. There were just 103,258 members remaining by 1920. In 1949, also in Indy, the G.A.R. held their last reunion.

Earlier in 1949 the last Hoosier soldier, 102-year-old John Christian Adams, passed away. (Adams was from West Virginia and moved to Indiana well after the war, but they count him.) The Harry Truman White House sent a wreath.

At that last encampment in 1949 six old men showed up, including James Hard and Albert Woolson. There was a parade. They reminisced. The Marine Corps Band played Retreat. Hard was the last combat soldier. He apparently fought at First Bull Run, Sharpsburg, Chancellorsville, and Fredericksburg. And it is said that he met Abraham Lincoln at a White House reception. Hard died in 1953. Woolson was a drummer boy, but his unit never saw action. He lived until 1956 and was briefly eulogized by Dwight Eisenhower.

You have to move forward a long way before the past is really the past. It’s always been that way, we’ve just never been really keen on accepting it.