"Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph..."

There is a photograph, taken in the fall of 1972 for North Texas State University’s yearbook, The Yucca. It is of the staff of the North Texas Daily, the student newspaper at NTSU.

I was the leader of that group of journalism stalwarts, and there I am in the center of the photo, my mustache neatly trimmed, my hair flowing in waves to my shoulders. I’m dressed in a black turtleneck and a belted corduroy coat, the very epitome of early-’70s cool. Or so I thought.

Most of the young people pictured are unsmiling. They have serious expressions, some have frowns. It is a heavy burden they carry, these lords of all they survey, these gods striding confidently among mere mortals on missions of grave importance. Or so they thought.

They are editors of the best student newspaper in Texas, perhaps the country. Their futures, though unclear, nonetheless are secure, their eventual success unquestionable.  Or so they thought.

We had a lot to learn. And the lessons would sometimes be cruel.

Tomorrow, I travel north to Denton to attend a reunion of staffs of the NT Daily and its quirkily named predecessor, the Campus Chat. By all rights, they should serve us cold pizza and beer, since that’s what we largely subsisted on in college. But since the event is on campus, I suspect it’ll be punch and finger food.

That’s just as well, I think. In our day, my Daily colleagues and I could hang with the best of them. And did. Today, four decades later, I’m not so sure.

A few years ago, my daughter, then a freshman at what is now known as the University of North Texas, accepted an invitation to help with production of the NT Daily. 

Such an idea would have been unthinkable in 1972. The NT Daily office then was a holy place, where access was jealously guarded and only the Anointed Ones – otherwise known as J-students – were allowed to worship there and to be instructed in the mystic ways of protecting the Public’s Right to Know.

The thought of allowing a non-journalism major – and a freshman to boot – to actually touch stories being prepared for publication would have sent all True Believers in the Five Ws and an H (Who, What, When, Where, Why and How, amen)  into a frenzy of self-flagellation and alcohol consumption.

But times have changed – alas and alack – and so it was that my daughter, bored and a little lost during her first semester at UNT, showed up in the NT Daily office on a Wednesday evening to edit some copy and perform what other chores the staff could devise for its volunteer slaves.

Three hours later, Rachel was walking back across campus on her way to her dorm, the venerable Maple Hall. Still a little nervous of the darkened campus at night, she called Dad for some company.

“How did you like the Daily?” I asked nervously, fearful she had been bitten by the same bug that had infected me with a love of journalism and sentenced me to a career in newspapers.

“OK, I guess, but I don’t think I’ll do it again.”

“What happened?” I said, a wave of relief washing over me.

“God, Dad, it was the most boring night of my life,” she said in a rush. “The stories were boring, the people were boring. And the Daily editors?  Geez, what a bunch of arrogant jerks they were. Walking around all self-important, ordering people to do this and do that, and just lording it over everyone.”

Then she paused for a moment as if just realizing something. “I’ll bet you were just like them when you were at North Texas, weren’t you, Dad?”

Yes, sweetie, I’m afraid I was. Guilty as charged.

I doubt many of my crowd will make it to tomorrow’s reunion. We have scattered since our days in the sun. I will attend in their honor and sip a cup of too-sweet punch in memory of the days we ruled the NT Daily – utterly convinced of the righteousness of our cause, fearless of the future or anything else, and completely assured we would change the world.

The world hasn’t changed much. We have.