Acknowledgments

A drawing of a boy wading into the Jordan River, with a bicycle nearby.

Boy with bicycle at Jordan River

A scrawny boy, aged nine, pedaled his twenty-inch red Schwinn bicycle up Woodlawn Avenue from Bryan Park to the Indiana University campus, looking for adventure. The warm spring air was full of mysterious promise. Accompanied by a friend who lived across the street on Maxwell Lane and one of his brothers, the boys knew that winding paths through the woods, immense gray buildings, and running water would await them. Once on campus grounds, anticipation gave way to delight in the present moment—riding endlessly on interconnected walkways, catching goldfish in the creek left discarded from fraternity parties, searching for a drinking fountain in the cavernous Union building. The waking reverie lasted until the lengthening shadows brought them back to the hunger in their bellies and to the relief of their homes. In the spring and summer of 1964, that boy was introduced to the wonders of university life by the physical environment of the campus, where he was able to engage all of his senses, six blocks away from his home. Still innocent of the ways of place-making, the names Maxwell and Bryan held no connotations. The boy’s name was Jimmy Capshew, and he has lived in the university’s sheltering shadow since.

This book was a long time in the making, delayed by the global pandemic. Along the way, I received assistance from many people, most notably from the excellent staff of the University Archives at Indiana University Bloomington. I am grateful to my colleagues Dina Kellams, Kristin Leaman, Carrie Schwier, Mary Mellon, Molly Wittenberg, Brad Cook, and Amanda Rindler.

In 2015, I was drawn into the organization and then operation of the IU Office of the Bicentennial under its mastermind, Kelly Kish, whose administrative acumen is matched only by her prodigious intellect. She always asked the hard questions, but I could count on her for unflagging support. The staff of the Bicentennial Office, including Bre Anne Kusz, Jeremy Hackerd, Sarah Jacobi, Angel Nathan, Sarah Reynolds, Rafal Swiatkowski, and Brittany Terwilliger, buoyed my efforts at every turn.

I made presentations to several audiences, both local and national, about the research on which this book is based, including the Monroe County History Club, the IU Alumni Association’s Mini University, the Friends of the Monroe County Public Library, and the History of Education Society.

Several persons facilitated access to documents and shared relevant information, including Anita Bracalente, Jonah Busch, Greg Buse, Carey Champion, Terry Clapacs, Michael Chitwood, Bridget Edwards, Harry Ford, Deborah Lemon, Richard McClelland, Sarah Mincey, David Parkhurst, Eileen Savage, and Indermohan Virk.

The people who read drafts of chapters occupy a high niche in my personal pantheon: Bre Anne Kusz, Jonah Busch, Duncan Campbell, Carey Champion, Michael Chitwood, Harry Ford, Donald J. Gray, Jeremy Hackerd, Sarah Mincey, Michael Nelson, Laura Plummer, Sarah Reynolds, Eric Sandweiss, Curt Simic, and John Summerlot. It was a pleasure working with illustrator Joe Lee, whom I first met two decades ago.

When the time came to publish this research, Diane Dallis-Comentale, Ruth Lilly Dean of University Libraries, suggested I try the new publishing service provided by the Department of Scholarly Communication. Adam Mazel, Digital Publishing Librarian, was an excellent guide and an effective colleague in creating my first born digital book. The interactive map was made possible through the innovative efforts of Theresa Quill, Map and Spatial Data librarian.

A special thanks goes to Michael McRobbie, University Chancellor and President Emeritus, who had faith in planning for the university’s future by a thorough understanding of its past.

Halloween 2024