I write this message in great sadness after receiving news of the death of Jeremy Andrew Clawson. The world has lost a great citizen and I’ve lost a friend. I mourn the best way I know how – with words.

I want to tell you a little about my experiences with Jeremy Andrew Clawson.

I met Jeremy back in 2003. I was a 19-year-old college freshmen, joining the school newspaper. He was a 30-year-old non-traditional student, editor of Barton County Community College’s student newspaper, The Interrobang. A soldier, he was attending school between deployments while his wife worked as a Barton dance instructor.

I was a shy, nervous kid. He was a confident leader (and a very skilled journalist). I was so incredibly shy that I probably would have just kept to myself, did my work, and faded into the background on the newspaper staff had Jeremy let that happen. But from day one, I remember how friendly he was and how he made me feel like a valued member of the team.

At Barton, Jeremy spearheaded an Interrobang investigation into academic dishonesty and outright fraud in the athletic department. You can imagine the type of outside pressure that defying the athletic department can create for a person, yet Jeremy stuck to his guns and didn’t back down to anyone. He reported the truth, and wasn’t afraid to dig deep for the real story. Some of his best reporting involved the discovery of questionable credits received for classes completed at Barton by basketball players transferring to the University of Missouri under coach Quin Snyder. Eventually, all of this led to several members of Barton’s athletic department being indicted for various forms of fraud.

I remember how he recounted a fairly hostile conversation he had with Barton’s head basketball coach concerning the negative publicity the paper was creating.

“How am I supposed to recruit students for the basketball program when your paper is printing this garbage!?” the coach said to Jeremy.

“I didn’t know the school newspaper was supposed to be a recruiting tool,” Jeremy shot back.

Jeremy put pressure on the college’s administration to shape up (most famously through a column he wrote comparing the escalating situation with dishonesty at the college to frogs not jumping out of a pot on the stove that was slowly rising to a boil). He forged alliances with faculty who believed in the importance of truth and brought facts to light that the college trustees most assuredly would have liked kept secret.

Jeremy received a well-deserved First Amendment Award from the Kansas Associated Collegiate Press in 2006 for his investigative work at Barton.

He was a strong leader, but also a smart, charismatic and likable guy. He really brought out the best from each person from the newspaper staff and helped shape the Interrobang into one of the top two-year college papers in the state.

He could sit and joke around with people one minute, and yet have a deep philosophical conversation the next.

I remember when the newspaper staff took part in a school shooting simulation at a local high school. We played the part of the news media, helping the local police department simulate all aspects of a potential shooting for the drill. I remember Jeremy decided that he was going to check if the police had the school locked down properly and the perimeter secured. I don’t know what journalist in their right mind would do this in real life with the gunmen potentially still inside, but, hey, you never know.

Jeremy walked around, got shooed away by police at a couple entrances before jumping a fence and finding an unlocked, unsecured door. I think he went in and took a few pictures before exiting.

The police thought they were prepared for every contingency, but they did not count on the presence of investigative journalist Jeremy Clawson. He was always doing crazy stuff like that, all in good fun of course.

When I needed an actor for a television commercial I was creating for my dad’s business, I turned to the funniest guy I knew – Jeremy Clawson. He was a real trooper, despite the fact he wasn’t getting paid a dime for it. He put on the goofiest looking suit he could find, slicked back his hair, climbed onto the roof of a manufactured home and transformed himself into Grease Mitchell, slimy pizza-flinging salesperson for Big City Homes. It was a lot of fun.

Jeremy was deployed to serve in Afghanistan at the end of the fall 2003 semester. We all respected his bravery in serving our country, but were also saddened to see our friend and leader depart. Jeremy and our newspaper advisor decided to name me as his replacement as editor-in-chief for the Spring 2004 semester. It was not an enviable task to follow in the footsteps of such a great editor. Using his leadership as an example, I forged my own path and eventually earned the respect of my fellow staff members.

I had kind of lost touch with Jeremy after our time together at Barton, sadly, save for an occasional email, but I still thought of him as a friend. I can’t claim to have known him on a deep level, but consider myself privileged for the time I did have with him. He was a man of honor and integrity, two qualities I hold very high. He was a very talented journalist and writer and the best newspaper editor I have ever served under. He was a charismatic and all around great person. He was also a soldier and sacrificed to serve this country. I thank him for service. I also thank him for all he taught me.

Jeremy leaves behind a wife and a daughter. To them I offer my deepest condolences. My thoughts and prayers are with you in this difficult time.

Farewell, Jeremy Andrew Clawson. You will be greatly missed, my friend.

Editor-in-Chief

I lost my job. My friends betrayed me. And I couldn’t participate in my favorite (and only) activity.

To top it off, they keyed my just-repainted truck.

But through it all, I kept my integrity intact.

And as bad as that day was, it gave rise to one of the most fulfilling and enriching experiences of my life. Let me explain the details of how I got started out in this crazy independent college newspaperin’ business.

It started my freshman year at Barton County Community College, where I had served as editor-in-chief of Barton’s student newspaper.

The newspaper was special at Barton. We were consistently one of the top community college papers in the state and won many awards.

It was a student paper, but we aimed to be as professional as possible. In fact, in my one short year at Barton, we had conducted a successful investigation into fraud in the athletic department.

I guess we were a little too successful as investigative journalists, which led to an administrative attempt to censor our newspaper.

At the end of the year, they fired our faculty advisor for not blocking our investigation.

By the end of that year, I was disillusioned with the whole school and I just didn’t want to stay at Barton any longer.  I decided to transfer to Fort Hays State University, an hour away from my hometown of Great Bend.

First order of business was joining the school newspaper, The University Leader. I signed on as a copy editor and staff writer, earning a small salary.

Unfortunately, The University Leader was nothing like I hoped. The paper was probably at an all-time low in its 100-year history.

Sexual innuendo. Inside jokes. Obvious typographical errors. Erroneous reporting. Poor layout and design. And that was just in one issue.

From my first day on the job, it was painfully obvious – the majority of the staff just plain didn’t care what was printed, as long as they kept getting paid.

While I respected the chain of command and tried to fit in as best I could, I frequently clashed with my superiors and co-workers over just about every area of the publication.

It all came to a head when our editor-in-chief decided to write a now-infamous (at least in Hays) opinion article entitled “What is proper penis etiquette?” It was an amazingly vulgar attempt at humor that, frankly, had no place in a college publication.

I argued vehemently with the editor-in-chief against publishing the article. I even told him I thought it could get him fired as editor. It turns out I was not far off.

Over my objections, the article made it to print and boy, did it cause a backlash. Readers were appalled, and several advertisers pulled their sponsorships.

Finally, the pitiful record of the school publication got the attention of the administrators. They found a technicality for which they could demote the editor-in-chief from his position.

At last, I thought, my chance to make things better. I would apply for the top position and hopefully turn the Leader around. I was the only person on staff with experience leading a newspaper.  My chances looked good.

But things didn’t quite work out that way.

Before the student publications board had time to start screening applicants for the position, our advisor summarily named an interim editor-in-chief.

His first move as interim editor… eliminate the competition. He knew I’d be applying for the job and he wanted to cut me off. We’d disagreed in the past, but honestly, I considered him a friend.

Actually, I thought I was friends with almost everyone on staff. I was wrong.

They eventually found a trumped up reason to get rid of me. I had information I promised to keep confidential, and this interim editor wanted me to violate that trust.

When I took my dinner break during that same newspaper production night, I got a phone call from our new editor. He told me he never wanted to see me back at the paper until I told them what they wanted to know.

I told him I wouldn’t breach my integrity and that he was an idiot.  I was the most dedicated person on staff and he would regret this decision.

So, our interim editor – in his first week in the position – didn’t even have the guts to let me go in person.

Since they didn’t actually have a real reason to fire me, however, I continued getting paychecks for doing nothing for the rest of the semester, so there was some upside, I guess.

But here was the real topping on the cake.

I had to go back to the college to work on a group project for a class that same night I got “fired.”
I parked near the library, which happened to be close to the Leader office. As walked in, I passed one of my former co-workers at the Leader, who obviously noticed me.

When I returned to my truck, which had just been repainted a month earlier, someone had keyed it. Whether mere coincidence or not, it put an exclamation mark on a horrible day, so much so that I considered transferring again to another school.

A week or two later, I was at my grandparent’s house eating dinner and discussing the whole situation. Then my uncle made a suggestion: why not start your own student newspaper? No way. Not possible. It’s a crazy idea…

But then, I started looking into it. Printing costs weren’t as much as I thought. I had money saved up that the Leader was paying me for not coming to work. And I knew how to produce a newspaper from start to finish. Most of all, I was thoroughly motivated to kick the competition’s butt.

Then, it needed a name: The Edge: The voice of integrity at Fort Hays State University. Best to put the intentions of the paper right on the top of page 1.

Now all I needed was a staff. Since I didn’t have any money, they had to be volunteers.

I put up some fliers around campus and was amazed by the talented people that came forward to help out in many different areas without any financial compensation.

For the next two years, we kicked the Leader’s behind and forced them to improve in the process. They actually have a decent product now, at least last I saw.

The Edge and its staff won numerous awards from the Kansas Associated Collegiate Press, including a Bronze award for the overall publication, competing head-to-head with all the four-year, fully-funded college newspapers in the state.

It was an awesome ride. I met and worked with a lot of great people. And let’s face, it was nice to get sweet, sweet revenge.

You may wonder if I have as interesting a story to tell about starting The Underground.

Not exactly.

I had no axe to grind with The Standard. In fact, I do not even know anyone that works there.

My only interaction with them was at the beginning of the semester when I applied to be on staff at The Standard. Someone called me back and said they didn’t currently have any open positions.

Bummer.

Then I started to think… Why not try it again, for old times’ sake?

And so I put up some fliers, found some more talented, dedicated volunteers, and a new independent student newspaper was born: The Underground.

I hope you’ve enjoyed reading it.

“If you print this letter, I’m going to sue you personally!” Barton County Community College men’s basketball coach Dave “Soupy” Campbell screamed in my face.

After enduring several minutes of his sue-happy rant, I’d had enough. Never before and never since have I been treated in such an unprofessional and degrading manner.

I stormed out of the office (a very rare behavior for me, given my normal level-headed nature) and declared to him that the letter to the editor was being printed no matter what he said.

At the time, I was a 19-year-old college freshman at that small community college in Kansas.

I was also the new editor-in-chief of Barton’s student newspaper, The Interrobang. Oh little did I know what I was getting into when I agreed to take over as editor.

But anyway, the letter in question, which The Interrobang received from a disgruntled former Barton basketball player by the name of Michel Diboty (who was, in his opinion, unjustly thrown off the team) leveled many attacks and accusations against the coach.

Some of the accusations we were able to confirm (such as a player being arrested and it going unreported), some accusations were attacks on Campbell’s personal character, while other accusations, while factual in nature, we had no way to confirm at the time.

One of those unconfirmed accusations stated that Campbell signed off on papers for a federal work study program when he knew no work had actually been completed by his players. Basically, the players were getting federal money for work they didn’t do.

To tell the truth, at the time I did not really understand how serious that accusation was. Well, now I know why Campbell was so mad.

Case in point: by the time all was said and done, seven former coaches, including Campbell, as well as the former athletic director at Barton were indicted by federal grand juries. The main charge against them: fraudulent use of a federal work-study program. If you’ve ever seen the movie All the President’s Men, there is a famous quote by Deepthroat as he gives Bob Woodward clues to solve the Watergate scandal.

“Follow the money.”

It fits very well in this case as well.

Jayhawk Athletic Conference rules didn’t allow teams to give out full-ride scholarships. Therefore, Barton used federal money (fraudulently) as a substitute for a full-ride scholarship in order to recruit highly-talented players. You see, lot of money flows into the college from rich donors in the athletic booster club, and they pay to see an entertaining, winning team on the floor, at any cost.

In addition to defrauding the federal work study program, many of the coaches used their positions to help athletes receive credit for college courses they hadn’t actually completed.

In short, Barton cheated the rules to keep a highly talented team on the floor.

It worked, too, as they were consistently one of the best junior college teams in the nation.

Of course, once the indictments started coming down, it all blew up in their faces.

A wave of negative publicity built up so strong that Barton even ended up the topic of a major article in Sports Illustrated, appearing as the poster-school of corrupt junior college athletic programs. Besides the indictments and negative publicity, the Jayhawk Conference eventually put all of Barton’s athletic programs on probation from post-season play.

But Diboty’s letter to the paper didn’t directly cause all this uproar.

After reviewing the letter, I decided not to include Diboty’s accusation that Campbell signed off on fraudulent work-study papers, simply because this fact could not be confirmed.

The indictments actually came about as the result of an internal investigation conducted by Barton’s administration, who, after seeing the seriousness of the matter, brought in the feds.

The Interrobang had caught wind of this investigation some time before I took over as editor and had been reporting on it, much to the dislike of the athletic department and the board of trustees (the elected decision-makers of the college), who, unlike the individuals spearheading the investigation in the administration, evidently thought it best to sweep things under the rug rather than fix the problems.

Anyway, when the trustees found out we had Diboty’s letter (and already angry with our previous coverage of the investigation) they shortsightedly decided that the best way to protect their image was to silence the student press on campus.

They couldn’t stop the outside press from covering the scandal, they must have figured, but they could do something about the criticism coming from the college’s own student publication.

Most of the time, when people try to censor the press, they do so discretely. But in a prime example of their arrogance, they put their censorship order in writing.

“The administration has decided that no letters to the editor will be published which are by and large personal attacks against other members of the Barton County Community College family,” Barton’s attorney wrote, informing us the college was responsible for the paper, and that they held authority over editorial decisions, even if we disagreed. It seems they forgot about this little thing called the First Amendment.

You know, the part in the Constitution that declares that the government can’t, among other things, abridge freedom of speech or of the press.

The attorney’s letter, which was actually addressed to our faculty adviser, Jennifer Schartz, arrived on the morning the Diboty letter went to press. It seemed almost ludicrous. Surely it must have been a mistake, we thought. Schartz wrote a letter back, telling them that they were asking her to break the law and she would not do that.

A short time later, I ran into Barton President Veldon Law between classes and he informed me that I had handled Diboty’s letter to the editor very well. He said the administration was pleased with how I edited the letter (eliminating the work-study fraud allegations).

Disaster averted, so I thought. Perhaps the knee-jerk censorship letter was just a fluke after all.

But, apparently, the board of trustees couldn’t leave well-enough alone.

In a move of utterly-brilliant stupidity, they decided at the end of the year not to renew Schartz’s teaching contract. Because she was not a tenured employee, they weren’t required by law, nor saw it fit, to give a reason for her non-renewal. But to anyone with half a brain, it was beyond obvious. And if a person still wasn’t sure of the reason, all one had to do was re-read the letter Barton’s attorney sent her.

You see, the main hurdle the trustees faced in firing Schartz was that she was doing an excellent job in her role as a part-time journalism instructor and newspaper adviser. All of her teaching evaluations were flawless. All of her superiors recommended she be renewed. Even Barton President Law recommended her renewal (although we didn’t find this out until later).

She had turned Barton’s journalism program around in a matter of only three years.

When she was hired, the Interrobang was nothing more than an amateurish paper literally printed on a copy machine. By the time she was fired, the Interrobang had won the title of best-in-the-state by the Kansas Associated Collegiate Press twice, and second-best once. Enrollment in journalism increased dramatically. Advertising revenue for the paper was also on the upswing.

While the decision-making power for the paper was in the hands of the student editors, Schartz worked hand-in-hand with the staff, teaching them what she had learned in her 20-plus years of journalism experience, helping them expand and grow according to their individual talents.

After her termination from the college, I decided it would be prudent of me to leave Barton a year earlier than I had planned and transfer to Fort Hays State University. I didn’t want to be a journalism major at a college that didn’t support the First Amendment. A couple years ago, Schartz’s lawsuit against Barton was finally settled after a legal battle lasting over two years.

While the case made quite a few headlines and increased people’s awareness of collegiate press freedom, I was hoping it would also set a legal precedent, helping to further protect the First Amendment rights of future collegiate journalists.

Unfortunately, by settling out of court, there would be no legal precedent.

Nor did the settlement get Schartz her job back. However, the whole thing did cost Barton, to the amount of $130,000 — which should serve as some deterrent to other colleges who might consider trashing their college’s newspaper adviser haphazardly.

I learned a lot from this censorship battle and it really shaped me as a journalist.

For one, I now have a much greater appreciation of the importance and also the fragility of the First Amendment.

I’ve learned that some people, while they might outwardly say that they support the First Amendment, won’t hesitate to try and deny that right to others if it suits their agenda. You have to take a stand to protect those rights. You must shine the bright lights of public scrutiny at them, forcing the rats to scurry back into the darkness.

I’ve also learned that with great freedom comes great responsibility. The press has the power to make or destroy a person’s reputation. And, as history has shown, it is much easier to destroy than to create. So you have to be very careful in what you do and do not publish. On the other hand, you also can’t be afraid to deal with sensitive topics.

Honesty.

Accuracy.

Integrity.

Fairness.

Public Service.

I learned those ideal journalistic principles by heart during my time at Barton. Those principles also can be found in the masthead of this publication. In fact, I can say almost assuredly that The Underground would not exist without the experiences I gained at Barton.

When our editor-in-chief, Jeremy Clawson, was deployed to Afghanistan midway through my freshman year of college, Schartz selected me as editor-in-chief.

I didn’t have much experience, and am not the most charismatic person, either, but she had faith in me and saw something in me I did not. And I’m thankful she allowed me the opportunity to grow as a person in that role. I would not have had the basic know-how, nor the intestinal fortitude, to start this independent publication without my journalistic “baptism by fire” at Barton.

Was my time as editor at Barton the most pleasant experience ever? Certainly not.

But I learned a lot about myself and life in general, most importantly that sometimes you have to stand up for what you think is right, no matter what other people think or say.

Why am I telling you all this?

I guess it just feels good to put it in writing, for the world to see. Maybe it will give you a better idea where I’m coming from as you read my work and this paper.

Oh, and as far as Coach Campbell’s threat of a lawsuit against me, well, I’m still waiting on that one.