Dusk at the University of South Dakota on the eve of the Al Neuharth Award for Excellence in the Media. As the day — crisp autumn air, glorious blue skies, rays of sunlight streaming through half-bare branches dotted with clusters of red, orange, yellow — draws to a close, people move toward the smart brick building on the northwestern corner of campus for an event that feels, paradoxically, the same as every year and profoundly different than ever before.
A pleasant hum of conversation and the occasional tinkering laugh sounds among attendees, who are bustling in the foyer over bottles of imported beer, glasses of unspectacular wine, and assorted appetizers. A speech is made. Someone is thanked. People smile, nod, laugh. Eventually guests are ushered into the conference room — imported beer and unspectacular wine in hand—and seated around a small stage. Everyone is still smiling, and the room is filled to the brim, but something feels wrong — someone is missing.
The namesake. The founder. The self-professed S.O.B., in a bright red suit with side-swept grey curls and a cheeky grin on his face.
Al Neuharth is missing.
"Gone, but not forgotten. Forever missed," 2014 award recipient Peter Prichard gruffly utters, attempting to control the emotion in his voice as he touches on Neuharth's passing in his acceptance speech (see below).
Prichard, Neuharth's USA Today editor in chief from 1988 to 1995, was awarded the 25th annual Neuharth Award on Thursday, Oct. 9, almost eighteen months after Neuharth's death at 89 in 2013. It is the first award on campus not handed out by Neuharth himself.
The building, the award being given within its walls — they all carry his name, and his absence is glaringly obvious. Throughout the course of the ceremony, various other speakers take turns at the microphone: Mr. Neuharth's daughter, Jan; university president Jim Abbott; Freedom Forum president James Duff. Although the speeches range in content, it seems that each person on stage cannot help but return to the subject of Mr. Neuharth and his tremendous impact in the world and on USD.
From smattered laughs by the audience at recollections of Neuharth's seemingly endless quirks to tears shed by his daughter on stage, it is unquestionably an evening of heightened emotions. The tipsy camaraderie of the modest audience; the undeniable sense of loss, the quiet grief that accompanies it; the comforting continuation of the tradition despite such immense change; and the spirit of Al — present in everything from his living descendants to the plaque on the award perched on stage.
Mr. Prichard was right — Al Neuharth may be gone, but he will not be forgotten.
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