IU's trident is its only symbol. What happened to the goat, bison and eagle mascots?

Wisconsin has Bucky Badger. Minnesota has Goldy Gopher. Ohio has Brutus Buckeye. Indiana has … well, nothing.

While Indiana University’s cream and crimson colors are iconic and “Hoosier” is a household name for college basketball aficionados across the country, IU differs from its fellow college team compatriots in its lack of a beloved mascot.

Believe it or not, IU has tried — several times — to establish a mascot for its teams. From a failed attempt at keeping a live eagle in the 1910s, to a slack-jawed cartoon from The Walt Disney Studios, to an arduous and ultimately doomed open contest to find a mascot in the '80s, Hoosiers have more than just flirted with establishing a character to represent the university’s persona.

Today, you can’t mention IU’s lack of a mascot without a seasoned alumni shouting, “Bring back the Bison!” or a rebuttal from the impassioned camp that thinks IU’s lack of a mascot is what makes it unique.

Whether IU will ever have a mascot again is a question as perennial and elusive as the question of what exactly is a “Hoosier.” But if the discussion were ever to be resurrected, it’s good to know what worked — and what didn’t — in the past.

Before the costumes: IU tries live animals as mascots

Modern collegiate mascots — thick-browed cartoon characters in logo sweaters and costumed cheerleaders who hang in the student sections at games — are a far cry from what they were in the late 19th and early 20th century, when the college mascot first emerged.

Back then, mascots were real, live animals, plain and simple, often chosen by fans or athletic teams themselves. Wisconsin’s “Bucky” started as a real badger that appeared at games, but was retired to the local zoo once they realized the over-socialized predator was a little too vicious. North Carolina’s “Rameses” the ram was proposed by UNC’s head cheerleader as a way to generate hype for the football team after a rough season, and was purchased from a farm in Texas for $25.

Mascots would sometimes change year-to-year or season-to-season based on how beloved by fans they were, but many became solidified brand identities in the 1950s and '60s, as iconic collegiate comic artist Art Evans transformed mascots into the cartoons we know today, drawing everything from the USC Trojan to the Oregon Duck.

IU, meanwhile, was still making up its mind. Between 1900 and 1960, IU had at least six proposed or attempted mascots, including a skunk, a “crimson goat,” and one season with the 2-year-old son of athletic trainer “Bernie” Bernstein, Bernstein Jr., as the mascot.

In 1916, IU had its most notable and controversial live mascot when a gray eagle was captured on campus, and students, believing eagles to be omens of good luck, elected to make it their mascot. On the week before a Purdue game, the eagle ate a mouse students found in Owen Hall in "two bites," and rejoicing students “declare[d] that he had come to forecast a victory over Purdue” in the upcoming game.

Sadly, the eagle lost its appetite while being kept in a cage, and an editorial war raged at the Indiana Daily Student (IDS) concerning its release. Ultimately, the eagle didn’t stay, leaving IU to search for its next mascot.

A cult (and frat) classic: Ox the Bulldog

In the late '50s and early '60s, as colleges like Minnesota and Ohio were beginning to cement their mascots, IU was playing fetch with Ox, a somewhat unofficial, yet dearly beloved bulldog who belonged to the Theta Chi fraternity.

Ox became a staple of IU football games starting in 1959, often donning a red “I” logo sweater and greeting fans and friends at the edge of the field. Ox eventually faded from favor, owing both to his unofficial status and concerns about the longevity of a frat dog as an enduring mascot, but he remains remembered as one of IU’s most beloved mascots (and a very good boy).

The closest we ever got: the Bison

In 1965, the student senate determined that IU needed a mascot, and voted to make the bison the university’s official mascot, inspired by Indiana’s state seal.

The bison started with much fanfare, but was fraught with issues from the beginning. First, from 1965 to 1967, disagreement persisted as to whether IU should have invested in a real, live bison or a humanoid mascot costume like other universities had adopted.

When the university finally settled on a costume, things only got worse. Students who wore the bison suit, which was made with fur, complained it was too hot, and others complained the imagery of a bison hearkened more to the American West with its similarity to the Wyoming flag or Colorado University Boulder logo.

“This is not Wyoming, and there are no bison crossing signs on I-65,” Chris Rowe, an IU alumnus, told Indy Star writer Terry Hutchens in a 2011 column.

Another hitch: the mascot looked, arguably, terrifying.

“It’s a beautiful head but it looks like the devil with a cheerleader in it,” said Bob Dro, assistant athletic director, in a 1969 IDS article.

Facing a litany of issues and criticisms, the bison was retired in 1969, not even surviving through the turn of the decade. The bison lives on in Bloomington, though, still serving as the mascot of Nick’s English Hut today.

No more animals: Mr. Hoosier Pride and a concept from Disney

In 1966, as the Bison mascot was still in its early stages, The Walt Disney Studios offered a glimpse at another possibility for a mascot.

Tasked with designing a cartoon poster for the 1966 Rose Bowl and unaware that an official mascot was in the works, cartoonists at Disney created their own conception for a Hoosier mascot, a bulky, barefoot country boy with a straw in his mouth and a bold “I” on his shirt.

The design was a flash in the pan, and never transferred over to IU, but it may have served as inspiration for IU’s last official — and perhaps most despised — mascot, Mr. Hoosier Pride.

A cleft-chinned cowboy donning a candy-cane jacket and a cowboy hat, Mr. Hoosier Pride was introduced in 1979 as IU’s new official mascot, meant to embody state pride and serve as the face of the university going forward.

Unfortunately, he failed to inspire pride.

“Mr. Hoosier Pride is the most asinine and ridiculous-looking character anyone could have dreamed up to be IU’s mascot,” Ben Blair, an IU undergrad, wrote in an IDS column in 1980. “He looks like a sore loser rather than a proud winner.”

Mr. Hoosier Pride was ultimately retired after only one season, with fans complaining it was “ridiculous and offensive.” He marked IU’s last official mascot — but shortly after, one last hurrah was made to give IU a face.

One last try: IU hosts contest in 1980 for its next mascot

In 1980, shortly after Mr. Hoosier Pride was retired, the student athletics board (SAB) requested submissions for new ideas for a mascot. Students, faculty and alumni submitted all sorts of ideas: the gargoyle above Maxwell Hall, a chicken named “Big Red,” a Hoo-Hoo-Hoosier Owl, and even the resurrection of the bison.

The motley crew of submissions was eventually whittled down to five finalists: Big Red, the gargoyle, a red dragon, a Tasmanian Devil-style mascot and a corncob smoking country boy named Henry Hoosier. But when these five were presented to then-IU president John Ryan, he was unimpressed.

Back-and-forth persisted between the administration, the SAB, the IU Foundation and the athletics department, but ultimately, it all fell apart. By the end of the year, IU was back to square one and enough time had passed that the university was understood to be a mascot-less black sheep.

Will Indiana University ever have a mascot?

While some may mourn the bygone bison or hope for a spiritual successor to Ox, IU’s now decades-long tradition of going stag without a mascot is now almost part of its intrigue, and apt for a state where no one knows exactly what a “Hoosier” is or looks like.

So, while someone may take up the mantle somewhere down the road, for now, we can relish in the eclectic history of all the animals, characters and things that once represented IU — and the love, loathing and passion that surrounded their rise and fall.

Reach Brian Rosenzweig at brian@heraldt.com.