I was drinking with a retired journalism professor not long ago. He said, with old-school newsman cynicism, “Nobody needs journalists anymore, and that means nobody needs journalism professors. So I retired.”

“I try to discourage kids from going into journalism,” he continued. “Truth is, there are always a few of them who have it in their blood. Those are going to be the ones who make it, because they’ve got what it takes to endure the way it is these days, and keep pushing. The rest of ’em, no.”

Thought of that guy just now when I read this anonymous letter to Jim Romenesko by someone who used to work for the Tribune Co.. Excerpt:

Do you ever write about all the journalists who have been “early retired” out of our careers? I’m 52 and lost my job in 2007 when I was 45, not realizing it was the end of my career, too. But that’s when the newspaper industry started bottoming out and I was never able to find another job. After ripping through my 401K (minus half, because the poor apparently deserve to have half their savings taken when they’re unfortunate enough to be poor) and trying to fight cancer without healthcare, I got near-death enough to qualify for Medicare. Lucky me. I now make an under-the-poverty-line income thanks to having been employed for 25 years.

But my calling is gone.

From the comments section:

Many of us journalists-of-a-certain-age remember similar laments from the hot-type guys in the composing room. Technology and other changes had rendered a lifetime of skill irrelevant and worthless — boy, were they pissed.

I was not sympathetic as a youth. I’m far more sympathetic now.

Man.