Melissa Angell
My mom always told me that there are no such things as accidents. I came onto the Horizon kicking and screaming, 10 months out of high school, 19 years old, and a former editor in chief of a staff comprised of rag-tag ragamuffins. I had no desire to do student run newspaper ever again.
My co-editor from my high school newspaper called me one April evening in a panic because the current editor-in-chief of the Horizon, who had previously done production, was graduating that quarter and the Horizon was in dire need of a production editor. I told her no. I didn’t want to do it. End of story. The end.
However, being a poor college student, any mention of money, heck, a job, is enough of an incentive. She told me the position was paid and I begrudgingly said, “Fine, I’ll do it.”
What I didn’t know at the time was that the Horizon was going to completely change my life.
I’ve always believed that newspaper brings people of all walks of life together. I’ve made friends with people who I never would have even approached on my own. Some of them hold completely different views on life than I do, while others share the exact same. I’ve had people who I consider to be the older siblings I never had and people who will have deep intellectual conversations with me and not bat an eye at my beliefs.
I came onto the Horizon during the scandal about Anthony Weiner, a New York representative who tweeted a lewd picture to a female Horizon reporter. Yes, the attention that it brought was exciting and thrilling on a journalistic spectrum. It’s not every day you answer the phone hearing CNN Seattle on the other end or taking multiple messages from major news stations around the country several times a day. But that’s only a small piece of what I experienced during my time.
It’s the small things: the running jokes, hanging out in the Horizon room for two hours before class just talking the whole time, the camaraderie, the sense of belonging, and the people that I’ll miss the most.
Being on the Horizon made me realize how much I really do love my job. I love to design: it’s like putting together a 1000 piece puzzle over and over again and every time you finish. There’s a sense of pride and accomplishment that many people don’t understand. I look back at my first issues and to my last and there’s nothing I would change.
Every mistake, whether that be in print or behind-the-scenes, helped make me a better editor and better person.
I came onto the Horizon as a shy, timid, teenager and I’m leaving as a confident, slightly less introverted, young woman.
More than anything, the Horizon helped me grow up. And for that I’ll be forever thankful.
James Hearne
Unaccustomed as I am to writing about myself, I have been struggling to try to come up with some profound bit of wisdom with which to part ways with the Horizon, and the people that make it what it is. (Spoiler alert: I failed).
I guess I didn’t really know what to expect with regards to a student newspaper. There were a few people who had been around for a while, but most of them were new like me. My first story was on the waste audit, which was about sorting garbage on campus. This was oddly appropriate, as I needed to learn how to sort out the garbage from my writing. (Thank you, I’ll be here all week, remember to tip your servers).
I have read things people wouldn’t believe. Stuff so good, by all rights, it should have been in “Rolling Stone”. Stuff so bad, I was tempted to make a note on the draft “Everyone on staff is now dumber for having read this. I award you no points, and may God have mercy on your soul.”
I have met people who I probably would not have conversed with otherwise.
It is to them that I say these words.
Goodbye Melissa, who introduced me to “Sherlock” for which I will be eternally grateful. (Actually, we’ll see one another at Western, so more like “See you in January.”)
Goodbye Andrew, you always reliable, Wil Wheaton wannabe.
Goodbye Toby, who taught me everything in the world about journalism, except the things she didn’t.
Goodbye, Cutter, my editor, accomplice, and, dare I say…friend.
And goodbye Whatcom. You have talked to me and shared with me, and I can’t tell you how much easier that makes my job.
(Insert profound last sentence here).
