Personal Essay
There is a room at the back of a hall. U120. And for the past four years, it’s been my home.
Five octagonal tables, each crowded with six computers are situated around the rectangular room. Sports. Opinions. Features. A fish tank gurgling on the back counter houses Typo, our beta fish and mascot. It’s a typical 4A class period, as I pass from Staffer to Staffer, switching angles and suggestion styles as I pass by, but never rushing. I could navigate this room blindfolded nowadays, almost at the end of my senior and final year as Editor-In-Chief of The Grandview Chronicle, but I still remember the first day I ever set foot over its threshold.
My first day of high school I was lost, literally and mentally. But this anxiety was tramped when I found My Intro to Journalism class, with a smiling Mr. Varca awaiting the nervous flock of new students.
I began to write and fell in love with the art of storytelling and journalism. With a few simple questions someone can reveal their greatest achievement, their hopes and dreams, or their darkest fears. Yet, I still struggled with pushing myself outside of my comfort zones, being willing to speak to strangers, and for my first story I only interviewed friends. After completing that semester long class, covering artistic motivations to our school musical, I was hooked. And I knew my next stop, The Chronicle.
So, I registered, looking forward to next year. And COVID-19 hit weeks later.
I entered U120 for my sophomore year entering a completely foreign environment. Masks, a cohorted class schedule, and a small staff of only eight people in my section. But that soon became our strength. I bonded quickly with my cohort editor, Dibo, and we became fast friends. I continued to push myself with my writing as well. I was in with the big dogs now. This year I covered a variety of topics from Unified Athletics, 2020 election results, to two girls fighting for free access to period products in our school bathrooms. No longer could rely I rely on my friends. My confidence slowly began to build the more that I wrote. My angles became more creative, and I pushed myself to the best of my capabilities. Slowly, a thought had begun to sing in the back of my mind during the beginning of second semester – maybe I could be an editor too.
An invitation from Dibo was all it took to apply. So, I registered, interviewed, and was accepted.
I entered U120 for my junior year more confident in my skin than I ever had been in the Pub Room. I was handed the Opinions Section, and for the first time in two years we had a normal sized staff, no cohorts and zoom meetings. And no longer was I simply writing. I was editing, suggesting to others what could be improved within their writing. I was teaching as well, leading the class in brainstorming, planning teambuilding activities, posting on the website, and above all else, bonding with my staff.
It was here that my flame of passion for The Chronicle burst into a fully-fledged inferno.
I soon became enthralled with helping my students. I was always working to improve my teaching. Asking myself if there was a better way I could teach formatting, wondering how better I could format my Google comments that marked my edits. I worked to improve my writing as well. I was no longer afraid to argue my own opinions in my editorials, wasn’t afraid to cold-call people for an interview. I was beginning to come into my own. My voice.
I also picked up a camera half-way through this year as well. I soon began addicted to the clicking of a fast-rate shutter speed. Pushing myself to adjust my angles, bend a little lower, lay down on my stomach, climb to the top of the bleachers, make my way to the sidelines, all for the opportunity to better my pictures.
At the beginning of this year, I entered U120 on the first day of my final year. Editor-In-Chief too. And to say I had high goals for this was an understatement. I helped to reestablish our manager system, with five amazing writers overseeing each department. I got to know each of the staff members personally from the first day this year, especially as we welcome twelve nervous freshmen in on the first day of school. And as I looked out at them, I couldn’t help but catch a glimpse of my freshman-year self, scared to even reach out to people.
So, I taught. I organized our entire first semester, planned lessons, made PowerPoints, created new rubrics, created brainstorming sheets, scheduled events coverage, all with that image of new writers in the back of my mind. I wanted to be to them what Mr. Varca was to me my freshman year: a mentor, an advisor, someone who could answer any question, and above all else, a friend.
I have had the joy of watching each of my staff members blossom into fantastic writers this year as they have found their place on staff and discovered a passion for storytelling. The veterans have assisted the freshman, and I exit each day with a smile plastered on my face. We have been able to produce pieces covering everything this year from the passing of a teacher to sports recaps and stories that have opened pathways for discussions. And above all, our culture has remained. Our staff is strong, and the U120 that I walked into my freshman year stands even stronger four years later.
There is a room at the back of a hall. U120. It has been my home for the past four years, but soon I must leave to study journalism at Mizzou. But I won’t truly be gone. I will carry the lessons each of my staff members has taught me. I will remember their joy at seeing a story click for the first time, or the unbashful pride they saw when their name was displayed on the website’s banner.
As I work towards my future goals as I pursue journalism professionally, I will never forget my time on The Chronicle. I couldn’t have asked for a better staff, a better manager and editorial staff, or a better advisor. And above all I will remember that freshman, too scared to interview other people, who found a burning passion for storytelling.
A flame that will remain every strong as I leave my home at the end of the year. U120.