In less than 24 hours, our time at _The Phillipian_ will end. CXXXVI will take the reins, and CXXXV will emerge from the littered sanctum of the newsroom for the last time.
Freshly appointed as editors this time last year, we debated covering the appearance of a new traffic light on Main Street as we brainstormed for our very first issue.
Though that first discovery turned out not to be a news story, we found many others to fill the pages of _The Phillipian_. In 13 rapid months, scrambling to fill our first 12 pages of newsprint evolved into finalizing the last inches of column space on the final page of our 29th issue.
Over the past 16 months, we’ve said goodbye to a Head of School, welcomed a new one, protested a change to the curriculum, deciphered affidavits from the U.S. Attorneys’ Office, served as a forum for a student call for divestment and have spent more time in a subterranean room in Morse than we ever expected. We’ve had the chance to examine Andover from perspectives we never would have otherwise, and we’re thankful for it.
But now, as difficult as it may be, it’s time for us to move on. Our part of the journey, our time writing the stories and shaping the paper, is up. CXXXVI has learned all that we can teach them; it’s their turn now. We overhear a new writer celebrating a perfect lede and see our associates hotly debate the selection of lead photo, and we realize that the satisfaction of seeing our own articles in the paper every Friday has been replaced with pride at seeing CXXXVI and our writers do what we did, once upon a time.
As we leave, we’re forced to face the question that we’ve subconsciously, but intentionally, dodged for so long: why did we do what we did? Why did we care whether that headline was perfectly aligned between the picture and text? Why voluntarily spend every free minute we had in the basement of Morse, working ourselves to the bone for a publication that is, admittedly, just a high school newspaper?
Because to us, it wasn’t.
In the haze of caffeine-fueled sleeplessness, in the darkest moments of Upper Spring and Senior Fall, when the mountains of work seemed insurmountable, and surviving—let alone succeeding—seemed impossible, the paper was our anchor. We descended those 15 steps to the basement, and anxiety over GPAs and history papers gave way to photo captions, editorial discussions and the companionship of our fellow cave-dwellers.
This basement room was what we lived for. It was a bright spot in a year that was, at times, unbearably dark. Every week, when we returned to the room in the basement of Morse, it seemed exactly the same: the newspapers sprawled across the tables, the deep smell of coffee kept warm too long sitting heavy in the air, familiar faces squinting at computer screens. But when we compare this newsroom today, on the last day of our board’s paper, to the newsroom we saw before, we realize we are no longer the people we were then.
Hailing from different corners of campus, we were united by _The Phillipian_. In the pages of CXXXV, we forged friendships that defined our Andover experience and crafted memories that will stay with us long after we walk down the Vista in June.
That flashing light by the Bell Tower is still not a news story (and never will be).
But to us, it was far more than a light.
_This Editorial represents the views of _The Phillipian _Senior Editorial Board CXXXV._
