I ran a newspaper

I ran a newspaper.

That still gives me pause.

People tell me to "get a life." So I did. I got a job that makes observing life its chief mission. Journalists get sent to examine people's lives, often a different person every day. It matters little what service they provide to readers -- the greatest service they provide is to themselves. Examine life in all its extremes and make sense of what you see and hear, and you become better, more informed human beings. There is no better way to live an examined life than covering the Apple Cup one day and going to Eastern Washington to see how impoverished, migrant apple-pickers live the next. You live among the rich and the poor and those who pretend to be both. You witness the struggles of courageous people and cringe at the sight of cowards.

I love life because I live the life of many people. Some are interesting, some are dreadful.

I thank heavens for journalism, though managing journalists is very different. I have, for the past quarter, lived vicariously through the lives of my reporters and photographers. I have become nocturnal because my job ends everyday at midnight (or beyond). The sun never rises for me; I only see it set. I've become abnormal.

However, I don't regret a thing. I am happy with the job I've done -- not because I have given a good product to my readers or helped the public make decisions -- but because I have forced myself to make sense of the experiences I have had. I can only be responsible for myself, and I have finally learned to take responsibility for myself. I am a better person because of it. I will live a journalistic life from now on, even if I'm not a reporter. I am convinced that the responsible way to live is to listen to as many people as possible, see as many things as I could.

There are many things wrong with journalism. Reporting is competitive -- too much so. The process is hasty and stressful; deadline is a word only fit to describe the impending end of the world. The weight of the pressure that this business heaps on me made me a surly bully: I cussed, I intimated, I made sure I won every argument.

It didn't have to be that way, and I will dedicate my life to finding a happier way to accomplish things. I thank my staff for understanding. I don't know if I've taught them any valuable skills or made them better journalists; I doubt I have made them happier women and men. I do know that I am leaving this job a searching man, and when and if I find answers, I will be a happy man as well. I don't regret the past four years because I am selfish and I probably have gotten more experiences and knowledge than I have given.

I hope the thanks that I give here to my readers and my staff will redeem me a little.

I must confess that I didn't really run a newspaper this quarter; Randy Trick did. Thank him for his service; blame him, not me, for all that went wrong.

I was forced to hire Ken Michelson as my photo editor because I had no one else to take the job. He's a freshman. "Kill me now," I told myself before the quarter started. "Kill me now," I say today, out of shame -- he's done so well he made my stint as photo editor look amateurish. Watch him run the Agence France-Presse one day.

Joe Nicholson is my best friend and my role model. I'll never be as courageous as he, but I try. I'll never be as wise as Jason Sykes is, but I act like I am. I'll never be able to stand living with Jason Sykes for long periods of time, but Elizabeth Tutmarc might have to try someday. Poor Elizabeth.

Alex and Webster are also wiser than I am and will run this paper much better than I did. Let's just hope they run a paper better than they play softball.

Kristen Henderson saw in me the potential to be a good photo editor (when I didn't know what they meant until I saw Ken at work; I never really observed Joe as a photo editor but he would've put me to shame as well) and left me with the most organized infrastructure I've ever witnessed at The Daily. With my mediocre abilities I wouldn't be able to do this job without her achievements and her advice. She amazes me.

Nathan Fowler also made my arts editorship look crude. And that's not even his expertise. He's a news writer.

I'm supposed to be the last eye that sees the paper. I'm not. Abe Bennett is the true guardian to The Daily.

Marie Tutko stepped up when I had no one. She put together a stellar graduation edition. She wouldn't be able to do it (if I can speak for her) without Mark Santschi. Sports couldn't have survived without Jon Saperstein or Matt Chernicoff (if I can speak for Alex).

Speaking of awards, our photo staff will win a lot. It should. Jenny Buchanan, Brian Stryker, Chris Jordan, Ben Spatz, James Ramsay, David Yamamoto -- look for their names.

Azure DeMeules and Shaun Tungseth are going to win some big design awards. Ball State is going down.

Good luck, David Nordmark and Jonathan Charnitski.

Thank you, Oren Campbell. Can you be my dad?

And to all the editors, writers, photographers, copy editors, designers, friends, classmates and professors (Phillip Thurtle, can you be my dad, too?), I have had the honor to meet: See ya! Can I finally graduate now?

I would still like to live at The Daily, though. I'll pay rent.