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Two week notice

I joked with the newspaper adviser last week that I was giving him my two week notice. Of course, there were only two weeks of daily production left. Now, we’re down to one week of production/regular classes and then exam week.

Although I will certainly be breathing a big sigh of relief Thursday night around midnight when we send our final page of the semester, I know more than most Stater editors how little that can mean. I’ll still be on guard for unexpected news the following week and ready to pounce with stories on the Web. The naming of a new president last spring caught us off guard, but we pulled off two special sections to break the news. Now, we’re seasoned pros at responding to the unexpected — as much as 21 year olds can be seasoned at anything.

But even then, after the Friday two weeks from today, I will leave my baby in the capable hands of another person, a person I’ve essentially trained. I will cease to be responsible in any way for the paper I’ve practically lived for nearly every day during the last three years. The newsroom will no longer be my second, or in many cases first, home. And by this time next year or the following year, mail poring in from companies with out-of-date listings will give pause to whomever is editor. He or she will do as I do when I come across a piece of mail addressed to my former editors: reminisce and wonder “whatever happened to…” And the Stater, or whatever it has come to be in its new converged newsroom, will go on. I will be a footnote to a footnote in its history. But, let me say, as far as footnotes go, it was one hell of a story.

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