My heart will go on (A letter from the editor)

I’m typing at the Opinion desk of the Indiana Daily Student one last time.

When I first ventured into this place during finals week last semester, I had little idea who anyone was and what exactly went on behind the scenes of the IDS to make it a readable thing.

Last semester I was a mere biweekly columnist who could barely remember to write his columns by deadline.

Now, at the end of my junior year, I’m a mere Opinion editor who can barely remember to copy edit columns and design pages by deadline.

I started writing for Opinion in fall 2011. I kicked things off with a controversial piece about sexual inequality and then ended the semester with a terrible guide to throwing parties.

Clearly, I needed someone to keep me on track.

That someone was none other than Francisco Tirado, who I would come to care about more than I could’ve imagined.

I don’t want to spend the majority of the column gushing about Fran — this column is about me — but I think 50 or so words will do the trick.

He helped me stay on target when I started to spin out of control. He baked me cookies and muffins when all hope seemed lost. He scoured the Internet for new Justin Bieber photos and videos with me. He took over when I was down and out.

Fran is the Rose to my Jack. He’s a survivor. That’s enough about him. Let’s get back to me.

I think most farewell columns include magical memories. My favorite memories took place in backshop, that sacred space tucked behind the newsroom, where our daily newspaper is designed by some of the best people in the building.

The Opinion desk enjoys the weird privilege of designing its own pages, so I spent most of my time on the job sweating away over pages that looked exciting one in every 10 issues.

Backshop is where we sang “Drops of Jupiter” and “Call Me Maybe” almost every day. Backshop is where I bonded the most with the staff. Backshop is where I did my best work.

This is work. Sometimes it’s down-to-the-wire work.

I’ll always remember the night Fran and I forgot about one of our two pages until an hour before the paper went to press. I didn’t even have time to change out of my pajamas before blowing red lights and cranking content through copy and onto the page (with a little help from my friends).

It’s important to mention that with a little help from my friends is how I did this job.
I worked with a truly invigorating staff of columnists and illustrators, all of whom impressed me in their own right.

I can only hope I impressed them, too. Their opinions are the ones I care about. Being an editor was all about learning to care about myself, my work and my employees. I’m lucky to have had this chance.

I’m also lucky I’ll be sticking around as the IDS Weekend editor in the summer and fall. You haven’t read the last of me.

Some parting words: Readers, sorry I’m not sorry. Editors, thanks for tolerating our antics and deadline breaking. Friends, thanks for listening to me complain about this job. Fam, you da best.

Since my customary farewell would appear oddly out of place in print, I shall simply say: Take care.

­— ptbeane@indiana.edu