Two hundred fifty-one. One thousand eighteen. Zero-two-nine.
Though these numbers are seemingly meaningless, to me, they are something special. Last year, the journalism room popped 251 bags of popcorn. I took an average of 1,018 pictures at every home football game. And 029 is the room number of a place which I could easily call my home—the journalism room.
I’m not really sure what enticed me to join journalism when I was registering for high school classes my eighth-grade year. In middle school, I was the editor of the newspaper, The Growler, but even though I loved it, it hardly could define my middle school years as journalism now defines my high school ones. I suppose, in hindsight, I could say it was luck, or maybe even fate, but when I walked into Room 029 for the first time, I had no idea what I was getting myself into.
Journalism was easily the hardest of all my elective courses. It was writing intensive and I could hardly keep track of all the law, ethics, and AP Style rules I was expected to memorize. My teacher, Mrs. Blayney, who is now my yearbook advisor, would give us pop quizzes throughout the week about “news” we should be learning to follow: who won “Best Actor” at the Oscars, who was just elected mayor of New York, and which country had an earthquake on Tuesday. It wasn’t easy, but it taught me more than just random facts or news. It taught me about real-world journalism and the impact it has on everyone. I learned how truly crucial it is that America has the freedom of press. During the recent presidential election, I found myself criticizing the media for its coverage of the campaigns; journalism class made me exceptionally more media smart. I also was taught the correct way to write a news story (inverted triangle!) and some of the basic laws of design and layout (never use Comic Sans.)
Most importantly, I learned how important journalism is. I learned that it is one of the only platforms, and certainly the easiest, for United States citizens and Central High Eagles alike to obtain information. I knew it was a burdened job, but I was prepared to take it on. I decided to join yearbook, and not newspaper, sophomore year because it was a challenge. The rules of newspaper are much more stagnant and defined, but every yearbook is a new journey. I wanted to be able to redefine how we covered the school in our yearbook each year.
My first year on staff, my Editor-in-Chief made the decision to make our book chronological, meaning our spreads were created on a week-by-week basis, rather than dedicating one spread solely to volleyball and the other to Quiz Bowl. It was the beginning of a transformation. Our book changed from one where staff members simply had to check off their to-do lists to one where we had to search for stuff to cover. It was a lot more like the investigative journalism which newspaper conducts.
After a couple months on staff my first year, I was asked to create some layouts. In our yearbook, that is a task reserved exclusively for the editors. By the end of sophomore year, I had been published in the book as Executive Editor.
These days, I’m an Editor-in-Chief without an official Exec. I design (from scratch) every spread, delegate all assignments, copy-edit pages, and everything in between. I don’t exclude myself from the grassroots job of taking pictures at tennis matches or freshman choir performances, either. And although my loyalty lies with yearbook, I would do nearly anything for the newspaper as well. I’ve assisted them with layout, infographics, graphic illustrations, cartoons, photography, and even written a few columns here and there. In my three years on staff I’ve won several regional and state awards and assisted the newspaper staff in winning national recognition.
They say that in high school, you find your niche. The people with whom you can sit at lunch, go to football games, walk to classes. The people whose faces you will remember, many years down the road, and with whom memories will still be joyous and prevailing. Thanks to the yearbook, I’d like to say my own niche is documenting the “niches” of everyone else. I can definitely say that I’ve seen my fair share of faces. I’ve had the privilege and the responsibility of making sure that every kid at Central feels like the yearbook includes them and their story.
Being on the yearbook (or the newspaper) hasn’t been easy. Weeding through 1,018 pictures for the perfect touchdown shot is painstakingly tedious. But I’ve been determined, and I’ve spent an excessive amount of time in Room 029 perfecting every last layout, every last crop-job, every last word. I want my peers to be cleaning their attics twenty years from now, dusting off the cover, and laughing and crying at the yearbook.
Editing the yearbook has been the most rewarding activity of my entire high school career. It has helped me discover my own high school niche. The hours I spent in 029 are hours that I will cherish forever. The memories I made there – the mice, the popcorn bags, the inside jokes, the debates over the Oxford Comma – all of these things will remind me of the book I created to remind my peers of their own cherished moments. This has been my niche. This has been my job. To document undyingly the best four years of our lives. And the meaning of that is limitless.
caught in action
My school is over a century old. It was the first high school ever built in my city. Its floors are creaky and the walls are stained. Last year a bond was passed that provided money for the restoration of my school's historic building. Another photographer and I ran outside one day to capture the restoration project in action. My peer caught me in action, too- doing what I love most: journalism.