For many college students, Sunday is the day of recovery. For me, it’s always been Wednesday.
Not recovery after a long night of drinking and partying, but mental and psychological rebuilding after a traumatizing deadline the night before.
The days I went to bed after the sunrise were rarely after all-night studying or partying. They were the days I went to my car to go home, and professors and administrators were just getting to the parking garage.
They were the Wednesdays when the 11:30 a.m. class was hard to get to, and the 10 a.m. was out of the question.
They were the days that I never had my work done, or at least not done enough.
Four years ago, my Vaughn Center suitemate, a junior, told me I should write for the newspaper.’ I never knew what I was getting myself into, but I’m glad I took his offer.
My first assignment ‘- a soccer game ‘- was thrilling. I had absolutely no idea what I was doing.
Bit by bit, story by story, I picked up some knowledge. I figured out what offside in soccer meant. I understood the thrill of a penalty kick and the hopelessness of that year’s men’s team.
In November, an offer came: assistant sports editor in the spring. It sounded like fun, like something new and interesting. Plus, it was a cool title and I would be sports editor in the fall.
I still had never taken a journalism class and I learned everything I knew from reading newspapers (I used to run to the end of my driveway every summer day since I was 5 years old and pick up the paper so I could read the baseball box scores).
I grew to understand the social network that was The Minaret, and while it was a little different from the fraternity life I was building, it was certainly interesting.
Victor O’Brien, one of the most influential and subtly persuasive people I’ve known, ruined more than the carpet by not wearing shoes around Vaughn 211, he ruined my sense of smell. But he built in me a drive for reporting the news.
Dan Sullivan defined the meaning of quiet persistence, barely speaking a word, yet making an immense impact in writing articles and editorials.
Every week during my sophomore year, with the help of our adviser Charles McKenzie, I added a little more. One week it was headlines. The next week, leads. Soon after that, the ‘rule of thirds’ for photos.
I took a sports writing class with Chris Harry, who covers the Tampa Bay Buccaneers for the Orlando Sentinel.’ The first day, he said, ‘We all know what an inverted pyramid is, so I’ll skip the intro stuff.’
I had no idea what an inverted pyramid was. I didn’t tell him. I’d figure it out.
It turned out to be an amazingly influential class in which I learned how to properly write a complete sports story. Plus, he got me a job as a stringer for the St. Petersburg Times, a job I am still doing off-and-on.
The puzzle of skills started to come together, but the higher ambitions were empty. I wanted to be a three-term sports editor.
‘Well that’s fine,’ Charles told me one day. ‘But that’s like being the first overall draft pick in the MLB and being content to stay at A-ball your whole career.’
He always knew the right way to push us.
So I made a run for editor-in-chief. I was up against some chump from commentary, whose only claim to fame was calling the army a bunch of ‘murderers.’
How could I lose?
I flubbed the interview. I had no plan of action. I had no idea what I was doing. So I was set for another year of apprenticeship, this time to Steve Knauss, who will someday be on TV with the subtitle ‘Commie Pinko.’
Early in my junior year, I figured out that we had a phone in the office, and that phone had voicemail. After a few weeks of deciphering how to get the messages, I called someone back about an advertisement they wanted to place.
I had no idea what I was doing, but I gave it a shot. We ended the year with $30,000 in advertising income when we were expecting $3,000.
I spent most of the spring semester of 2008 working on a single story, an investigation into a serious problem at all college campuses ‘- sexual assault.
The point wasn’t to embarrass anyone. The point wasn’t to sensationalize and scare readers about sexual assault. The point was to educate and to inform about this serious problem.
If we kept one woman or man safe from an unwanted sexual encounter, then I feel that the countless hours spent on that 12-page special issue were worth every second.
I took everything I learned from two years of Victor (a.k.a. the Victator) and melded it with the liberal ranting of Steve and set goals for my editorship for my senior year.
I wanted the staff to grow. We had about eight people when I started as a freshman. After a semester, we had more than 100 contributors.
I had a commitment to the news. The hard news more so than the soft news, but news nonetheless.
In December, Mary Grace Arrabal entered my life. I hope she finds this in 20, 30, 40 years and reads it. You’re beautiful now and you always will be, Mary, and I’ll always be waiting with a loving smile, a hug and a kiss for you, no matter what. Though the pages this is printed on may fade and turn yellow, your spot in my heart will always be bright. I promise.
And now we’re here. I’ve summed up four years and hundreds of articles, interviews, photos and angry e-mails sent to me in a few hundred words.
This wasn’t my path when I came to the University of Tampa. Biologists don’t often end up writing about a newspaper adviser getting fired.
My thinking all along was the better myself, bit by bit, and to learn a new skill at every turn.’ Writing, leadership, editing, photography and so much more.
There are many people to thank, too many than could ever be printed. Victor and Steve were fantastic leaders who taught me so much and filled in the gaps between what I knew and what I thought I knew.
Charles McKenzie is the perfect newspaper adviser. He’s someone who will answer your phone call at 4 a.m. in the middle of July because you have a story idea. He’s someone who is more than a professor or an adviser; I think everyone he has encountered at The Minaret will say that he is a true friend and a comrade in journalism.
It hurts to know that he won’t be back next year. He is an extraordinary leader and teacher, and exemplifies all that was positive about my UT experience.
There are a few other professors who have earned my deep, heartfelt thanks and appreciation.
Dr. Steve Kucera, who is too good of a professor to be stuck doing administrative work, will break the bonds of the dean’s office next semester and return to teaching, where he provided the most valuable instructions I’ve ever received.
Dr. Kucera is the most student-centered administrator at this university and his class was one that was truly a pleasure to go through. If you take a class with him, and all else fails, just write down three-prime hydroxyl. It’s probably right.
Dr. Anne Stockdell-Giesler, who broke our hearts when she left for health reasons, taught me more about persuasion in two semesters than I thought possible. I rarely lose an argument thanks to you, Dr. SG, and the art of rhetoric is alive in the way I lead The Minaret every day.
Dr. Rebecca Bellone was an excellent academic adviser who always had my interests at heart and helped me when I needed it most. Your tests always drove me nuts, not because they were hard (which they definitely were), but because they had the occasional spelling error. At least, that’s my excuse.
Stephanie Russell Holz is the perfect head of the Office of Student Leade
rship and Engagement. A true student advocate, she has answered every question I could possibly had, and more.
‘ I owe an immense debt of gratitude to my friends, my Sigma Chi brothers, my family, my girlfriend and everyone else who has helped me out.
I don’t think I’ve ever made a decision without consulting with someone else, and I am eternally grateful to those who have provided guidance and assistance throughout my time here.
I am especially proud to know Jonathan Howard, my former roommate, who has always provided a unique and open-minded look at things. He’s been there during down days and he’s been there to take a beating in darts from me.
My family is the greatest thing in the whole world. My sisters, my parents, my cousins, my grandparents, aunts and uncles are all the most important people I will ever know.
And so, life goes on. Jobs, school, family, maybe some unemployment, I don’t know. I somehow managed to win every journalism award, but am graduating with a degree in biology. I am honored that at least nine of my friends, coworkers, professors and editors nominated me for the UWIRE 100. Truly, thank you all.
I can’t wait to read The Minaret each week online, as the newspaper breaks new barriers and norms in the world of Journalism 2.0.
Charlie Hambos is an excellent leader who will push the staff to maintain its commitment to informing the UT community of campus happenings.
He has more experience coming into this job than I did, and I’m sure he’ll do a better job than I have.
The rest of the staff is filled with talented, dedicated individuals who will bring home new awards for The Minaret and make the campus a better place.
I’ll still go nuts every time I see someone capitalize the ‘u’ in university, as in, ‘I don’t think the University would like that.’
I’ll still die a little bit inside when people insist on capitalizing the T in the University of Tampa, since we call it UT, not TUT.
I need one week where a Tuesday can end at a normal hour. I need one Wednesday when I won’t wake up so late that lunch isn’t even an option.
But after that, I’ll miss this. I’ll miss sweating after the A/C turns off at midnight. I’ll miss the mounds of pizza boxes and the buckets of frozen yogurt.
I’ll miss the thrill of getting the scoop on a story, of beating the St. Pete Times or the Tampa Tribune to the punch.
Most of all, I’ll miss the people. I knew when I came here, 1,000 miles from home, that I would someday leave behind a cohort of friends, but I’m still not prepared for it.
Writing has taken me places I never thought possible.
I would never have imagined myself in the Bucs locker room minutes after a come-from-behind effort capped with a last-second field goal.
I never saw myself having an impact.
I’ll miss you all.
Just please, let me sleep on Wednesdays.
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