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A Lesson in Real Life

REFLECTIONS ON A YEAR AT THE DAILY SUN

LOOKING BACK AT MY JUST-COMPLETED term as editor-in-chief of the Daily Sun, I think I have a lot to be proud of. For one thing, the paper's readership has skyrocketed: copies of the Sun now litter the floors of the Libe Café, Collegetown Bagels, the Straight, and just about every other hot spot, on campus or off. This is the happy result of our switch to free distribution last fall. (When I joined the Sun as a lowly staff writer, your best bet for finding a free copy was living in a freshman dorm--or sifting through the wads of newsprint left behind by Ivy Room diners.)

None of us knew if the switch to free distribution would work, so every day for weeks I scampered to our major drop points to see how many people were reading the Sun. I was doing it for my job, of course, but it also turned into a sort of guilty pleasure. I would watch (all right, spy on) students casually reading the paper, to see what sections they were reading, whether they were talking about the content, and how engrossed they seemed to be. I'd be tickled to see someone reading an editorial I'd written the night before or talking about a story whose merits we'd debated.

These moments took on special significance on some occasions-- like October 13, when our new design debuted, or when we announced the suspected "Collegetown Creeper" had been arrested (CREEPER CAUGHT, we announced with tabloid flair).My daily trips to the Straight and the Libe turned into a regular opportunity to gauge campus reaction to our paper. And without exception, that reaction, and my pride in our work, increased week by week.

While it was always a pleasure to see the fruits of our tireless nightly labor at 139 West State Street in the ink-stained fingers of our fellow students, when I really think about my legacy--our legacy as an editorial board--I invariably fixate on where we fell short. It's taken some time to be able to do that. The Sun was no less than my life at Cornell, to the detriment of classwork, social life, sleep, and just about every other aspect of personal fulfillment. Working on the paper was a major in itself, complete with its own social support system and culture. But I think I've earned the right to take a hard look at the institution I love.

I often wonder if, given the chance, we could have done better. For all the times I relished giving hell to the administration-- and sometimes even engaging certain members in energetic shouting matches--did we oppose them on principle, or just for the sake of doing it? When we covered the "Peeping Tom" landlord scandal last semester, did our zeal get the best of us at the expense of the innocent--that is, by printing certain details to inform our readers, did we cause unnecessary harm to people? When we covered a dispute in a student political organization, was it fair to use quotes from a clandestine tape recording? These are the kinds of questions that haunt a journalist late at night.

By now, my insomnia has worn off and I've come to terms with my faults. It was a learning experience, after all: a lesson in real life, taught for free, the enthusiastic encouraged to apply. It's been the most fulfilling part of my education at Cornell so far. But in the end, it all boils down to the reaction among the halfawake procrastinators at the Libe Café. Because the worst thing of all, after an eight-hour night shift followed by two hours of prelim cramming, is a rack full of unread papers.

-- Andy Guess '05

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