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Editor concludes five-year career with gratitude, memories
PAULA LAVIGNE is a
graduating senior news
editorial major and the
Daily Nebraskan editor.
I don’t remember who fought
the Peloponnesian Wars. I don’t
remember orographic lift. I don’t
remember how to conjugate
Spanish subjunctive verbs.
But I will never forget how the
chocolate cake smeared on my edi
tor’s face ended up on my dining
room wall.
And every holiday season
reminds me of Steve, the
Christmas tree that my roommate
and I abandoned on a stagecoach
headed west on East Campus.
I’m sure those recollections are
not going to help me in
“Jeopardy!” but I wouldn’t trade
those memories for all the term
papers in the world.
In keeping witn the tradition of
many editors before me, I want to
use my last words in the Daily
Nebraskan to reflect on my memo
ries and lessons at UNL, and to
thank the people who made them
possible.
First of all, I wouldn’t have got
ten to UNL without the person who
helped me carry 100 pounds of
clothes up 10 floors in Abel
Residence Hall.
She’s made a million sacrifices
for me and hasn’t asked for much
except to help her mow the lawn.
She’s the person to whom I owe
the most but probably thank the
least. For the money, groceries,
moving boxes and moral support,
thanks, Mom. I hope I made you
proud.
More fond memories of home
are the two friends I’ve kept
through college. To Julie Sutton
and Damien Stednitz, thanks for
providing a little sanity outside the
University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
At UNL, before I even set foot
in a classroom, I had my hands on a
story assignment for the Daily
Nebraskan.
ir was a moving account oi the
Plant Variety Protection Act
Amendment of 1993. I’m sure you
all remember.
Yes, like all freshman reporters,
I had to write some boring stories
that if left near an open flame
would be dry enough to create a
fire hazard.
Sometimes I had a little fun. I
put on a bee suit and stuck my
shaking arm into the hives on East
Campus. I drilled Newt Gingrich
on education-funding during his
flag-waving visit to Boys Town. I
was humiliated in a racquetball
game with former Chancellor
Graham Spanier. I even inter
viewed a squirrel.
I had some zany ideas, but most
of my editors put up with them.
Remember the chocolate cake?
That was Jeff Zeleny. As an editor
and reporter he pushed me to be a
better journalist, and he reminded
me that there is a reason for where
we end up - because that’s where
we’re supposed to be.
I guess I was supposed to be at
UNL, where I could meet great
people like my aforementioned
roommate Brian Sharp, who
helped ditch the Christmas tree.
There are other great people
here I’ve been happy to work with.
When I was on news desk, I
remember a young crop of
reporters who didn’t care if they
had to write profiles on geese and
garbage collection. They were just
happy to be published.
Now, a Page One story is just
old news to them. To Brian
Carlson, Lindsay Young, Josh
Funk, Sarah (my favorite alien
prodigy) Baker, leva Augstums,
Brad Davis, Jessica Fargen and all
the others, good luck in your very
promising futures.
They didn’t have to put up with
me as much as did Doug Kouma,
whom I must thank for not taking
my mad fits with a pica pole per
sonally.
For all the staffers who worked
with me in this year of transition,
thanks. I owe a Milwaukee’s best to
Chad Lorenz, a potato head to
Dave “The Fiddler” Wilson in
Idaho, and a visit to the trailer park
for Erin Schulte in Little Rock.
And to Sparky, I owe a kick in the
ass - out of respect, of course. And,
Ted Taylor, you can have all my
forks.
To Erin Gibson, who will be in
the driver’s seat next year, keep
your seat belt buckled. You will
retain the respect you have worked
hard to earn.
My days at the Daily Nebraskan
also remind me of missed classes,
close deadlines, skipped Saturday
morning cartoons in favor of exhil
arating NU Board of Regents
meetings and waiting for the next
UNL scandal to break (and wait
ing, and waiting, and waiting...).
I also fondly remember waiting
for UNL administrators who never
called me back and finally getting
a call from Phyllis Larsen to apolo
gize on their behalf.
The good part of the university
hierarchy was the professors, espe
cially in the J-School or, as we
experienced it, SlAvery Hall.
I will always treasure the fond
memories of the grizzled, Santa
Claus paradox that is Uncle Buddie
— as fine as aged cheese. And to
the never-ending affirmations of
George Tuck and my lingering fear
of trapped white space. And to
Charlyne Berens, for giving the
place a little class in the glare of all
that baldness, I offer my gratitude.
The first impression the J
School made on me was by the late
Dick Streckfuss, who taught me
the most important question, “Who
cares?” For the many people who
cared about him, he will not be for
gotten.
And I can’t forget the profes
sors from the political science
department. Someday I may be a
graduate student in international
relations if I ever feel the urge to
rule the world.
Because of Bill Avery, any
future home of mine will have a
bomb shelter. And I can use coer
cive diplomacy to “amaze my
friends and foil my enemies”
thanks to Valerie Schwebach.
Though the professors made
life challenging, the real reason
anyone goes to this prairie univer
sity is to paint their bodies red and
spend every fall Saturday in a
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2,000- or 20-degree stadium.
Last semester, I remember sit
ting in the back room of the Daily
Nebraskan with a few other
staffers piecing together Dr. Tom’s
vague reference that he would
retire when the heavenly bodies are
all aligned. We pondered.
Then someone dashed to the
phone to confirm with as astrono
my professor that a planetary phe
nomenon actually was happening -
and the sky would soon fall on the
state of Nebraska.
Osborne’s 25 years as head
coach is longer than my current life
span, but that’s not what I’m thank
ing him for. I’m thanking him for
putting into practice the ideal of
this state.
Some of my best memories are
from the Saturday afternoons in
Memorial Stadium looking out on
that sea of red and realizing how
big Nebraska really can be. I was
lucky to see Osborne’s last game,
the Orange Bowl in Miami, where
that same sea of red poured into the
stadium like a tidal wave.
I was born and reared a Husker
faithful - even have the little red
pompons to prove it. And the clos
er I get to leaving the capital city,
the more I realize how the state
identifies itself with integrity and
pride.
Pride in the Huskers, in being
the No. 1. Pride in our Midwestern
values. Pride in being a Nebraskan
before you’re an American
(because everyone else in America
thinks we’re a bunch of hicks).
Yeah, we have weird weather,
but we live in a beautiful state with
a lot of character and many good
people. I take pride in that.
For me, that pride turned into
individual pride. And for that, I
will always be thankful.
As much as I like Nebraska,
though, Gov. Ben Nelson will be
sad to hear that I’m leaving to pur
sue my career.
Yes, the job market will force
me to leave the Husker faithful.
However, one of the lessons I
learned during the past five years
is that as much passion as you may
have for your field of study, you
need to have a life outside of it.
The one thing I regret is spend
ing so much time in the basement
of the union that I didn’t get to
attend all the speakers, functions
and mini-festivals at the university.
You must learn this: Job does
not equal Life.
I’ve made a decision to prevent
that equation in the future - and it
has its bonuses.
Jim Sullivan, this wonderful
young man from Maryland, asked
me to marry him a few months ago,
and I said yes. The soon-to-be Army
lieutenant and I are sure to be ho
ping around the globe, but I’m sure
there will be a good metro newspa
per nearby so I won’t end up writing
obits for Small Town Times.
Wherever we go, he’s worth it.
It took me a long time to figure
out what is worth it and what isn’t.
A good indication to that is to
find out what things, people or
events make you happy. Then
remember those things, as I have
here, and learn from them.
And always remember to say
thanks.
That’s the frosting on the
chocolate cake.