Every Thursday afternoon, the old newspapers in their stacks all around campus vanish and new ones appear like magic. What you don’t know is what happens the night before. For the Chiefs, Managing Editors, News & Features Editors and the all-important Copy Editors (disclaimer: one of them is me), Wednesday nights are a different world.
Wednesdays are production nights at The News-Letter. It’s one of the few days of the week that the little building on the edge of campus, the Gatehouse, has its lights on.
Here’s a little glimpse into our Wednesdays.
It begins:
Production works in a weird sort of assembly line. Section editors finish their pages, after which Copy Editors go through them and read or edit all the articles. Managing Editors then deal with literally everything else on the page, after which the Chiefs edit again, approve the page and turn it into a PDF. Seems easy enough, right?
Except while trying to keep track of who’s on what page via our totally simple and not at all complicated series of symbols written on a whiteboard, we lose markers. I don’t exaggerate when I say the Gatehouse is the void where all whiteboard markers come to die, because once lost, a marker will never be found again.
How often do we lose a marker? Every 27 minutes, according to my most recent estimate.
Chief Will Anderson:
The Chiefs’ room is in a littler corner of our little building, and every so often, we hear the word “CAPITALISM!!!” screamed hysterically from it. This is Will Anderson — backwards baseball cap, dad clothes, crazed glint in the eye and the reason markers go missing.
As frequently as every 15 minutes, this human will exit his tiny alcove, enter the living room-like area, screech “REEEEEAA” like a guinea pig and then retreat back to the Chiefs’ room, his crazy eyes still flashing.
Tripping:
No, we’re not doing drugs, as much as it may seem like we are. Our power outlets just happen to be in one corner of the room, so extension cords stretch across the entire floor. If people still have enough energy to be running around, disaster often follows. Laptops fall. People fall. I laugh (except when it’s me, which it very often is).
The revenge of Copy:
The Copy couch is where (surprise, surprise) the Copy Editors sit. The hour before dinner is eaten, you’ll hear, “You know who we should murder next?” wafting from our dilapidated but glorious couch. You see, we hate everybody. We’re the cynics of The News-Letter.
We will threaten to kill for grammar. Should you forget a comma or misuse a semicolon, our mascot, the Copy Frog, will find you... and probably ribbit menacingly for a minute before hopping back onto the comfort of the couch.
After a series of frustrated screams heard from our couch, someone will suggest going to get dinner. We hear angels sing. Dinner. Yes. Food > People.
The good things in life — coffee and middle-school music:
When The News-Letter gets caffeinated, we do it right. We go out to the 7/11 in large packs and stock up on various colorful forms of sugar (I mean candy, the terrible 7/11 candy) and large coffees to carry us through the next few hours. Back in the Gatehouse, you can find DJ KitKatPalm (aka Cat Palmer, managing editor and Gilmore Girls enthusiast) playing music that can only be described as eighth grader-worthy.
The wall:
The wall is a special place, reserved only for those who say the most outrageous, inappropriate things. Such things are usually said after midnight. Some examples include “I will flay your sperm” or “the ball squirted into the endzone.”
‘Nuff said.
Humans dangling from things:
When the going gets tough... Dangle from the ladder leading up to the attic? As much sense as this doesn’t make, this is what News & Features Editor and author of our beloved Irrelevant History column Rollin Hu does. Meanwhile you might hear bad “Rollin’ in the Deep” puns (usually from me).
The loss of names:
At some point during the night, you stop hearing names being calling out. People are simply referred to by their title. Cries of “MANAGING!,” “CHIEFS!,” “NEWS!” and “COPY!” ring through the Gatehouse. Of course, nobody listens the first time they’re called on.
Ultimately, the delirious craze that is Wednesday night is all worth it when we see the finished copies on Thursday afternoon.
