Senior Column: Sunrise with Spec

Back in August 2007, an awkward 17-year-old sat on a pile of boxes in a chalked-out square on Broadway. It’s hard for me to recognize her now.

Since then, I’ve been on a conference call with Barack Obama and a yacht with Tommy Hilfiger, interviewed a homeless man who lays flowers daily on the “Imagine” mosaic in Central Park, ridden every subway line on a single MetroCard swipe, walked from Inwood to Battery Park, spent a night at an impound lot off the West Side Highway, and joined the Coney Island Polar Bear Plunge.

When I got out of the 40-degree water, I called the editor who had assigned the story and informed him, teeth chattering, that I hated him. His response: “Wait, you actually did that?”

The naiveté didn’t last long. By my second semester I had fallen, completely by accident, into the Manhattanville beat. It started innocently enough, with a light feature on Floridita owner Ramon Diaz. But a month later, I found myself in his office, rifling through canceled rent checks and trying to piece together a dispute between him and Columbia, which I ended up covering for the better part of three years.

Then I started reporting on eminent domain. I didn’t even know what the term meant before 2008, but that beat became my baby. I wrote about it so much that, by junior year, I could regurgitate three paragraphs of background in a minute and reel off a dozen sources’ cell numbers. I followed the legal battle through the New York State Supreme Court and the Court of Appeals. All of a sudden, that girl from August 2007—now 19 and a little less awkward—was writing 2,000-word analyses on property law precedent and dropping everything for breaking news.

On Dec. 3, 2009, I woke up to a phone call from Diaz, who told me in a fit of excitement that the state Supreme Court had just ruled against eminent domain. I tabled my colloquium research paper for yet another day (any Speccie who’s covered Manhattanville knows news always breaks near finals) and had a story online within the hour—before the New York Times.

If I had one “holy shit, I’m a real reporter” moment, that was it.

A month later, I joined the 134th managing board as head copy editor and gained a whole new slew of unforgettable moments, like falling backward over chairs and seeing K4 translate articles into runes. It was damn hard at first to balance five nights at Spec, 17 credits, and 10 hours of work-study, but it became a routine: up at 10, class/work until 7:30, dinner en route to the office, home by midnight, work until 5.

When it ended after two absurd days in the office interviewing our successors and coining “FU” jokes, far from being relieved, I was devastated. On the last night, the MB gathered to talk about what Spec had meant to us. Most of us cried. Later, we sat in complete silence as the year trickled away.

I’ve spent most of college at Spec. I celebrated my 19th, 20th, and 21st birthdays there, finished a dozen papers there, and wrote and edited hundreds of articles there. Sure, I made friends elsewhere, including my boyfriend, but I didn’t feel like he really knew me until he’d seen me spend 15 straight hours in the office, surrounded by empty Diet Coke cans and Chipotle bags.

A lot of Speccies talk about how much they gave away in grades and sleep, but that’s not how I remember it. I remember the friendships I made while sitting under fluorescent lights, frantically pulling together breaking news, editing thousands of words only for K4 to crash at the end, and catching tiny mistakes on printouts as the sun rose. Maybe I forfeited the “normal” college experience, but why is that bad?

Every time I read a Manhattanville article now, I feel a little twinge because I didn’t write it—because I’m not part of that world of adrenaline and all-hours camaraderie anymore. But I was, and that was worth everything I gave up.

To the unforgettable Speccies who were part of it with me (I can’t list everyone—blame the word count—but you know who you are, and I love you):

Alix: The only other 2011 newsie who stuck it out through 134. We ranted a lot (remember, committing murder within our coverage area is for days when we’re really low on content), but I know neither of us wanted it to end.

Sam: My co-city deputy and the best-ever Speccie at lightening the mood in the office at 4 a.m.

Alix, Lydia, Mary, and Scott: I kept all of your end-of-night emails. Thanks for reminding me why we put up with last-minute wiki panics and 5 a.m. printouts.

Ben: I’m sorry for yelling at you freshman year—but hey, remember that time we PDFed at midnight?!

Akhil: Long live the anti-possessive-plurals squad. And I’m expecting that email on June 1.

Copy: You guys made every single night as HCE worth it. I’ll consider myself lucky if I ever have quite that much fun again.

134: I love you. And I won’t forget to write my segue on the door on my way out.

The author is a Barnard College senior majoring in political science. She is a former Spectator head copy editor, deputy news editor, and associate news editor.