Graphic by Jada Gangazha and Reece Butler.
REECE BUTLER | MANAGING EDITOR | rmbutler@butler.edu
It is in no way hyperbolic when I say that The Butler Collegian has brought me some of the best and worst moments of my life.
As I sat down to write this piece, I thought about naming some of them. Ultimately, I decided that was too sappy, vulnerable and triggering to warrant making print. So, I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it.
During my time here, I have written and contributed to roughly 30 pieces, not including the countless graphics I’ve sketched and headlines I’ve brainstormed on many a Tuesday night. I am proudly the second winner of the esteemed N.O.S.C.P.D.M. award — a completely made-up accomplishment given to anyone who produces content for each section of the Collegian. Junior year, I was even known as the editor who felt the need to scream the name of their section every Monday night, regardless of the fact that the Opinion columnists always waited in Holcomb’s lobby and did not whatsoever benefit from my screeching.
Over the past five semesters, I have bashed the university, mass-produced fluff pieces, shamelessly plugged whoever I wanted and even dabbled in journalism. Yet, despite my obvious and numerous achievements, I, too, started from humble beginnings.
I was a month away from my first year of college when a high school friend, Irvington suitemate and current Collegian photographer asked me if I was applying to the paper. Younger me — who notably correctly predicted both of my fields of study and my alma mater — would have jumped at the chance to be a reporter. 18-year-old me, on the other hand, had long since given up on writing anything unbiased. The mere thought of regurgitating a play-by-play of something that had already happened felt excruciatingly limiting … no offense.
Imagine then the surprise I felt as I sat face-to-face with former Editor-in-Chief Ellie Allen outside of Starbucks after sending an application and a follow-up email begging to be considered for the role of opinion columnist. I was frightened, unqualified and inexplicably dressed in a crop top. She hired me on the spot.
That first year, after showing up late to the first meeting because I could not find Fairbanks, I jumped at every article they’d let me write. I studied previously published works like the Rosetta Stone, praying they would reveal some ancient AP-style wisdom that would save me from the stream of edits I attended to every weekend. I worked under Caitlin Segraves and Katie Freeman and have spent every day as an editor trying to model their sharpness and passion.
Katie and Caitlin, though they may not have known it, were some of my first friends at Butler. Caitlin convinced me to give Greek life a try, where I met pretty much everyone I’ve ever loved, and I still regularly get texts from my fellow fans whenever Katie posts on her Instagram. Most importantly, when I told them I couldn’t handle going to all-staff meetings anymore, they let me leave early every Monday for three months, no questions asked.
I used to roll my eyes when I read senior sendoffs that spent forever talking about long-since-graduated friends. Those two are worth the mention a hundred times over.
When I met Aidan Gregg in a not-yet-remodeled alcove of Fairbanks, I felt wary of him almost on sight. He was braggadocious, outspoken and so much more talented than me. By the end of the year, I begged our next editor-in-chief to let me co-edit the Opinion section with him. Now, we live in houses a street apart and walk each other home twice a week.
I knew Leah Ollie as Aidan’s friend and a staple of the Culture section — one of the many parts of the paper I was scared to touch. In my head, though likely not in reality, she did not know I existed until junior year. Leah had the self-assuredness of a lion-tamer and the pop culture knowledge of, well, Leah. I would say that I’ve loved watching her grow — and I have — but, to me, she was always this meticulous, poised, competent and magnetic.
Abby Hoehn and I were more formally introduced through our shared sorority affiliation. For a while, we coexisted in a Venn diagram of social circles. It was only a matter of time, however, before the combined gravitational pull of our iron fists brought us together. At this point, I agree with her almost implicitly, with the starry-eyed willingness of a cult follower. To me, Abby Hoehn is everything good.
On a slightly different note, managing editor Sarah Hohman unknowingly scares me more than maybe anybody I’ve ever met. In fact, she doesn’t edit Opinion, so I’m half-hoping she never reads this. Sarah is one of those people who has everything going for her — including a host of unidentified respiratory illnesses — without ever giving off the appearance of trying too hard. Never in my life did I think I would be lucky enough to be able to call her my friend. After the past four months, I’d like to think that’s changed.
Last, but most certainly not least, are my dear and darling Opinion editors. Maddie and Anna, in a weird, sort of narcissistic way, you are the legacy of my labors of love. I ask that you keep putting so much heart and soul into what you do, even when it feels unreciprocated. In equal — preferably greater — measure, I ask that you maintain the spirit and mission of Opinion, which — despite its frequent silliness — has always been to demonstrate that empirical truth is not the only way to digest meaning. It has been an embarrassingly precious honor to watch you both ascend into and beyond Opinion greatness.
I could go on through the arguably gratuitously long list of editorial board members, but I know everyone is already skimming this so I’ll wrap things up. After all, who needs to hear about how I pseudo-invented Emma, how I knew Jack before anyone, how Jada is baking me a cookie cake because of an Instagram comment about sourdough bread or how I fully believe Jia’s upcoming semester abroad will make more of a dent in the paper’s morale than my full-on retirement?
Ultimately, anyone who has any concept of what a senior sendoff is will get the jist of what I’m trying to say. And what I’m trying to say, as humiliating as it is to admit it, is that I am a begrudging mosaic of all of these brilliant and hair-rippingly annoying people. Worse still, I wouldn’t change that for the world.
Surprising no one, I have happily played the bad guy for a long time. Not disingenuously, either — I really love being feared! But, despite my countless, well-documented threats to quit the Collegian, I’m still fairly glad I stayed.
I am thankful for all of the countless lessons I have learned along the way, deliberately or otherwise. It is a rare and invaluable thing to have been a part of capturing, perfecting and sharing so many stories that are so much bigger than me.
As a sort of ending note, I want to make it crystal clear that I will not be letting these be the best years of my life. As much as my time at Butler has meant to me and as much as the Collegian has meant to me, I refuse to peak at 21.
For the rest of my life, I want to continue enjoying all of these fleeting moments. I want to keep making and prioritizing meaningful friendships that supersede all else. I want to do exhausting and inspiring work that brings me to tears and makes me a demonstrably better person. I want to take disproportionately long naps after minor accomplishments. I want to know that, despite all of my meanness, I am being exactly who I have made myself.
Who I am — as off-putting as many of you may rightfully find it — is no accident and neither was my college experience. Miss me or don’t, I was still here.
