Rosebud

The semester is winding to a much needed end and in a matter of just days I, along with many others, will drape myself in a cap and gown and take my last steps as a student at Plymouth State. And before the merriment of commencement commences I have this twenty-four inches of text to use as a sounding board to launch my gratitude to all those who have brought me this far. As is unwritten tradition on The Clock, a columnist’s final words mark the celebration of college life, the written word, and a mountain of experiences sculpted by friendly and skilled hands.

Let the tradition continue here.

The title of this column, Rosebud, has gotten some stares in the past year. For those who know its meaning without assistance I applaud you. Rosebud is the signature line from what most believe is the greatest film ever made, Citizen Kane. Charles Foster Kane, a newspaper man turned mogul, is a embellished characterization of star and director Orson Wells and real life newspaper mogul William Randolph Hearst. His last word is Rosebud and the film shows a reporter attempting to find out what it means. Instead, he hears a legend’s life story. Rosebud signifies my love for both journalism and film. Truth be told, I enjoy a good day of sledding as well.

Writing this column in my favorite rag has been the highlight of my days in Plymouth. While I have detested it at times, I am truly amazed at what I have learned over the year, and what I can learn in a week. Still, what I’ve learned in twenty-five weeks of research is petty compared to what I’ve learned from people in the simplest of interactions. So here we go:

To DJ McLaughlin, my predecessor and partner in the Royal We—to call you brilliant would be to insult you. You are the brightest and most genuine person I have ever met anywhere. As a truest friend and colleague I have done nothing if not gained immeasurable amount of insight from you and I can’t decide if the world needs more people like you or just more of you. I don’t look up to many, but I see you as one hell of a role model.

To my parents and my family—support is a limited word and not encompassing to what you’ve done for me. I know I can be a pain and spout skewed opinions, but for a moment I’d like to express my sincerest appreciation for a life worth living.

To Ryan Rogers, my beacon of sanity and emotion—what can I say to match what you’ve done for me so far? Hmmm. Now I know why poets write. Never have I felt so alive, nor have I ever wanted to so badly. Love is the word.

To the Frisbee Four, DJ McLaughlin, Seth Perdue, Pat McGowan and I—gentlemen, if I could have lunch with just three people in the world, you would be them. I understand brotherhood now and the times we’ve shared, from monkeys to disc, it has been time best spent.

To Crystal Mackey, Caitlin Waltzer and Paris Landry—Ladies, it’s unbelievable how you’ve touched me. I can’t begin to tell you what these friendships mean. You are my scarecrows.

To Paris Landry, Daniel Singer, Andrew Mannone, Cara Losier, Justine Handler, Rick Schlott, Beth Gordon, Liz Modesitt, Monika O’Clair and Couter—And the powerful play goes on so that you may contribute a verse, W.W. From the crafting of a single word to a major poetic event, I don’t think I’ll ever work with better. We build the bridge between student and professional, friend and colleague, best and betterest. You have made the years memorable. Andy and Dan, I think we passed the top.

To Joe Monninger, Paul Rogalus, Rick Agran, Art Fried, Metasebia Woldemariam, Bob Garlitz, Lynn Rudmin, Andrew Smyth, Bonnie Epstein, Barbara Blaha, Warren Mason and Beth Cox—You’re the best teachers, in and out of the classroom, that Plymouth has. I’ve learned more from all of you than I have from all others combined. To Joe and Paul especially, thank you.

To The Clock Staff, past, present and future—Thank you for keeping my favorite thing the best around. From the 1950’s through today’s unbelievably talented staff and beyond, nobody on this campus works harder. Longo, Dannakin, Brooke, Beth, Rick; you are the future, make me proud.

Here I leave you, a quill worn to shreds with a thousand stories to tell. College was so much more than it was cracked up to be, but I bid you adieu as I meander through my remaining days, a lame duck clutching the sleeve of remembered times. And for you dear readers I have but one thing to say: thank you.