Final column: Managing editor
By Dan Gladman
You live/You learn. Yes, I'm quoting Alanis Morissette in this, my final Gazette construct. Alanis, my arch-nemesis, the figurine of everything I stand against in the world, my personal El Guapo.
But if truth be told, (and no Chomper, I'm not a closet Alanis freak), Alanis and all like-minded artists are the reason I became a music writer in the first place. The Gazette was the only place in the world that gave me the air time to express my views. And by being allowed to do that, I learned exactly what my views are and how I wish to present them to the world.
Now I'll quote The Who "I've got values but I don't know how or why." Not exactly. Certain values were picked up right here at The Gazette: The value of a full day's work. The value of disagreeing with your colleagues. The value of integrity and staunchly holding onto your beliefs.
The biggest lesson I learned is this university education is about a hell of a lot more than going to classrooms. I'm not talking about lessons learned from living on your own, roommate squabbles, girlfriend squabbles. I'm talking about education.
Man, did I get schooled in this place.
Western for me will be remembered as the University of Gazette. That must sound so geeky, but so be it. My BA might say anthropology, but. . .
When I worked in the Games Room and moonlighted as entertainment editor, I wrote articles in ink on the pool tables. When I slept as managing editor I nightmared about sports pages. And when I walked into the office every morning I smiled at the many others who had the same ambition as me to put out a newspaper that Western students would think is cool.
I thank everyone I ever worked with at The Gazette. The friends, the enemies, the acquaintances, the editors, the ad salesmen. Your simple existence has taught me much. You were my teachers.
So it all comes down to this, eh?, final words from an obsessive egomaniac who isn't quite sure what to do next. A long ride has come to an unavoidable conclusion. Please believe me, it all started so innocently. Like almost every entertainment wannabe it began with a love for music or movies or plays, etc. I figured, hey, I can get some pretty cool free stuff by writing about music.
Next thing I know I've "found myself" and I'm editing 40 pages a week for a year, answering the office phone and defending group decisions which I don't necessarily believe in. It was so close to the real world that I emphatically feel adulthood knocking at my door.
Still typing, still dreaming. An old Games Room cronie walks in and we say we'll meet in 15 minutes at The Spoke. Once again, I must rush an article, able only to think on the fly.
Typical. Don't you think? How? Why?