From where we sit—perched on the third floor of the Flowers Building, almost close enough to touch the Chapel at the heart of campus and far enough from the administrators of the Allen Building to maintain a respectable buffer—Duke looks a little different than it does for most students. As the staff of The Chronicle, we often see the University not for the qualities that attracted us here as eager high schoolers, but rather as a series of questions to be answered and stories to be told. From where we sit, we see the beauty of the gothic wonderland in all her glory, but we also see the darkness where we feel bound to shine a light. For us, there is no better view of Duke University than the halls of 301 Flowers.
But no one said getting there was easy.
After three years of third-floor dorm rooms, I am no stranger to a staircase. Between elevator-less residence halls, the countless stairs leading up from French Family Science or the mile-long maze that is LSRC, there is no Duke student that isn’t accustomed to a little hike to get where he or she is going. Logically, the two flights of stairs up to The Chronicle's office would be no different, but as everyone who has taken one too many math classes at Duke knows, sometimes logic fails.
You see, the first time you walk up the stairs and arrive outside the thick locked door of the office, it's hard to think about the flights you have just climbed. Anxiety and excitement gnaw away while you wonder what your first editing session will be like. Did you ask the right questions? Is your story going to be on the front page?
The second time you approach the stairs with more enthusiasm, excited to be back for a second story. Maybe this interview will impress your editors. Each time you return with a new, more complex story to go over with your favorite copyeditor, you feel a little more at ease in the office—maybe it reminds you a little of the comfort of home. But then, just as suddenly as you came to fall in love with The Chronicle, one day you'll be walking to the office and get to the bottom of the stairs, and it will dawn on you just how many people have taken those 39 steps before you. All of the editors, reporters and photographers that have moved this organization forward in the past 110 years of news.
Somewhere beyond the doors of the Mary Lou Williams Center and just past the back entrance to CAPS, the staircase changes. It feels long and hard to get to the top. Or maybe it isn’t the steps themselves that change, but rather you that changes as you climb them. As you arrive at 4:30 p.m., knowing you won’t leave until 3, 4 or 5 a.m., the climb feels hard. Bringing with you the thoughts you have carried throughout the day—sometimes small, “please don’t let me sleep in the office for the third night this week,” sometimes larger, “I slept through my midterm today”—the long stairs feel like just another obstacle in your way. Another obstacle stopping you from reaching out to that last source, stopping you from pushing for that financial document, stopping you from getting the story.
In their length, however, the stairs also give you strength. They connect you to everyone that has come before you and all who will come next.
There are a lot of challenges facing media, and The Chronicle is no exception, but when we climb those stairs, we are reminded of why we came to love this organization. We are reminded of the storylines we are privileged to pursue, the amazing minds we count among our sources and the incredible community we have built on our staff. The Chronicle is a family, and the stairs we climb daily are the glue that has bound us together.
We are privileged with the best view on campus, and in return we give our best selves to this paper every single day. I mourn for the fact that my time as editor is over, but every time I walk up the stairs to the office, I feel my connection to the organization renewed. And as I hand over the reins to the next set of leaders, I can’t wait to see what the future holds. From where I sit, that looks pretty great.
This year was only made possible because of the hard work of those who climbed those stairs beside me every day. I can never thank the staff of V. 110 enough. You are my friends, family and confidants. Thank you Emma Baccellieri for always pushing The Chronicle to be its very best, Nick Martin for reminding me to keep my cool, Georgia Parke for remaining an eternal optimist and Mousa Alshanteer for smiling and nodding through all of my crazy requests. For all of my mentors, both direct—Danielle Muoio, Elysia Su and Dan Carp—and indirect, know that your contributions will live on in future generations of Chronicle leaders. And for all of the others, whose names I haven’t the space to list, know that without your contributions, there would be no Chronicle.
Carleigh Stiehm is a Trinity junior and editor-in-chief of The Chronicle. Like her predecessors, she aches with the knowledge that she will never be either again.
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