Editors' Notes

FM has always been much cooler than me. When I was a freshman, writers’ meetings intimidated me because I could never keep up with the fast volley of inside jokes bouncing back and forth in the Sanctum. A year of writing helped slightly, though when I was being interviewed for the associate editor position, I self-consciously admitted to the then-execs that my biggest weakness was my “lack of snap.” I just wasn’t funny, I told them sheepishly, over an incredibly awkward schmooze at Daedalus. As an associate, I was in awe of Rachel E. Dry’s seemingly endless store of random knowledge. During editors’ meetings, whenever she would begin a sentence, “Is this dumb...” the rest of us knew she was about to pitch some incredibly off-beat, but incredibly interesting story. Rachel always seemed to know which obscure academic to contact for a story, or what former Crimed could be a potential source. It was she that led me, dragging my insecure feet, to Reverend Gomes’ Memorial Hall office to interview the venerable pundit for my endpaper on Jesus. Liz Maher amazed me in a different way, with her ability to magically turn computer files into film, which then miraculously appeared in my doorbox as FM. She too seemed to have the answer to every question, and the gossip on every campus personality.

When I took over as Magazine Chair, I did so hesitantly. Much of FM consists of trying to live up to the past, however foolish or illogical that may seem. Rachel and Liz had worked under a guard of acidly sarcastic and eccentrically funny boys, and I had worked under their mixture of eclectic academic knowledge and witty cynicism. When it came my turn to run the mag, Rachel and Liz warned me not to feel like I had to do things the way that they had always been done. At first, that was scary. But then things began to come together. Somewhere along the way, I stopped worrying about how things had been in the past. I wasn’t funny, as I had told the two Gossip Guys long ago, so I didn’t try to continue the Gossip Guy tradition. Our staff was smaller than usual, so we cut the magazine to 20 pages. I didn’t have the stamina of Liz Maher, so I delegated production duties and relied more on my editors. And now, looking back on the past year, I like the results. That’s the great thing about FM-—it’s constantly changing.

This issue is our grand indulgence, our chance to have our last word and introduce our new guard. We have also profiled members of the Class of 2005 who strike our fancy, and give thanks to people who have helped keep this mag going. Our time is up, but the new guard has nothing but big dreams.

As for me, I’m going to write a thesis and get a job. I mean, that’s what everyone else did.

—MHC

According to UHS, I have a “flu-like bug.” This morning, I woke and read my thermometer: 102.2. I suddenly realized that tonight was my last FM press night ever, and promptly burst into tears.

I’d like to blame this lapse on the flu, but I can’t entirely. The truth is, the prospect of missing my final night was, even for this ambivalent Crimson editor, really really sad. Because much as I gripe about the Crimson, Harvard, and capitalist America in general, FM has been the perfect subculture within all those categories for me—a family, a place to be creative and useful, and lots of fun.

We’re not perfect. We have no qualms about our perpetual sugar high. But our focus on students makes us a true college magazine, filling a vital purpose for Harvardians who are more interested in their peers than in their administrators. While laughing, we publish flashes of journalistic brilliance, in-depth articles that have the potential to make a difference, and introspective personal writing. And let’s face it: Gadfly is hysterical.

Working on FM, I’ve gotten not only to know fellow writers and editors—shout-out to Mollie and the amazing associates—but a wonderful group of photographers and designers. We gained an appreciation for each other’s work: “that’s a great photo” or “that list was really funny” and collaborated on covers, spreads, and jokes during writers meetings that went too long: “Wait, guys! Let’s do an article on this website, it’s called thefacebook.com!” or “Hey my friend is getting punched for the Spee. There’s an article in that somewhere, right?”

It’s no secret that I am in love with the written word. The reason reading and writing can even approach the pleasure of actually interacting with other people is that they’re forms of communication. What makes an article wonderful is that we relate to the people in it—the author, the subject, even the editor. Since FM is all about giving people their 15 minutes of fame as well as allowing journalists to develop a voice, I like to think that we facilitate little moments of interpersonal relationships throughout Harvard every Thursday morning.

That’s all. It’s high time a new guard with energy and healthy immune systems took over. I’d like to thank Simon for Gossip Gal and the ed office, Danny for the article about football in Glasgow (by far the best article ever run anywhere), Lowell M-41, the extended Gadfly family, and of course, the wonderful souls that make FM happen. Cheers!

—SMS