On the morning of Abbigale Kernya’s last day in the Arthur office, I told her I had a gift for her. It was a framed picture of Toronto Maple Leafs forward William Nylander, bedazzled with bubbly hearts and rainbows like an anime boy on a photocard. She loved it so much it earned a spot in her farewell editorial.  

Before I pulled the frame out of my bag, Abby declared she too had a gift for me, and handed me her key to the Arthur office. It’s a big, old thing: a plated brass key with years of wear between its teeth.

It only struck me then that the change of stewardship was happening.

I assure you, dear reader, that there was ample opportunity for this feeling to strike. It could’ve caught me off guard at Spring Elections, or at any other point before our Volume 60 team took up shop. Yet, it was only on the precipice of managerial hands changing that I realized the position I was in.

I held the key gingerly before moving on with Abby’s last day, which involved effectively erasing her fingerprints from the Arthur web ecosystem, dutifully removing phone numbers and emails from G Suite accounts. It was a simple gesture, but I felt sad seeing Abby go.  

Arthur is the bedrock of many big, beautiful friendships for me, and I am not the first to experience such strong bonds. The delightful chaos of this newspaper created a handsome pantheon of former staff and editors, some of which you’ll hear from during the publishing year. Our alumni love Arthur just as much as we do. 

I first applied to work at Arthur prior to my enrollment at Trent and was interviewed by the editors of Volume 57, Bethan Bates and Sebastian Johnston-Lindsay. I came to them as a recent dropout working at a weed store, and they indulged me, despite Bethan later taking me aside and saying my resume was horrific.

The three of us sat at a little rickety table at the centre of the Arthur office, where I implored the editors to hire me. I don’t remember this point in my life very well, but I do remember being asked about where I saw myself in Arthur’s future.  

“I really want to be editor one day,” I told them.  

Looking back upon this memory now, I wonder: Why the fuck would I say this?  

It is a deeply presumptuous thing to admit to, ESPECIALLY in a JOB INTERVIEW. At the time, I had assured myself that it displayed ambition or passion or some other positive characteristic. Now, I’d take that little twink aside and give him a serious talking-to about humility.

Humbling self-exposure aside, I only bring this memory up to illustrate the chance Bethan and Sebastian took on me. I was at a really vulnerable point in my life; I applied to Arthur two months after completely sobering up. I don’t understand my rationale behind applying as a non-student, but in the midst of rebuilding myself, it seemed prudent to start writing again.

This memory reminds me how I tried to act like I wasn’t just crushed. Before I moved to Peterborough, I dropped out of a Creative Writing program, convinced I knew everything and wouldn’t need any more “education.” I thought I was better and smarter than everyone, and I had to tell everyone about it.

In spite of this “openness,” my perception was irrevocably warped. Hindsight says I had no true sense of self to prop myself on. I had only the illusion of achievement, just enough sleight of hand needed to glamour myself as a writer. The reality beneath that illusion was that I didn’t fool anyone.

This chapter of my life humbled me before REALLY teaching me how to write. When I started at Arthur, I’d cry upon receiving copy edits and baulk when challenged. Today, I don’t bat an eyelash at these things, because when I needed to learn from an experience, I always had an editor to rely upon for guidance.

The training wheels are off now. 

My time at Arthur has made me a huge believer in the “fuck it, forget it, forge ahead” mentality. I view the setbacks I encounter as opportunities to learn, and sure, I’ll fuck up again, but I will never not show up and give it my best. This is the crux of what we do here: we allow students to try. In the face of both failures and successes, we can throw our hands up and say “we tried!” with an unshakeable confidence. 

What I am today is the result of someone saying “he’s worth a try!” after I showed a little potential. Looking back on that now, as Editor-in-Chief, I am truly blessed to have my life utterly transformed in such a short time. It took so much love and patience to make me the strange little man I am today.  

Since my first volume, Arthur has become a part of me and how I ingratiate myself to the world outside of Peterborough. This little newspaper, its staff, and its mandate taught me how to live, and the last three volumes are a living document which attest to a renewed sense of creativity I could seldom get elsewhere.  

All this to say: writing about using the litter box at your child’s school and ethical cannibalism contributed to some good ole fashioned healing. Who knew? 

Arthur also imbued in me an appreciation for institutional memory that I hope is infectious. It is the living embodiment of thousands of underrepresented voices, the collection of sixty years of events, happenings, thoughts, feelings, beliefs. It is something beyond its current stewards, and yet we are a part of it all the same.  

We approach Volume 60 full of this spirited legacy, keen to share what has been so freely given to us. I’m joined by my co-editors Louanne Morin and Ian Vansegbrook, and briefly by the indomitable Evan Robins. While we are a motley crew, I’m optimistic about our shared future as editors. 

Over the last two volumes, it’s been such a treat to watch Louanne and Ian grow into their own respective voices and beats. I will always be fond of the times we spent on assignments together, where I got to play a small part in their development into Arthur writers. There’s different personalities and strengths at play within this team, and while there’s room for growth from all of us, I am quite chuffed that we enjoy this opportunity to grow together, enshrined by Arthur’s mission. 

It was suggested (by Evan!) to keep Evan onboard during this learning curve of a summer. We have a similar fervid devotion to Arthur, and her institutional knowledge and razor-sharp wit makes her hard to part with, especially after such a tumultuous year for this humble organization. 

Evan and I were coworkers when I started here, and to work so closely together again feels comforting for me. It feels like being out on my first assignment again. My purpose feels renewed with her guidance, and it makes our strong bond even more special.  

I saw what being a part of Arthur did for my closest friends and comrades over the last three years, especially for Sebastian, Abbigale, and Evan, and that’s why we took the risk of running an editorial platform with three editors again. This paper has grown into a wild ecosystem—all thanks to the work of our forebearers—and it will take the three of us to keep the fruits of that labour.  

We’ve got some interesting challenges ahead, but I don’t feel quite as egotistically self-assured as I used to. I think I kinda know what I’m doing! Sure, I’ve got more learning to do, but the shared vision of Volume 60 excites me! Our Summer Serial debuts next week, and we’ve got a summer’s worth of great content coming your way, alongside the usual Arthur trappings you’ve grown to love.  

The Arthur office key—Abby’s departing gift—sticks out awkwardly on my keychain. Its presence on my key ring feels strange, but it marks the beginning of my tenure as editor. I’d like to say the ancestral memory of the Arthur office keys has activated some new creature in me, but it hasn’t. Only its present stewards can keep that memory alive, and we’ve been saddled with doing just that this Volume.  

I wouldn’t be the man I am today without Arthur, and I am ready to give you, dear Reader, my everything. Thank you to everyone who believed in me: an innumerable sum of friends, family and beloved community members. This one’s for you. 

I always envisioned becoming editor as this big emotional upset: a tumultuous uprooting of everything in my life, because everything in my life encircles this beastly paper of ill repute. To a freak like me, however, it’s just another day in the office.  

Yes, it is strange to succeed, but it’s happened before, and it will happen again.