Board Editorial: Board Member Goodbyes

The Scroll, for many of those involved, is more than just a club. It is a seemingly limitless dedication towards the singular goal of producing a coherent, interesting, and thoughtful issue. It is the textbook definition of a labor of love. Board members spend their time collaborating with staff writers to strengthen their articles, laying out issues on ancient computers in the Kendall basement, conducting interviews, and close reading every article in every issue to make sure no wayward commas make their way into the final print. Below are the reflections of all the editors who have given their time, their labor, and most importantly, their love to the Scroll over the course of their Deerfield careers.

John Liu

Editor-in-Chief

When I think back to the greatest aspiration I had for the Scroll back at the start of my tenure as Editor-in-Chief in April, it was to increase our readership, so that more students and teachers alike would interact with our paper. After seven print runs, three special issues, two school meeting appearances, nine podcasts, and over 200+ hours logged in the basement of the Kendall Building, I can confidently say that we’ve achieved a greater presence on campus. To this end, there are several people I need to acknowledge.

First, to my managing editors, John W., Joanna, and Karen. Thank you so much for sharing your talents, ideas, and visions with the Scroll this year. To John, for your exceptional writing skills and initiative; to Joanna, for being a fantastic planner and troubleshooter; and to Karen, for painstakingly laying the foundation of the Scroll’s digital presence for generations to come. I could not have dreamed of having better people by my side in the 100th year of the Scroll.

Second, to the rest of the seniors on my board: Evelyn, Melody, Josie, and John C. To Evelyn, for radiating energy and positivity whenever you stepped into the Scroll room; to Melody, for your quiet leadership and constant willingness to help; to Josie, for your creativity and steadfast quality; and to John C., for your passion and determination in leading the Buzz page, words fail to express my thanks.

To our advisors, Mr. Romick and Mr. Twilley, thank you for your unwavering support of student journalism and excellence in the face of any and all challenges. The countless hours you spend copy-editing issues of the Scroll, facilitating meetings with administrators, or even debating with us on moral dilemmas demonstrate the true magnitude of knowledge, instruction, and care you provide us. You inspire me to replicate that with future generations.

To Ms. Creagh, Dr. Bruder, and Ms. Westman, thank you for everything you do behind the scenes to ensure the Scroll’s success. From coordinating interviews with administrators to allow us access to the most important, pressing news on campus, to reading over every single one of our articles with our future interests in mind, I truly appreciate your dedication to the Scroll and the help you give us.

Lastly, to Andrew, Lucia, Tess, Tim, and Luc. The future of our paper is bright in your hands. I can’t wait to see you define your legacy. 

John Woo

Co-Managing Editor

I would be lying if I said I remembered the first time I stepped into the Scroll room, a small yellow-lit room tucked away in the corner of the haunted basement of the Kendall. But I would also be lying if I said I’d forget the countless memories I’ve made in that cramped room with the most dedicated writers and friends I’ve ever met. 

I don’t actually remember exactly why I joined the Scroll. Probably because I thought it sounded cool (and probably because I thought it would look good for college). All I remember is hearing an announcement at a sit-down dinner my freshman year, then listening to the scary (or so I thought) senior editors of the Scroll explain in Hess 123 how to write an article with a slideshow containing more bolded words than I had ever seen in my life. Safe to say, I did not learn to write an article that day. I was so embarrassed about the first article I ever wrote that I had to lie to my page editor that I had a migraine and was at the health center just to get an extension. 

To the new writers of the Scroll, if you joined to learn how to be a better writer, I admire your initiative. But your experience will most likely be how most of us learned to swim: dropped in the water and left to float or drown. Fight against the current that are associate editor comments, and soon enough, you’ll find yourself learning how to swim all on your own—or in this case, learning how to write without passive voice and where the period goes at the end of a quotation. But also know that every editor in the Scroll has written their first article at some point in time, only for it to be graffied over with a rainbow of edits on Google Docs. And instead of lying to your page editor about a migraine, you can just ask for an extension. Turns out, senior editors aren’t so scary after all.

Joanna Chang

Co-Managing Editor

If someone asked me where I spent the most time at Deerfield, I would not hesitate to say the dusty basement of the Kendall, where The Deerfield Scroll is having another layout night. In that small room held countless hours, pens, and coffee I’ve dedicated to an extracurricular, people may say, that required too much for too little care. 

You see, the Scroll on campus may not be the most popular piece of literature to read. It has been through some battered work and Monday meetings with the advisors, working through logistics and catching send-to-print dates. But for me, the hassle is worth it for that one student who would flip through the papers, read an article, or jump straight to the Buzz page crossword. More importantly, because of why journalism matters and what it has taught me. 

The Scroll is a space where I could both honor the storyteller within me and what it means to be a Deerfield student. Through every article I wrote and every piece I edited for this newspaper, I had grown as a writer, communicator, and leader. I found friendships, confidence, and lasting memories while interviewing students, staff and reporting on events. Journalism taught me to listen, to ask questions, and to gather perspectives.

Those countless Friday nights spent with Anna Guerrini staring into an Adobe InDesign file titled “Op-Ed Nov. 25 FINAL FR 2.0,” fixing smart apostrophes (’), browsing DAinfo for a faculty’s title, or ordering Chinese takeout while our budget lasted, were never a burden. They are some of the highlights of my high school experience. I’ve shared more humor that made me smile even on stressful days; I’ve heard more stories that made me see the community in a different light; I’ve witnessed more resilience through articles that spurred controversy but encouraged engagement. 

From that Staff Writer, excitedly holding a new Scroll issue because her Historic Deerfield article made its way to the front page, to later be known in the room as the “Features girl,” then the Managing Editor, I am forever grateful for this journey. Thank you to everyone who helped me discover a passion and achievement I’m genuinely proud of. As I embark on my next chapter, I know the Scroll will flourish under the CI board’s reforms as it enters a digital era.  

Karen Park

Digital Managing Editor

My “sidequest” in the Scroll began in the backseat of Mr. Bakker’s van on Easter Sunday, when Jerry casually mentioned an opening for digital managing editor. The Scroll, which once meant nothing more than the black cursive I glanced at while nibbling on Ms. Brown’s feed and karayokeing Taylor Swift in the J1 common room, soon morphed into countless unexpected memories, people, places, and a strangely gratifying sense of embarrassment.

Altogether, it seems to sum up the inner workings of Deerfield: the ripple effect of individual passions and care—and of course, the beauty of choosing to cruise through it and embrace spontaneity. I am grateful for the twenty-minute van ride that brought me to filming sessions extending for hours past what I would promise everyone, “we’ll be done.” Often, we blamed our lack of planning, but to speak the truth, we often deviated from our so-called “plans” anyway. Most of the time, we don’t get anything done. But that’s because every time, we think of a brilliant new recipe for disaster, while Albert happens to have the precise equipment needed to succeed. And sometimes, all it takes is a statistics-based dumpling taste-test with Josie or John Liu paparazzing an emergency apocalyptic community time “digital-Scroll-only” meeting. 

At times, bearing a title with expectations but no precedent left me wondering what to do next, and additionally, embarrassed about everything I couldn’t do. However, stepping away from it, I now chuckle at the optimism that I, and soon, a team of us managed to carry in order to push forward—pushing the stubborn wheels of the equipment cart screaming from cars at 9:44 pm, pushing for deadlines barely ever met, and maybe, pushing for a grander vision I’ve held since that very Sunday—with the hope that it will one day, get fulfilled. 

We face uncertainty, but trust, I’m pretty certain that we’re slowly getting somewhere. 

Melody Zhao

News Editor

The first Scroll article I ever worked on was, by all means, a fiasco. It was the fall of 2022, a day before the deadline, and I hadn’t interviewed anyone about the deli bar. How hard could it be? Sliced bread, roast beef, cheese, a couple of waves of the magic wand (and surrendering my responsibilities to Green Guo and the editors)…and poof, for the next three years, a recipe for the article used in applications to show writers what not to write. 

But as I came to realize, the people on the Scroll have a special soft spot for forgiving first-time writers, and another one for seeing the storyteller in you. From laughing about ugly sweater days in my fireside chat with Deerfield Innkeeper Laurie McDonald to collectively brainstorming newsworthy events, the Scroll is no longer just a school newspaper to me. It’s a voice for students, and it just happens to run on contracted labor, humor, and late-night DoorDash runs. For me, the most memorable projects have been ones that spurred dissent, showcased a demographic not readily discussed on campus, highlighted lesser-known campus stories, or, most importantly, brought people together. I couldn’t have done it without the people. So, to those who believed in me, thank you, because now, I believe unabashedly in the next generation of editorial torchbearers. 

Yet, as much as our title-bearing-board-barons may tout the success of the Scroll publication, the friendships formed, and the amusing, late-night quarrels - which have undoubtedly shaped us for the better - I’ve found that the Scroll can also infuriate in ways we don’t fully express. If I want to stay true to my farewell to the Scroll, I would also like to caution against squashing creativity, journalistic bravery, and fresh perspectives: the three things that brought me here in the first place. 

After a while, the publication can tend to collapse in on itself, with the same bubble of voices regurgitating similar stories and takes. I really commend the C board this year for their efforts to revitalize and expand; they have been incredible, hands down. 

Still, if the Scroll is to fulfill its mission, to foster a marketplace of ideas, it should not attempt to cater to the gingerly crafted image of the school. It should be more meritocratic. It is not only injurious but also unethical for anyone or the administration to hawk over the free press in the name of “disciplined non-partisanship” or institutional neutrality. It can make students hide in their own turtle shells. 

There’s a Marie Howe poem I love, “Mary’s Argument,” in which she writes, “There is an edge we come to count on // when all the normal signs don’t speak, // a startled vigilance that keeps us waking // to watch the moon, the peculiar stars.” We lose a piece of that “startled vigilance,” that “unrequested astonishment,” whenever we pursue actions that vanquish the very mission of student publications. At the same time, students have always been the authors of change, and the pen is now in great hands. 

Josie Kalish

Arts Editor

I have never commended the Scroll for making me a better writer or editor. Such skills are merely occupational byproducts. But if you know me, you are likely familiar with my affection for this publication; if prompted, I could go on for hours recounting the lore of the Kendall basement. 

My journey began in the winter of my sophomore year when I pitched an idea that sent then-Managing Editor Justin Ahn physically recoiling from his chair in laughter. Despite that less-than-encouraging reception, the piece was published, which I believe set the tone for my more unconventional contributions. 

This spirit reached its zenith when Karen, Caylah, and I launched a series of DoorDash tastings for Buzz junior year, where we discovered that few matters ignite more passion in a room full of Scroll editors than a subpar dumpling. “A disgrace to my culture,” Andrew Li declared, lamenting an egregious imbalance between dough and filling, while John Liu prodded one with a chopstick, likening its arid interior to the Sahara. 

While the public only sees the final publication—the polished result of a world where Kobe Hibachi is the consensus favorite—I am most grateful for the raw, unpublished perspectives the newsroom compelled me to engage with. I found the genuine joy embedded in journalism through late-night laughter with Theo, Nico, and Caylah, just as I found the necessity of conviction in the daily, delightful quarrels between John, John, and John. 

Ultimately, I commend the Scroll for fostering my appreciation for constructive disagreement. In a community where the dissenting voice is encouraged, I have learned to seek out the clash and construction of ideas. To future writers: be controversial. The paper’s vitality relies on your individuality. Do not let the institution or status quo suppress your creativity, and never underestimate how heated a dispute can and should become in the Scroll Room. 

One more request: please continue my Album of the Issue.  

Evelyn Kunde

Sports Editor

When I walked through the orangeish-burgundy door into the Scroll room for my first writers meeting, I was immediately captivated by the atmosphere cultivated by the previous Scroll board. I looked up to Caroline Weller ’23, and was set on becoming the Sports Page Editor by my senior year. Working up the Scroll’s ladder meant endless hours editing, receiving calls on random weekend nights, and revising entire articles. On top of the hard work that goes on within the Scroll room, there come many funny memories, friendships, and opportunities for growth. The Scroll introduced me to many people I may not have met otherwise, and also taught me about my love for journalism and work in magazines. I am appreciative of all the people (writers, editors, friends, leaders) who have shaped my experiences as a Scroll Staff Writer, Associate Editor, and Sports Page Editor.

John Comite

Buzz Editor

My Deerfield experience would not have felt complete without the late nights I spent in the Kendall Basement, laboriously supervising arguably the most important section of The Deerfield Scroll newspaper, the Buzz page. As the Buzz page editor, I had one goal: write humorous articles on the absurd happenings around campus to provide a vital source of comedy for the student body. From performing investigative journalism for my article on the Cow Turf raids and reporting on the utter chaos occurring during the “OBC Stomps,” to managing the “egregious” misstep with the infamous 2025 Choate News collaboration and climbing through a window in the Kendall to try and unlock the Scroll room, I think I achieved my goal. Students and faculty alike would also, from my understanding, agree. 

I will look back fondly on my time with the Scroll as I could always count on it to lift my spirits. To my fellow board members in the class of 2026, thank you for being a constant source of entertainment and for making this club one of the best parts of my Deerfield experience. To my successor Spencer Trees, thank you for being the page’s best contributor. I have no doubt you too will write egregious articles and one day end up in room 207 of the library. To the 101st Editor-in-Chief Andrew Li, I couldn’t have done any of it without you. The paper is in great hands. As I write this, my final contribution, I am reminded of all the Scroll has given me and am filled with a sense of profound gratitude. I look forward to reading the Buzz page as an alumnus.

Albert Yuk

Photography Editor

For all of my freshman and sophomore years as a staff photographer, I remember looking forward to becoming the photography editor so I could get my “fair” share of doordash. Yet, just after I finally landed that role, the school discovered that the XCVIII board abused the school’s card a “little” too much. The Scroll’s budget got crippled, and the weekly Peking ducks that my editors once promised me were gone.

For that—and not just about the duck—I decided to focus my efforts in journalism back home in China. Despite the massive availability of Peking ducks there, the consequentialist approach to journalism was burdening, making it so that eventually, I forgot what journalism was even supposed to be.

The people of the Scroll kept pulling me into meetings, and the meetings kept pulling me closer to them. Somewhere in there, my role as a photography editor expanded into filming for the digital team, and even drafting of the layout of the new digital reform. This drastic change from being a clog in a massive machinery to actually delivering end-to-end projects refreshed what journalism meant to me. 

So for that, to the holy trinity of Johns, the rest of the board, and the digital team, thank you. You never got me my Peking duck, but I struck more than just luck being a part of The Deerfield Scroll.