To the Outgoing Board

Dear Scroll C Board,

Publishing a 12-page or 16-page issue in a month is no joke. We, the CI Board, are only beginning to figure this out. It requires a special form of dedication— a passion and commitment so unwavering that transcend the impossibilities constructed by the burdensome boarding school setting. There are simply so many components that must go into an issue, from articles to interviews, from graphics to photos, and the margin of error is so small that these components must fit in perfectly. Yet you have proven to everyone time after time not only that it could be done, but it could be done in a tasteful fashion of professionalism and integrity.

Working as a Scroll editor, one barely receives the appropriate recognition. Readers hardly see the arduous and tiresome process that goes into each issue. And I don’t blame them, for receiving monthly issues becomes routine; it is part of the editor’s job to make consistent student journalism a natural and intrinsic part of Deerfield life. When readers do find something interesting, the natural point of contact becomes the author, not you who edited the article. It is a silent position, but one that bears all the responsibilities. So I want to commend you for doing an exemplary job if you have not been told so often. 

On behalf of the new board, I would like to offer another heartfelt thank you. Thank you, for teaching us that a bit of determination and a spark of passion can go a long way. Thank you, for having faith in us even when we have lost some ourselves. And thank you, for growing us into the writers and editors we are today. 

I also want to acknowledge John Liu in particular, my mentor and good friend. Last year, I had wondered how you stayed unaffected in contrast to the difficulties of your job. I even doubted that the Scroll was of any challenge for you. I realized I was wrong, very quickly, when I took over in March. There are so many parts of this job that weigh invisibly; seemingly insurmountable challenges block the path. You just carried the weight quietly. Sometimes, this involves traversing the labyrinth of Scroll bureaucracy to find that one missing graphic. Other times, it is navigating difficult conversations with the Academic Affairs Office about an article published accidentally. It might also be an ambitious collaboration with another school newspaper that ended in a logistics nightmare. In all these scenarios, you handled the pressure by yourself and never told anyone else. Failure was likewise not an option. 

You were the captain of the ship, charting a wild course in the icy sea. So many icebergs that could have struck the ship, yet you have masterfully steered clear of every obstacle and brought it to harbour, intact and better than ever. The crew, the C Board, has served well alike. Each member bears their own burden and offers all they can, so each issue looks effortlessly excellent. Underneath every issue, however, are countless personal sacrifices that had to be made during the stressful senior year. Similarly, failure was never an option. 

Now the ship has set sail again, and this time without you. The journey ahead will surely be difficult, challenging, but rewarding. Though you will not be on the ship, your spirit very much will. You have inspired us to take the same spirit of resilience, responsibility, and passion to approach journalism. With the rudder now in our hands, we will try our best to sustain and grow this legacy, now passed over a hundred different hands. Thank you again, and you will be missed very much in the Scroll room. 

Yours in truth,

Andrew Li