The Final Word

Time to tell new stories

When I was much younger, I had a poster of Linus hanging on my bedroom wall with the quote: “I love mankind … it’s the people I can’t stand.”

My opinion really hasn’t changed over the past 60 years. It’s an odd view of the world, especially for someone who makes his living interviewing and writing about people. But I’ve always believed that telling their stories serves as another opportunity to understand us (mankind) better.

I’ve covered government meetings, murder trials, elections, economic issues, sporting events, state championships, national title runs, natural disasters, charitable causes, births, and deaths. I have been called every name in the book, had my car vandalized, threatened with lawsuits and even death over a few written words.

I have also received kind letters, brownies, a few beers, and a handful of awards for others. The letters, brownies, beers, and awards far outnumber the death threats, by the way.

My formal introduction to Culver came at the right time for me. It had been years since I had been on campus. I had since married and had a 9-, 7- and 3-year-old. I met Doug Haberland at a Plymouth High School career day. We spoke about journalism, public relations, and writing. Once the kids learned what local reporters were paid, nobody was interested. A few weeks later, a mutual friend told me a position in Doug’s department had opened. I applied, interviewed, and started on Dec. 4, 2000.

Since that time, I have written about allschool meetings, elections, political figures, inaugurals, economic issues, state championships, national title runs, charitable causes, births, and deaths. I’ve still received the letters, emails, brownies, beers, and awards. And I’ve avoided the death threats, which was a nice change.

Our stories have gone from all print to nearly all digital. We have converted from film to digital cameras. Interview methods now include Zoom calls, Team sessions, and FaceTime. Our offices have moved once and will soon be moving again.

This time, though, when the marketing and communications team moves, I won’t be making the trip. I’ll be moving, too — into retirement. Writing that sounds like I’ll be joining the horses in the Sarge Hudson pasture.

I will continue to write. Maybe a few more words about Culver. Maybe not. But the writing will be on my schedule. After 52 years of meeting deadlines, it’s time to retreat, relax, and refresh for a new, slower adventure. Whether I will enjoy — yes, I used the E-word for those who know me — it as much as my time at Culver is an unknown.

Culver is the longest job I’ve held by 11 years. I estimate a quarter of my wardrobe has the Culver logo on it. My “daily duty” includes ties older than the kids on campus. My kids have graduated from Culver and college now. I thought about leaving through the years. Yet, I stayed.

I stayed because of the kids. They continue to amaze me. I always want to see how they develop over their Culver careers. There are the Type A kids who begin to mellow and enjoy themselves. The Type B kids who find their niche and excel. The great athletes who become great students. The great students who become great athletes. And the total strangers who become brothers and sisters. Sometimes, they become husbands and wives.

I’ve seen their eyes light up as they explain a newly understood scientific principle or philosophical concept. I’ve been on the sidelines and courtside when they have made a great catch, scored a goal, hit the last second

shot, rocked a homerun, and won a close game. I’ve seen their disappointment when they fail. And I’ve listened as they talk about overcoming personal obstacles to rise to a new level of helping others. When explaining the student experience, Hal Holbrook ’42 said it best: “There are places on this campus where I have lived … and died — and out of that I got me.” And, for 21 years, I’ve had a front row seat to it all.

If you need me, I’ll be hanging with the boys on the “Serengeti.”

That’s also why it’s time to move on. Writing about Culver kids for this audience is preaching to the choir. Now, after two years of watching people go for each other’s throats through their masks, I feel compelled to tell similar stories outside the Culver bubble — especially about kids — that will help restore our faith in each other and the future. Words can heal. I’m betting those stories are out there. They just need a viable public platform. I may be disappointed. I hope not. But, if I do fail, I have that retiree privilege of visiting campus to have my faith in mankind restored. — Jan Garrison