One of about three or maybe four good things about high school for me was the school newspaper, the _Postscript_. I started out as a reporter my freshman year and rose through the ranks to be, during my senior year, Co-Editor-in-Chief (there were two every year) with David Andorsky. The _Postscript_ had everything: bad puns, sexual tension and innuendo, Pizz-a-boli’s pizza, something to do of an afternoon. Plus, for about five minutes a month, the popular kids might acutally care that I’d written something.
OK, that last part was just deluding myself.
Anyway, I loved the _Postscript_. It was actual work, unlike many classes, and stimulating besides. Nobody teased me for being a total tool. I got to use a Macintosh. What could be better?
But what made the _Postscript_ the best was the faculty adviser: Rachelle Work. She created a culture that was fun and educational and welcoming. She stuck up for everybody wo needed it and kept a whole bunch of teenagers from pawing each other. Every issue, she talked to every section editor and assistant editor and even some writers. Every night we worked late, she was there. Even when her daughter and, later, son were Editor-in-Chief, she never yelled (she let the others do the yelling, especially her daughter and her daughter’s co-EIC, who couldn’t get along).
There are a few particular _Postscript_ memories I have. Most of them, frankly, involve her chewing me out — but she always made sure I learned a lesson. Like the one time I yelled at an editor we were firing — she taught me to be nice when doing unpleasant things. When I was flirting in inappropriate ways, she helped me learn better ways to try to get the girls. And, when I finally did get the girls, she didn’t let them sit on my lap. That broke my heart — I had a pretty girl sitting on my lap! Me! A real girl! In school! At least I had those few minutes of fun. I remember her teaching me to crop halftoned photos, to be meticulous about paste-up, to care about dangling participles. Especially in headlines.
In my yearbook, she wrote that she expected me to return from California sporting bleached-blond hair, quoting Sartre. Guess I’ve let her down.
So Rachelle has stepped down as adviser to the _Postscript_. She’s given twenty other _Postscript_ staffs the same, wonderful guidance. I’ll miss her. I do miss her. I hope I get to see her again someday. Rachelle Work is a great teacher.