What's Ben Happening?: It's Ben Amazing
By Ben Shiverdaker
By Ben Shiverdaker
If you told me two years ago that I would be writing for the Pony Express, I’d call you crazy. If you told me two years ago that I’d be editing news for the Pony Express, I’d say you’re even crazier.
In my sophomore year, I was complacent, smug and full of myself. To fill a class spot, I walked into my academic counselor’s office on the last day of school and put journalism on my schedule. I really had no idea what went on in that room, but I had heard from a friend that it was a great experience – so why not, right? I then walked into Jason Goldman-Hall’s room to tell him that I just put his class on my schedule and was met with a swift response.
“Well, that’s not exactly how it works,” said Goldman-Hall. “Let me see if a teacher will vouch for you and we might see you next year.” I left with a grin and responded, “See you next year, G!”
As a staff writer in my junior year, I struggled. From the moment the class began I wanted out, and from the second it ended I didn’t want to go back. I didn’t have a knack for writing in a new style from the beginning. I was lazy and unmotivated.
My first article, on the newly renovated fitness center, was a mess. My lack of urgency really came through as there were many missing details. I then jumped on the phone with the district office to inquire about how much the project cost. I don’t know why, but something about my call being transferred in a giant loop around the phone line and being told “I have no idea,” over and over again was fun. It felt like I was on a hunt. From then on, I had a fire in my eyes for reporting.
Each and every day as a journalist presented something new and exciting, something to learn, or someone new to talk to. Walking into P6 turned from a drag to excitement, and leaving from excitement to a drag.
Now, my heart aches more every day that I can’t return to P6 to see my writers, my fellow editors and my advisor. It never crossed my mind that March 13 was the last time I would walk out of that room as part of the Pony Express, the last time I’d share a laugh with my team or the last time I’d shout, “See ya later, G!” If two years ago you told me I would miss it when it’s gone, I’d call you the craziest person alive.
Being a journalist has been the most unexpected yet most fulfilling thing I’ve done in my life thus far. It’s transformed me from an arrogant and lazy kid to someone who strives for greatness in every feat, small or large, to someone who can work in a team and learn from every person on it, to someone who has no issue jumping into the deep end. It’s taught me to be bubbly but mature, to be inquisitive but careful and to be fierce but humble.
I will be forever grateful for each and every writer, editor and Editor-in-Chief that I have worked with for pushing me to be the best I can be. And to Goldman-Hall, thank you for taking a chance on some random kid who waltzed into your room one day wanting to try journalism.
So, one more time.
“See ya later, G.”
In my sophomore year, I was complacent, smug and full of myself. To fill a class spot, I walked into my academic counselor’s office on the last day of school and put journalism on my schedule. I really had no idea what went on in that room, but I had heard from a friend that it was a great experience – so why not, right? I then walked into Jason Goldman-Hall’s room to tell him that I just put his class on my schedule and was met with a swift response.
“Well, that’s not exactly how it works,” said Goldman-Hall. “Let me see if a teacher will vouch for you and we might see you next year.” I left with a grin and responded, “See you next year, G!”
As a staff writer in my junior year, I struggled. From the moment the class began I wanted out, and from the second it ended I didn’t want to go back. I didn’t have a knack for writing in a new style from the beginning. I was lazy and unmotivated.
My first article, on the newly renovated fitness center, was a mess. My lack of urgency really came through as there were many missing details. I then jumped on the phone with the district office to inquire about how much the project cost. I don’t know why, but something about my call being transferred in a giant loop around the phone line and being told “I have no idea,” over and over again was fun. It felt like I was on a hunt. From then on, I had a fire in my eyes for reporting.
Each and every day as a journalist presented something new and exciting, something to learn, or someone new to talk to. Walking into P6 turned from a drag to excitement, and leaving from excitement to a drag.
Now, my heart aches more every day that I can’t return to P6 to see my writers, my fellow editors and my advisor. It never crossed my mind that March 13 was the last time I would walk out of that room as part of the Pony Express, the last time I’d share a laugh with my team or the last time I’d shout, “See ya later, G!” If two years ago you told me I would miss it when it’s gone, I’d call you the craziest person alive.
Being a journalist has been the most unexpected yet most fulfilling thing I’ve done in my life thus far. It’s transformed me from an arrogant and lazy kid to someone who strives for greatness in every feat, small or large, to someone who can work in a team and learn from every person on it, to someone who has no issue jumping into the deep end. It’s taught me to be bubbly but mature, to be inquisitive but careful and to be fierce but humble.
I will be forever grateful for each and every writer, editor and Editor-in-Chief that I have worked with for pushing me to be the best I can be. And to Goldman-Hall, thank you for taking a chance on some random kid who waltzed into your room one day wanting to try journalism.
So, one more time.
“See ya later, G.”