A LETTER FROM THE EDITORS

When, in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, a declaration of intent must be made. This is not quite what our Founding Fathers said, as neither of us have much interest in the true words of America’s most celebrated long-dead racists– but it is the truth as we know it. This, the first and final letter of the Navigator Times joint Editor-in-Chiefs to our loyal readers, writers, and crossword completers (we know you’re out there), is not a lament, nor a eulogy, or even a letter, though it might seem like one. Well, if you ignore the fact that it didn’t start with an address.

In truth, this is a declaration of the passing of the Navigator Times, and the love we send it away with. This is an ode to the joy found within the walls of Ms. Lindahl’s classroom every Tuesday at 3:14p.m. of our junior year, when we would make our weekly treks, all of 16 and 17 years old and eager to speak up, or just put pen to paper and create. This is a love letter, a sermon, and a poem trapped within the words of the now-17 and 18 year olds who really should instead be working on about a dozen assorted assignments, all of which have kept us from our shared joy for so long that thousands of stories have died between us. This informal piece is really about a million other things, because our newspaper was really a million things. It was a forum, a safe haven; a different world from any other club you’ll find at Harbor City. As the once student founders of this club, we hope that all those who contributed to our monthly editions experienced the same creative joys and freedoms that we did during our short times in that world.

The idea of a newspaper was not new to Harbor City, and when it came to the two of us, it was not out of any particular passion for writing. The intentions we began with were of a more mischievous nature. We spoke more of things like a gossip column, a sports tab, and running stories about minor dramas from the lunchroom. As sophomores in our first year of “real high school”, we didn’t consider any other path for ourselves, or any great calling to anything. When the two of us approached Ms. Lindahl at 9 p.m. on a Thursday night with an idea for a newspaper club she would advise, it was a turning point. Perhaps not in history– but in high school. From there, the process felt slow. There was a whole summer between our talks of such a club and the creation of our little newspaper, over which a lot happened. The world changed in a million infinitely small ways, and we changed with it. 

The Navigator Times was born in September of 2022, and this iteration of it will die in January, 2024. Over our runtime, we’ve had struggles and successes. There were months without content and months with bad content. Months with more filler than anything else, topped up with any fluff we could get completed between raucous laughter and 6th hour snack breaks in the 3rd Floor Cafe. There were tears, but not too many, and most were tears of joy after composing stories like that of Eve L. Spirit and Regina C. Harbor or just random book, show, and movie reviews. And there was loss– first, the loss of one of us to Denfeld, and finally, this loss, of the paper that we, together with the unfailing support of Ms. Lindahl, to whom we owe it all, began. 

Though there are thousands of words that could be used to end this send-off, the elder of us would like to say just three: “stink, stank, stunk”. Kidding. Honestly, you’d think you were one of those gullible, media-consuming lemmings we wrote about way back in Volume 1, Issue 4. What we really want to say is, this isn’t the end for newspaper: just for ours. So, for any of you with a dream and a writing tool, we wish you good luck. I, for one, who would never say “stink”, “stank”, or “stunk” (but especially wouldn’t say them together), look forward to seeing what you put into the world, and I hope you love what you get back just as much as we did.

Finally, we wanted to issue the sincerest of thank-you’s to a few people. First, Ms. Lindahl, who gave so much time, effort, and energy, into this little paper, meticulously folding page after page, and figuring out how to arrange them in Google Docs (which turned out to be a tedious, ridiculously difficult task). Beyond just the Herculean effort of wrangling so many writers into forming a beautiful paper, your presence and encouragement was so meaningful for everything we’ve done in the past few years, and neither of us can thank you enough. Second, to all of the people who ever attended a Newspaper meeting– truly, you guys made this little universe what it was, and you should celebrate yourselves for that. We certainly are. And, to what is nearly our last group: our readers. Thank you for picking up this paper and looking inside. Thank you for taking a chance and connecting, because that’s what this was all about: connection.

Our final thank you is saved for the trees which made this paper, and the soil which fostered these trees, and the dead things within the soil that fed nutrients to the Earth, and the once-living things that would become or feed those dead ones. This last thank-you is for language, creation, and ink; water, ice, and travel. For lakes Superior, Algonquin, and Agassiz. This last thank-you is for this paper itself, and the wide world that happened to inspire it. Thank you, Earth. Thank you, sky. And thank you, friends, for reading this far.

Sincerely,

Nolan Baker & Amaia Mayberry

Class of 2024

Student of the Month-Elliot Rissky

By Jade Larson

I interviewed Elliot Rissky for this months student of the month article. I asked him why he wanted to go to HCIS and he said that he knew people who have gone here and it sounded like a better and more welcoming school than others he has gone too. I do agree that harbor city has a welcoming environment. He said his favorite class is Psychology because he’s always been interested in mental health and wanted to know more about it. In his free time he enjoys writing and art. Finally, I wanted to know what he thinks is in the mysterious basement of harbor city and he said “There is no basement…”