From The Editor – Edward Perkins

At a time like this, I hardly know what to say. We should all be celebrating the success of so many of our peers, who have worked hard, grown, struggled, and given their all to graduate. We should all revel in their achievement, and it should be an inspiration to this entire institution. Alas, an ominous cloud hangs over this campus, blocking the radiance of this otherwise brilliant day. After 155 years of progressive teaching, real-world education, and academic excellence, this institution will be condemned to the pages of history, an idea and memory still certainly, but a living entity no longer. I guess I am between two minds. Half of me wants to celebrate Antioch College, be positive, and follow Bryan’s lead, thanking all my closest friends and the staff and faculty who have made a profound impact on my life. The other half is angry, ashamed to see the dream of Horace Mann come to a most unfitting demise after so many years.
I visited the Mann monument in the Glen for the first time this week. It is a beautiful site, a powerful statue perched atop a lovely stone pedestal. A pair of hawks flew high above as the sun warmed the earth with its gentle rays. Blooming flowers were present everywhere, and lit up the landscape with dramatic splashes of purple and red. I was lulled by the sartorial splendor of the scene, but also saddened. The stone pedestal of the sculpture was crumbling, clearly in disrepair. Around the base, what were once lovely bushes and flowers have become overgrown weeds. The rock was cracked and holes had begun to appear, and as I circled the monument, situated in a clearing surrounded by dense plant growth, I felt as though the site had become neglected, and though it still received some visitors, it was fading from a monument to a ruin, becoming a relic of history, a forgotten reminder of a different time and place. I thought that this must be the perfect image, the ideal metaphor, to describe my feelings about our beloved college. The crowing touch? The shoes of our beloved founder have been painted, most fittingly, a vibrant red, by some unknown artisan or jester. This little sliver of creativity brought a sad smile to my face, for what could be more Antiochian? A little humorous touch added to an otherwise stoic monument. Serious, but light hearted as well. I will carry this image in my mind for many years. For as we all set forth in our bright red bronze shoes, no matter were our footsteps lead, we shall never walk alone.
To those who seek to destroy our home, and silence our voices, be ashamed, for no victory for humanity has been won on this day. For all of us who will leave here with Antioch College in our hearts, souls, and thoughts, hold your head up high. Although our campus may close, our narrative has not seen its final chapter, and our story will continue to unfold.
Thank you to my dear friends, from campus and co-op, who have stood by my side. To my professors, thank you for all you have taught me, and know that I have grown as a result. For our staff, thank you for your dedication and friendliness. I will miss you all so much. To Bryan Utley and the whole Record staff, I give my unconditional love, and deepest thanks for making this a memorable and life-changing experience. It’s been real.
-Edward Perkins, Editor, Spring 2008