On one of the first days of 7th grade, a teacher herded 30 of us into a classroom for an odd presentation—campaign videos of Moscow’s pro-Putin Mayor, Sergey Sobyanin, for forty-five minutes. At the end, she said,“Tell your parents that, if they care about your education, they will vote for Mr. Sobyanin.” 

To say that coming to Hotchkiss was a culture shock for me, a gay Russian 14-year-old terrified of punishment for expressing my opinions, would be a grave understatement. A paper like The Record would not come close to being approved of at any school, no matter how liberal, in Russia. The greatest gift this paper has given me is seeing people’s eyes light up when writing about something they’re passionate about, criticizing those they believe have done something wrong, and engaging in discourse, unafraid of official reprisal.

As a Record Editor-in-Chief, I’ve done things I know the 7th grade me would have been proud of. I’ve interviewed Ukrainian refugees on their experiences with the ongoing conflict; as Opinion editor, I published articles from students all around the world about sensitive topics at Hotchkiss or in their home countries; most recently, I interviewed Atalia Omer, a Harvard professor, about the Israel-Palestine war. 

Those continuously living with the blessing of free speech often do not understand its value. At school, we are in a beautiful bubble where we are meant to exchange our ideas. So, if you are reading this, I urge you to take advantage of the tremendous opportunities The Record offers. 

I have so much love for this community because of The Record—because every other Sunday I come to layout to read through the stories of our successes, the ways we uplift each other, and highlight the many ways—be it on the soccer field, in the ceramics room, or at the Department of Defense—that people from Hotchkiss have found purpose informed by the guidance of this place. The Record will be an extraordinary memory for me to hold onto. I encourage you to make it yours, too.

—P.B. ’24

In what feels like in the blink of an eye, fifteen Sundays of asking for one more student quote, trying (without success) to creatively title an AOI, and celebrating when a midnight meeting isn’t necessary have come to an end. It fills my heart knowing that I will leave the 125th editorial board with the invaluable skills of communication, leadership, collaboration, and InDesign, a passion for journalism I’ll continue to pursue in college, and the lasting connections I’ve built with Peter, Nate, Ms. Villano, and Mx. Wynn.

My Lower Mid self, unsure of my ability to clearly express myself, first decided to continue writing for The Record after receiving a personal text from one of the editors. Since then, my experience with the publication has been a series of steps outside of my comfort zone. From pitching my ideas as a section editor in a room with 10+ people (public speaking always intimidated me), to making final executive decisions, I have honestly felt a sense of discomfort through it all. However, it is precisely in the midst of this discomfort that I’ve seen myself grow the most. As I got to know the other members of the board, I began to look forward to our weekly Tuesday meetings, when editors bounce ideas off each other to generate article ideas; with every eight-page layout, I sat less around the EiCs table and more with the section editors, identifying problems early on and seeing my efforts pay off when newspapers adorn the Dining Hall tables.

So, to anyone curious but hesitant about getting involved with The Record, let this be my personal text to you encouraging you to take the leap. Start small: take a photo or conduct an interview with that cool Senior artist you’ve always wanted to speak to. I started my journey not knowing that this publication would become a defining feature of my high school life—but I’m forever grateful it has.

—Angela Li ’24

I signed up for my first Record article on a whim halfway through my Prep year. The biweekly sign-up emails were a staple of my inbox, but for some reason—most likely fear of being judged by editors and readers—I had passed them by. That moment not only changed my time at Hotchkiss, but I think it’s fair to say that it, and this paper, changed my life.

I still remember the title of my first article too: “World Series Begins in Pandemic-Shortened MLB Season.” I was (and still am) a huge baseball fan, so that article felt like a natural first step for me. As that title suggests, we were still in the midst of the Covid pandemic and sports at Hotchkiss hadn’t yet reestablished themselves. My coverage, at first, was thus limited to the sports that I watched and followed on a daily basis.

When Hotchkiss announced a return to athletics with a small consortium of nearby schools I wrote another article. Seems simple, right? It was — but I now had to do interviews. But that didn’t stop me from building up the fear in my head. What if I messed up or said something wrong with my interviews? And yet, nothing terrible happened. I probably fumbled over every other sentence during those first interviews, but the sky didn’t fall, the world didn’t end, and I definitely didn’t stop trying.

The one thing I regret about my time with The Record is that I didn’t start sooner. That I let this worry I might fail hold me back from pursuing something I was truly interested in. I guess if there was a point to this story—something for you, the reader, to take away—it would be not to be afraid of failure. When Mr. Charlie Frankenbach received the Lufkin Prize three years ago, his speech included three simple words that I’ve held in my mind ever since and that best encapsulate this idea: “Go to stuff!”

—Nate Seidenstein ’24