Yearbook

In November 2020 — while schools were in the middle of the rocky transitions of online and hybrid learning — a club-based yearbook landed on my plate. At first I was a co-adviser, then, before the school year was out, I was advising on my own.

Learning to advise a yearbook feels much harder for me than newspaper. One factor is the economics of it all: Yearbooks are pricey, and this escalates the pressure to get it right. There doesn’t feel like there is any margin for error— a misspelled name in a newspaper is an online correction; a misspelled name in a yearbook is an angry phone call or a request for a refund.

Another factor is that I’ve been around the block a few times in the journalism education community. I’ve seen what Pacemaker yearbooks look like, and I’ve watched gigantic yearbook staffs jump and scream when those awards are announced. Our scope as an after-school, once-a-week club is quite different from what a year-long yearbook class can accomplish. Learning to accept this fact — while still pushing against it — requires… what do the thought leaders say? A growth mindset.

Still — yearbook is an incredible learning experience. Our student leaders are determined, responsible, and growing. Our first volume earned a CSPA silver medal. We’re starting to branch out to state and national conventions, and I love seeing the students’ eyes widen as they realize what’s possible. The long hours and frustrating emails are worth it when a student laughs joyfully at her completed spread. And we are all processing the fact that yearbooks from the pandemic years will be treated as primary sources of history.

One of my first steps as a new adviser was to compile all our community resources and updates onto a website.

Spreads from our 2023 volume—the goal was to produce a chronological yearbook for the first time. We also aimed to improve our coverage enough so that an index made sense.