When one door shuts, another one opens

Being 'Goodbye' Frank/Frank Ameduri

There's something about the newspaper business that gets under your skin - maybe even into your blood.

Longtime journalists often say they have ink running in their veins. They usually say that with equal parts of pride and resignation.

If you're a true journalist, this isn't only a job you do; it's also part of who you are. It's hardwired into your DNA, along with an insatiable taste for black coffee, the inability to sleep most nights, the belief that knowledge and liberty are leaves on the same tree and an unquenchable need to know not only the what, but also the who, when, where, why and how about pretty much everything.

For the past three years I've brought all of those quirks and convictions to work with me, in the Frontiersman newsroom. It's not a long time, really, but it's longer, they tell me, than any other editor in recent memory.

I've loved it. In this newsroom I've become a member of many families, and I've become immersed in the ebb and flow of one of the most amazing communities on earth. That's why I bid farewell to this newsroom with a sense of loss and a heavy heart.

Sometimes you reach a point at which you feel you're leaving more in the newsroom than you're taking out, and then it's time to admit you've run the tanks dry, and maybe it's time to get a new gig.

That's why I also leave this newsroom with a sense of anticipation and wonder. I do believe that every departure is also an arrival, and that there's really only one ending in every life - everything else is just another leg of the journey.

We've come a long way in three years. We added a Sunday edition, added new features to the Frontiersman, and maybe even discovered a new voice.

Through it all I tried to maintain balance, accuracy and integrity on every page. I'm sure there were many times people disagreed with our editorials or with my columns, but there were probably as many times that folks nodded and smiled. Either way, if I managed to get people talking and thinking about things, I'm happy.

I'm an old-school journalist. I believe the people in the newsroom work more for the community than for the company. It's our job to facilitate the discourse that's so important to our readers, and I've been honored to serve every Frontiersman reader.

Of course, I've gotten to know many of you personally, and that has been a particular joy and privilege. To those friends in the community, this probably isn't a farewell, really. My plan is to remain in the community and simply contribute in a different way. I look forward to bumping into you all at Vagabonds or Fireside Books, as usual.

My closest family in Alaska consists of the people at the office, and I'll miss working with them every day. Most of my dearest friends are in the newsroom, but I have some favorites in other departments, as well. You know who you are.

I'll miss the heated philosophical debates in the newsroom, but I'll also miss the silly posters Casey sometimes makes with my head perched on various bodies or objects. I'll miss planning the big stories, discussing sentence structure and contemplating the perfect lede. I'll even miss Monday morning deadlines, when the level of panic is only outpaced by the unselfish teamwork.

To the newsroom crew - past and present - I can only say, thank you. You are all professionals, and I've been fortunate to work with each of you. You are my friends, my colleagues and always the best part of the job.

The strength of any great community is in its people - and the direction of every community is determined by the stories those people tell. The job of the community newspaper is simply to provide a canvas where those stories can be shared. I've been fortunate to be a journalist in a place with such great people and such rich stories. I'm grateful to the Frontiersman for that opportunity, and to our readers for making me feel welcomed in such a great place.

Great things are ahead for the Mat-Su and for the Frontiersman. I can't wait to see them all from a new perspective. Wherever I hang my hat, I'll always be proud to be a part of this amazing community.