R.I.P Yearbook: 1889–2015

In 1889, the University’s very first yearbook began with a small message: “The class of ‘89 is about to leave the college halls and go forth into the world. Each and every member takes in his hand a copy of The Debutante and his diploma.” Over a century later, our seniors will no longer be able to share the same sentiment.

The school yearbook, which underwent a series of name changes in its infancy before deciding upon The Hullabaloo, will not be making a return in Year 127. The decision was made by the Office of Student Life, which deemed the project too under-supported to sustain. In recent years, the yearbook’s existence has relied upon student volunteers who elected to dedicate incredible amounts of their own time to see the project through. With a lack of volunteers, and a lack of student interest in general as evidenced by a weak number of purchases the year prior, the plug was finally pulled on what was ultimately the University’s longest-running publication.

There is no doubt that the yearbook has been a tradition on our campus and the Editorial Board is incredibly sorry to see it go. As editors of a publication ourselves, we understand the immense amount of dedication and care it takes to create something that not only has exceptional content. We understand the reason for the yearbook’s termination but are nonetheless saddened that it will no longer be around to remind students of their time on campus.

By the same token, we certainly recognize the yearbook’s importance in the past. However, it is clear that as time has dragged on, the yearbook was no longer necessary. With the advent of the Internet and social media sites like Facebook, students are now able to store thousands of photos of their college experiences online and are free to wander into the past whenever they would like. Computers and smartphones have made the storage of old photographs easier and more efficient. There was a time when the yearbook had a place and a purpose — modern technology has just made the publication obsolete.

Perhaps what is most sobering about this realization is that most students showed little-to-no interest in the continuation of its production. Many were unaware that we even had a yearbook. Others, who were also saddened by the news, were not willing to put in the effort to ensure its publication. And still others just refused to purchase the admittedly expensive publication. (Only 300 copies were sold last year.)

They say that necessity is the mother of invention. In the end, a lack of necessity spelled the end of a publication.