But I have mixed feelings about writing this retirement piece.

It's my own.

You can't just walk away from an adult-life association with this institution with a casual wave and a tossed-off, "Have a nice day." The linkage is too long. I became a 19-year-old GI after taking the oath of service at Fort Douglas. Years later, I took a battery of tests in a building on Presidents Circle which persuaded me to pursue a degree in journalism. A drafty apartment in the late and unlamented Stadium Village was the first home for my oldest daughter. I spent enough time in the Annex to know if they ever stopped applying successive coats of paint, the place would collapse. I received my diploma at ceremonies in Einar Neilsen Field House. Then, 17 years later, I accepted an invitation to leave another campus and return to the U. Over the ensuing 22 years I've taken this place to heart, both professionally and personally.

It's been my privilege for much of that time to serve as editor of the University's primary outreach publications—the Review tabloid newspaper for 13 years, then Continuum magazine since its inception five-plus years ago. It's been a dream job: the honor and the challenge of presenting the University to its many constituencies—helped along, of course, by continuing advice from interested parties. Some of it was even solicited.

I've also had the distinct benefit of feeling like family in several different departments across the campus. If there's a setting more invigorating, more pulsating, more apt to keep one youngish, more alive with the limitless spirit of inquiry and the unquenchable thirst for discovery than the University of Utah, I don't know of it. The University is, as most of us appreciate (although some, regrettably, don't), in a constant, near-volcanic heave of growth, self-realization, and horizon-focused intellectual ferment, which characterizes the life of the mind.

Much of the effort of capturing, reporting, and sometimes interpreting that swirl has been shared with colleagues listed on the first page of this issue who have contributed individually and collectively as mentors and monitors, critics and crusaders, idea generators, and action agents to make Continuum a publication of pride and certain prominence. I couldn't have asked for more devotion to a cause. Together, we've gotten the magazine off the ground and gaining altitude. Now it's time to soar.

For me, however, maybe I'll simply sling a daypack over my shoulder, turn my cap backwards, sign up for HB60 classes, and join scores of fellow seniors who have prescribed their own mind-expansion dosage. Maybe I'll wait for a snowy, traffic-clogged morning to tell former campus colleagues that my eyes are getting misty thinking of them—because I'm lifting up a steamy cup in the warmth of my cozy den. I'll continue to prowl Marriott Library's databases and probably carve up a few fairways on the U of U links. And I'll still take two Sunday papers during football and basketball seasons.

And, yes, I'll treasure the warmth of friendships reflected in a faxed note from a former Chrony editor-pal in Dallas; a voice-mail message of congrats from Athletics; jokingly serious comments that "you're too young to retire"; and a husband-wife observation e-mailed to me from Hailey, Idaho, that my photo in Continuum (Fall '96) looked like (a) Sean Connery or (b) a distinguished architect about to spit up in his cup. I love 'em all.

For years I've been pleased that students saw fit to call me "By." I felt, and maybe they did too, that I was one with them in this exciting educational process. Today they're calling me "sir."

It's time to go.

Byron Sims BS'57, Editor