It’s late at night and the Corr basement light is on, which means I’m writing again. It’s the last time I’ll be doing this. 

Most people don’t think about the Corr Hall basement. The few who do know it as The Villanovan office. I think of it as home. For six semesters, two as Co-Sports Editor and four as Co-Editor-in-Chief, there’s been a real debate over whether I’ve spent more time in here or in my actual dorm. It honestly might be close.

Looking around the office summons more memories than anywhere else on campus. There have been nights I’ve spent in here alone, writing articles or final essays. There have been nights I’ve spent with friends, including near all-nighters for three basketball magazines. There have been countless lunches, 60-plus production nights, laughs and tears. This office has been everything I ever wanted Villanova to be.

As I write, to my right is a silver-framed black-and-white photo of the 2021 staff. I’m in the back row in a navy blue hoodie which, to this day, is my favorite hoodie I’ve ever owned. Next to me is then-Co-Editor-in-Chief Jack Roberge, a concerningly funny person. Below is Billy Vinci, a legend and my Co-Sports Editor that year. Co-Editor-in-Chief Cate McCusker, the coolest, is in the front. I had regular lunches in here with those three, talking about nothing and doing the Duotrigordle. They taught me more than they know, most of it good.

At the back of the room is a circular table covered in old newspapers and junk. There used to be a box of probably-radioactive candy corn until someone had the courage to throw it away. At the center of the table is a grinning skeleton with its legs crossed. We used that as a trick-or-treat decoration in 2021, when Jack, Billy and I were talked into wearing folded newspaper hats that made us look like sailors. We all signed the skeleton after, which proved to be foreshadowing. I signed the skull, as if pretending to be the brains of the operation. Vivi Melkonian, my partner as Co-Editor-in-Chief (and the best I could have ever asked for) signed right next to the heart.

There’s a corkboard in the back of the room, which I campaigned to get then promptly underutilized. Above a year’s worth of incredible quotes, few of which are printable, is a massive “March Madness” sign that I stole from the NCAA tournament in Pittsburgh in 2022. I went with Matthew Ryan, Meghann Morhardt and Olivia Pasquale, and we covered two Villanova wins, took a photoshoot around the entire city and became close friends. Meghann, Liv and I repeated the adventure two weeks later for the Final Four, then got stranded in New Orleans without a flight back. We used the two extra days to eat beignets. The sign now reads “March Sadness.”

On the left side, the dirtiest whiteboard you’ve ever seen is pinned to the wall, with a 4×7 grid split into a calendar. For two years, I took pride in updating the board with basketball games, productions, birthdays and whatever else seemed funny, until Rachel Reiniger decided to do the same to me. I’d write “Rachel groceries,” she’d respond with “Colin pediatrician.” It was war. It was fun. It was friendship.

I could tell stories about a clock, a broken headphone, a book, some credentials, a birthday hat, a couch and a points card. That points card especially. I’ll never forget the Tuesday 5:45 p.m. Conn-venience snack runs.

If I close my eyes, I can imagine Vivi and Tina Aron across from me, Matt and Meghann at the couches, Sarah Sweeney and Sarah Wisniewski sitting by the whiteboard and Molly Baker, Liv, AJ Fezza and Rachel by the printer, Chloe Miller and Elena Rouse are behind me, with Jackie Thomas and Bella Irwin at the back table. Then I blink and some are still here, but Owen Hewitt’s on the couch, Brooke Ackerman and Matt are at the center table, Lydia McFarlane, Arden West and Hannah Sweeney are by the whiteboard, Natalie Zickel, Graydon Paul and Hayden Karnes are by the printer and Emma Cahill is behind me. No matter the people, it’s all laughs and good times, Oreos and white cheddar popcorners, Diet Cokes, Poppis and a White Monster, and the latest and greatest stories.

Then I blink again. It’s just me. The calendar says “Let’s April ‘Nova!” When it’s updated on Wednesday, my last day at ‘Nova will be on the third line in the grid.

One last late night in Corr is but one of a long string of lasts. It’s not the first last, nor is it the last. But this one means just a little more. So much of my four years have been spent here: highs and lows, introductions and goodbyes, celebrations and sadness, personal development and leadership lessons and so, so many memories of some of the best people I will ever meet.

There is a part of me that wants to stay a bit longer, linger one last time. There’s part of me that’s ready to move on, even to the unknown. It’s the latter part that wins.

The Corr basement will always be home, regardless of what either my or the building’s future holds. The people I met in it, and the memories I made here, I’ll have forever.

It’s late at night and the Corr basement light is on. I’m ready to flick the switch.