Colophon Schemes & Color Dreams: An Intern’s Story
The first time I walked into the Virginia Law Weekly office, I didn’t stay quiet like a new intern probably should have. Instead, I said a lot. Probably too much. After all, it was my first day as the Intern to the Executive Editor. I thought with that title came the authority to announce my grand visions for the future of the Virginia Law Weekly. Unfortunately, I was gravely mistaken.
First, I recognized that there were many more names on the colophon than there were people in the meeting room. I knew some of these absent colophon names personally, but never knew of their association with the Law Weekly. Suspicious. Taking a page out of the playbook of His Majesty King Charles III, I advocated for a slimmed down colophon. “Down with the crowded masthead!” I shouted. To which a staff editor responded, “It’s called a colophon.”
And with that, any authority I had was gone.
However, I had one more idea to win the hearts of the editorial board. “Let’s print in color!” I exclaimed. I thought for sure this would help us gain more readership and street-side charm in the newspaper stands around the school. “We have no money,” the Editor-in-Chief then informed me.
I sighed.
Thus, with all the names on the colophon and my grand visions shot down, I knew it would be harder for me to stand out. What was even harder to swallow is that I did not automatically earn a spot on this coveted colophon. I had to attend THREE Law Weekly meetings before my name could be included. So, after this first meeting my name was added to the small whiteboard in the corner with one checkmark next to it.
There were no trumpets, no dramatic introduction, no sudden shift in the air to announce that I belonged at the Virginia Law Weekly, I just knew I did. And I was committed to earning those next two checkmarks.
I had read the Law Weekly from a distance before joining. Mostly to support my friend Brad, but also because I wanted to look studious holding a newspaper in the library during study breaks. Now that I’m a part of the best publication in this law school (sorry, Virginia Journal of International Law—I’ll finish my cite check soon), I walk around with my fellow colophon members like we rule the school—because we do (sorry, North Grounds Softball League).
My first article for the Law Weekly was a newspaper stand success. It was a playful recruitment pitch for the North Grounds Football League (NGFL), a casual-but-“serious” Law School flag football group that has been the source of some of my fondest memories this past fall semester. There was not a single paper left in the stands around the school after its publication (and no, not because I took them all and sent them to my mom). Everyone reads the Law Weekly now, which makes page two the WORST place to hide a dead body (Sorry, ANG). Because of this groundbreaking success, at a very formal invite-only ceremony before winter break, I was presented with the “Best Intern” award.
I’m so happy to be part of this publication that when artificial intelligence drafted a will for me in my Trusts & Estates class I made sure that it included a gift to the Virginia Law Weekly so that they can print in color. Don’t believe me? Here is the relevant excerpt:
I give the sum of Thirty Thousand Dollars ($30,000) to the Virginia Law Weekly, a student publication associated with the University of Virginia School of Law, or its successor organization. This gift shall be used exclusively for the purpose of printing the publication in color. If the Virginia Law Weekly no longer exists at the time of my death, or if it is unable or unwilling to accept this restricted gift for color printing, then this bequest shall lapse and become part of my residuary estate.
And no, I didn’t include this gift to evade any estate taxes. I included it because I want the Law Weekly to flourish. In fact, I had intended the gift to still go to the Law Weekly no matter what, but AI made the requirements quite strict in that if the Law Weekly doesn’t accept the gift in order to print in color, then they will not get any money. This was not the outcome I intended, and if the Law Weekly can’t have it, the only thing that adds more salt to the wound is that the money may go to a laughing heir (a beneficiary who shows no remorse for the deceased and laughs all the way to the bank). Maybe I should just be grateful that according to AI, there’s hope that when I die I may have at least $30,000 to my name. Or maybe I shouldn’t use the will AI drafted for me . . . but that’s an article (or obituary) for another time.
So, that’s my story with the Law Weekly. It has been a journey nothing short of incredible, and it’s great to be part of an organization that recognizes your contributions. This is only my second article, and my first with my name on the colophon, so don’t worry, the story is far from over.
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Adam Slocum ’27