HILLARY MEISTER, former music editor:

Happy anniversary, Flagpole! It’s hard to believe 25 years have gone by.

I started with Flagpole in the spring of ’91. While juggling graduate school, my friend and I both took on jobs for the magazine, she with Flagpole’s circulation and me as music editor. The magazine was eight-by-10 and published monthly, but the plan was in place to publish bi-weekly and eventually weekly in a larger format. Flagpole was growing.

At that time, there had been very little contact with record labels, so my first project was to find out how to get stuff from publicists—press kits, music to review and interviews with touring bands. It was the age of chapbooks, fanzines and local, alternative magazines—a new subculture of journalism that covered the underground wave of art, music, literature, movies and politics. Record labels loved us. Besides college radio, our type of publication was the only thing that would cover all the new bands coming out. Since Athens was already established as a booming music mecca, record label publicists and A&R types were quite good to us.

But Flagpole was still in its infancy and was also quite novel, exciting and wide open to creation. We could make it what we wanted. The idea was to be as outrageous, spontaneous, humorous and adventuresome as possible with our writing and coverage. For many journalism majors, it was real freedom to just let the words come out without huge regard to the inverted pyramid.

We could create our own niches, whether it was writing album reviews, interviewing bands, developing a regular column or just making stuff up for fun. As long as it was interesting to read and exposed the community, both locally and at large, to the amazing stuff that was happening in Athens, we had free reign.

We did things with stories that we felt were novel, such as completely fabricate storis or send a then-12-years-old Molly McCommons to interview Michael Stipe. We brought in some academic writing in the guise of “Post Modern Blues” by Jim Winders and offered Ort a blank page to write whatever he wanted to. We were favored by music publicists because we were so… weird and willing to cover or try all sorts of stuff.

It was not without great stress, though. There were many arguments over what type of music we should cover in the magazine. Do we cover everything that was happening in Athens, or were some original bands and music types forbidden? There was a division (and maybe there still is) between “frat” bands and “townie” bands. Those that played at particular clubs were deemed one or the other, and some writers frowned upon the idea of covering specific types of music. For me, I was open to pretty much anything original. Music, like any art, is subjective. I might not like it all, but I was an editor, not a critic. I left that job up to the writers with those skill sets.

Part of my job also meant that I had to build relationships with local clubs, musicians, recording studios, hangouts, bars, radio stations and everything and anything that had to do with music in Athens. For an introvert, that’s a heady task. I found more peace in sitting at a desk, pen in hand, seeking out only those sources or resources that would aid in my story. But building relationships was not in my repertoire, and the idea of it sent all my red flags flying up the, uh, flagpole.

Looking back on those years I still, to this day, do not think I accomplished the latter for myself, professionally, but I’m confident in knowing that I found far more qualified, socially adept people to do it for me and in doing so, helped Flagpole to grow. Some of those people became music editors in my stead. Others went on to their own projects or new careers. Whatever the case, all of us, in those early days, hopefully created a long-lasting legacy on which the magazine stands today.

Musically speaking, there are far too many shows, bands, recordings and interviews that were amazing and are burned in my memory in short bursts, like a tweet, but these are probably my Top 10:

1. Interviewing Peter Buck at Compadres over tacos and beer.
2. Accompanying Molly McCommons on her interview with Michael Stipe, in which we realized both were wearing the same shoes.
3. Interviewing Robyn Hitchcock (many times) and walking in downtown Athens with him as he talked about his pumpkin patch in England.
4. Talking to Thom Yorke at the bar before Radiohead’s soundcheck at the 40 Watt.
5. Mourning the loss of Kurt Cobain in the Flagpole “cave” the night of his death with other Flagpole writers and friends.
6. Learning about the Duplex Planet and then reconnecting with creator David Greenberger on Facebook after all these years and learning that he’s recording a new album with… Robyn Hitchcock!
7. Getting the chance to interview Jeff Buckley (swoon).
8. Flagpole birthday parties.
9. Working on the Flagpole Christmas albums.
10. And remembering the many hours and nights spent putting together a magazine we were all mysteriously passionate about. I hope that passion is still burning. Thank you for the memories!

LISA MAY, former distribution manager:

I came to Athens ostensibly for grad school. I really came to Athens for the music. I had grown up in what even Five-Eight once acknowledged as a "sterile kind of town:" Orlando, FL. I was obsessed with what we now call "indie" music and, of course, Orlando had no scene. Bands never came down. So, I decided if I had to go to grad school and get horribly indebted by student loans, I may as well, for once in my life, go to a place I actually wanted to be.  

So, I moved to Athens in 1991 with two cats and exactly zero dollars. And Flagpole kinda saved me. Yeah, they paid me (the little they could afford), but more importantly, for the first time in my life, I felt like I belonged to something. Flagpole then was an almost desperate little outfit.  It felt more like a cause than a business. I didn't like writing much, but I was in good shape then so, somehow, I fell into circulation. At that time, Ort handled distribution, and he was, well... sort of attached to that idea, if you know what I mean. It was only after then-publisher Dennis Greenia sent me out on my first circulation mission that I realized he had not informed Ort of my new, er, role (that of taking his job). That was fun. Ort got over it, and everything was right in the world again.

It was around this time that Flagpole began growing in leaps and bounds (literally, this was when the magazine actually changed its physical size, as well as made the move to Foundry Street AND began printing as many as 5,000 per week) and my little car began to be unfit for picking up the entire run at Greater Georgia Printers way out on Highway 78 in Crawford. So, Dennis, being the saint that he was, made the big investment: a van. Namely, a stick-shift, ancient monstrosity that was, quite honestly, a death trap. Did I mention that I had to hotwire it to start it?  Somehow, though, I loved that little van. I could swear that it only kept running because I needed it to, and so did Flagpole. I would pray not to hit the light right before the hill going up Oconee Street when I was coming back with a full load.  With momentum it made the hill pretty easily. From a dead stop, I have no idea how it didn't end up rolling backwards down the hill. Nobody at Flagpole ever quite understood why I seemed so relieved when I would arrive back. Like a soldier from a mission, I felt like I had cheated death, or at least a roadside breakdown.  From there, it was the all-night delivery route. I learned to jump every curb in Athens and at UGA. Eventually Dennis and, by this time, Pete, even added some extra helpers for me.

By 1995, I had graduated and was in a bit of a quandary as to what I was going to do.  I was supposed to become a teacher, but I might have had a little too much fun in Athens and my student loan bill proved it. In the end, I joined the Army in order to get my loans paid off in three years, which I did. After that, I got dragged kicking and screaming back to Orlando (family, what can you do?) where I finally began using my degree and became a high school history and government teacher, a job I have been doing now for fifteen years.

Ultimately, my reason for coming to Athens was achieved and then some. It was a unique time in Athens music history.  I saw every band I ever wanted to see—Sugar's debut show, secret R.E.M. shows, Pixies, an epic final Pylon show, Vic Chesnutt at The Downstairs, a My Bloody Valentine show that was so loud it drove even the hardened 40 Watt crowd outside, running around town trying to get a glimpse of Kurt Cobain, Five-Eight shows that were life changing. Flagpole's music editor at the time was my friend and roommate Hillary Meister, and so I got used to people like Robyn Hitchcock calling our apartment for an interview. So much happened that I forgot how much happened.  A few years ago, my nephew became obsessed with Radiohead, and we were discussing how much we'd like to see them when I suddenly remembered: I had not only seen them, but had met them when I accompanied Hillary to her interview with Tom Yorke! Yeah, dorky old Aunt Lisa got a few cool points for that one.

I will never forget the surprise going-away party my Flagpole family gave me before I left.  They'll never know how special they made me feel. Yeah, I worked hard for them (I still straighten magazines in newspaper racks to this day), and we were all friends, but I think I got a lot more in return. Through my association with them I was able, for three-and-a-half years, to meet or at least orbit around some of the most accomplished, intelligent, talented and quirky people I have ever met. It was the most amazing club I have ever been a member of.

JASON SLATTON, former music editor:

A great portion of my early days at Flagpole (the old office on Broad Street., mind you) are hazy and honestly without much definition. The earliest memory I have of that time was a tentative walk-up to the office; I was greeted at the door by Dennis Greenia, who asked me what I was doing. I told him I thought I wanted to write something, anything, most likely record reviews and the odd feature here and there. With little to no preamble, he took me upstairs, sat me down at one of those boxy old Macs, and said, "Write." Easy, right? I think he might have cracked a beer for me, too. I figured I should earn that beer, if nothing else. I'd been going to shows obsessively: Hoyt North, the 40 Watt, the Theatre, the Chameleon, the Flying Buffalo, the Downstairs, Lulu’s; I lacked the courage to do anything about it, save regaling my bored roommate with stories of what I'd seen. He was the reason I went down to the office that day. I guess he figured if I had an outlet, I'd shut up eventually, at least around him.

Most of our editorial meetings were on Fridays, late afternoon, and ended at Frijolero's around several pitchers of beer (hence the aforementioned hazy memories). I met Travis Sutton, Hilary Meister, Ort, Henry Owings and John Murphy around this time, and my indoctrination had, for all purposes, begun.

I remember my first story—my first real story—was interviewing Kelly Hogan and Bill Taft regarding their post-Jody Grind project Kick Me. Smoke (with Benjamin) opened that show, and it was the night of what I remember as the first serious ice storm I'd encountered since I'd moved to Athens at the end of 1991. All the trees were shining like Christmas glass, and I remember filing in to the club, marveling at how few people were there. Owing to the inclement weather, the turnout was piss-poor, but the show was easily one of the best I'd ever seen; I immediately fell in love with Kelly Hogan (a love that I harbor to this day, and my wife can attest to this), and with that entire, dimly lit world. I remember thinking that, as horribly as it paid, I needed to stick with this for a while. I worked with great people who cared about music, and Athens, as much as I did. They opened so many doors for me, culturally, alcoholically... and the barbecue? Don't get me started.

Fast forward to the Foundry Street years, which came with their own adventures: The annual Christmas party (in particular the year that Vic Chesnutt and Vernon Thornsberry took over Pete’s office. Russ Hallauer and I snuck in to hang out with them, and the rest is… a smoky, barely-there mystery), Dennis's "Special Project" lunches, our SXSW bacchanals, including the awesome Jesus Christ Superstar show we sponsored, our “new” editorial meetings featuring Robin Littlefield’s vegan experimentation, Pete’s long talks with me about going back to school, etc. We lost a Greenia, gained a McCommons, and I moved from staff writer to co-music editor.

For me, it was Flagpole 2.0—a new regime, a new position, new faces in advertising, editorial, distribution, a bona-fide dungeon to write in (at least for the early days of the music department; we moved upstairs with the other staff, eventually), and my introduction to the inimitable Frank Mason. On a national scale, the “popular” side of our culture was mired in the post-grunge years, indeed a bleak scene, but one that had little precedent in Athens, thankfully.

In our town, there was a disorienting rush of creativity. The bands that stick with me from that time were the Possibilities (their cassette Loser Stew is still one of the most notable local releases in my estimation), Jucifer, the Star Room Boys, Five-Eight, VOL, the Martians, the Glands, the Dashboard Saviors, Drip, Japancakes, Sugar, the Hot Burritos, Vic Chesnutt, Jack Logan & Liquor Cabinet, Vaudeville, Jackpot City, the Fountains, Hayride, Alex Marquez and the Drive-By Truckers. I’m quite sure that, given the passing of time, I’m leaving some essential artist out. Ah, aging.

Nonetheless, I can honestly attest to the fact that my life was irrevocably changed for the better by my time at Flagpole, whether it be musically, professionally, or in the relationships that I fostered there (many of which I maintain to this day). In particular, I’d never have gotten the opportunity to play music and make records with people like Russ Hallauer, Larry Tenner, Clay Leverett, Randall Bramblett, and many, many more had I not walked through that door on Broad Street. Not to wax all beatific here, but I can’t ever forget taking what for me was a gamble, and having it pay off in such an amazing way. Thank you, Flagpole.

A brief summation of my Flagpole years:

Favorite Show (local): Jack Logan & Liquor Cabinet/release show for Mood Elevator, the Hot Burritos opening/the Atomic Music Hall/1996. I might have said this in my review at the time, but I firmly believe that any band, at any given time, on any given night, can be the best band in the world, whether they’re playing a stadium in Lisbon or a garage in Grand Rapids, MI. On this night, both Liquor Cabinet and the Burritos took this estimable designation. Literally every show I saw or played in Athens stood in the shadow of this night.

Favorite Show (national): Teenage Fanclub & Yo La Tengo/the 40 Watt/1994. See above. This one was/is mythic in my book. Runner-up: Alejandro Escovedo/Lulu’s in Normaltown/1994.

Favorite Interviews I Conducted: Paul Westerberg (we got way off topic and talked about Henry Miller and Mott the Hoople);  Alejandro Escovedo (he was playing with his kids in his front yard while we talked); Johnette Napolitano; Syd Straw; Neal Pattman; Kevn Kinney; John Stirratt (of Wilco); Sam Phillips; and Kelly Hogan.

Worst Interviews I Conducted: Jay Farrar, then of Uncle Tupelo (intensively researched questions on my end, followed by unutterably apathetic, monosyllabic grunts passing as responses on his); Marty Willson-Piper of the Church (surly and aggressive, he hung up on me midway through the interview after he’d asked me if I’d even listened to the new album—I gladly told him no, I hadn’t); Keith Streng of the Fleshtones (more or less a hero of mine who clearly had better things to do, I think at one point he nodded off. Honestly, I might have done the same).

Also, special R.I.P. to the legendary High Hat Club. I think I might still owe you guys some money. My apologies to Drew and Tony. 

RICHARD FAUSSET, former editor:

In 1997, I was back in Athens, editing Flagpole. The paper felt like it needed some shaking up, so my first order of business was to issue a public casting call for anyone in town who thought they had a good reason to contribute.

In they marched, over weeks and months, into my little office on Foundry Street—a procession of weirdos, slackers, hacks, frustrated poets, human angels, conspiracy theorists and borderline savants. My aging neural system tends to replay the whole thing as a bad ‘80s movie montage, set to the tune of “Let’s Hear It For The Boy,” from Footloose, or Michael Sembello’s “Maniac,” from Flashdance (“crazy, crazy, crazy…”), though mixed with a little Ginsberg at his most Whitmanesque: Holy the teenage wannabe Christgaus! Holy the glassy-eyed ravers, with bellbottoms wider than manholes! Holy the art-school dropouts!

Holy environmentalists! Holy the splenetic, ancient Yippie with long-held grudges against some vaguely-defined Athens “man”! Holy kid who just scored her first single-lens reflex camera! Holy potheads! Holy DJs! Holy hipsters-in-training!

Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! (“crazy, crazy, crazy!...”)

Holy hacky-sacker burning to write about Chiapas, but who couldn’t pick out a Zapatista in a Zaxby’s!

Holy Toppers dancer harboring a secret desire to write travel essays!

Holy literary bass player! Holy literary drummer! Holy stride piano enthusiast who insists that Athens requires more vigorous coverage of the stride-piano scene!

I think I asked every one of these people if they had any interest in going to City Hall to cover, you know, the news. The only one who said "yes" was a thoughtful, gentle soul and news-reporting neophyte by the name of Zephyr Dorsey. Zephyr did yeoman work for the City Pages for a few weeks until he was struck, one evening, with an almost Biblical vision for reforming the consolidated Athens-Clarke County government, from mayor to dogcatcher.

I’ll never forget the night at the council meeting, he stepped to the podium, announced his retirement from Flagpole with a dramatic flourish, and delivered hefty mimeographed copies of his “Zephyr’s Manifesto” to each of the bewildered council members.

The casting call stayed pretty much in effect for the couple of years I was back in Athens, and sometimes it felt like I was editing the whole city. Sometimes there were so many strangers milling around the lobby that it looked like a Greyhound station. If someone wrote a pissy letter calling us a pack of talentless, pretentious gobs of phlegm—and if the letter was really good—he or she usually received a standing invitation to contribute.

My old friend Jeff Mangum wandered in early on—this would have been just before the release of In the Aeroplane Over the Sea—to write an article with me, based on the old “exquisite corpse” parlor game of the original surrealists, welcoming New Zealand songwriter Chris Knox to town. I’m pretty sure it was unintelligible gibberish, but I was thrilled. My sister’s college roommate Funke Sangodeyi, between life stages as a member of an all-girl hardcore trio and a scholar of the history of science at Cambridge, wrote a few dense and lovely critical pieces. Tom Lasseter, who, Google informs me, is currently the Beijing bureau chief for the McClatchy news service, was kind enough to write a clutch of fine investigative stories, even though we only had space for him to write in the dank basement of Foundry Street.

Travis Nichols basically wandered in off the street to become a cherished, long-time staff writer. Today he is one of America’s best young novelists.

But some of the very best contributors were, and still are, just round-the-way people who happened to be touched with genius. For a while, we had regular contributions from a bread-truck driver named James Blount, who, in a more just world, would have been editing The New Republic. You know how people say they’d listen to Snoop Dogg rap the phone book? I’d have paid to read Blount’s written take on the phone book. I still would.

Of course, we didn’t pay much at all. And still, this team assembled. Holy incisive art critics like Lizzie Zucker Saltz, Chris Hoofnagle and Melissa Link! Holy Ballard Lesemann, our great, protean, omni-talent and Flagpole mascot of that era—music and film critic, TV personality, punk-rock drummer, prankster—Holy! Holy! Holy!

Holy Patrick Lee Dean, cartoonist channeler of Maurice Sendak and Hieronymous Bosch! Holy Cindy Jerrell! Holy Mary Jessica Hammes! Holy Judy Long!

Holy John Britt! Whose “Heckler” music column carried out, with perilously cutting wit, this operating theory I had that the alternative weekly newspaper in Athens, Georgia—home-base for the postpunk, Year-Zero cleansing of Southern music, and of American rock and roll more generally—should be waging 24-7 aesthetic jihad against the forces of boogie-rock and other banalities. (I've mellowed over time: blame it on Sirius' indispensable 24-hour Grateful Dead channel).

Holy, too, were the talented old-timers I inherited. Editing William Orten Carlton (to mutate a line from the late Dennis Hopper) was a little like eating a flower with a computer inside of it. I remember calling around for the late poet-columnist John Seawright one night, and finally locating him at the bar of the Globe, hoping to ask him if I could reposition an errant comma. The impassioned chewing-out he gave me that night was so florid, biting, wild and beautiful that I wish I would have written it down.

Holiest of holies, of course, was the crew who’s still there at the core of Flagpole. But you don’t need me to reminisce about that. You are holding their labors in your hands (or on your tablet or whatever). An old standing item in the Dennis Greenia-era Flagpole was called “They Walk Among You,” and the fact that these bright-burning talents of all stripes are your neighbors is the essence of what makes Flagpole worth reading—and what, more generally, makes Athens the great spirit-emitting blast of nonconformist energy that it has long been, and that one hopes it will continue to be.

So: Holy Alicia Nickles, ad-selling, business-managing, maternal spirit power! Holy Larry Tenner, pure artist, ace production director, magnanimous genius soul! Holy Pete McCommons, indispensible chronicler bard priest shaman columnist obituarist lover poet!

Everything is holy! Flagpole is holy! Athens is holy! Holy, holy, holy!

MELISSA LINK, former calendar editor:

When I started writing for Flagpole, I was an art nerd with a thing for poetry who’d been lured away from academia by the wackier elements of Athens’ local creative culture. What started out as a weekly art column morphed into a steady gig. The 20th century was drawing to a close, and Athens’ music scene was wallowing in something of a golden age. R.E.M. still topped the charts, Elephant 6 bands were the critics darlings, the Drive-By Truckers were just getting started, Widespread had Panicked in the Streets to eventually spawn AthFest, and a handful of unfinished in-town warehouses played regular host to all manner of outrageous underground rock n’ roll performance art all-night ragers.

I spent most of my weekday afternoons holed up in a cluttered, windowless, sometimes snake-infested room basking in the blue-gray glow emanating from the tiny square screen of a Macintosh Classic hammering out a weekly calendar and random blurbs and articles on whatever mattered that week. In this era before the ubiquitousness of e-mail, I poured through stacks of paper press releases while my officemate Ballard Lesemann blasted snippets of random demo tapes on a blown-out boom box between prank calls to local celebrities. Nights were obligatorily spent out on the town thoroughly sampling the scene upon which it was our very important job to keep tabs. The pay sucked but the hours and perks couldn’t be beat—a job at Flagpole pretty much guaranteed a spot on the guest list and a backstage pass to any show that came through town, and Athens’ friendly bartenders saw to it that we never went thirsty.

Some of the wildest times  included the annual staff pilgrimage to South By Southwest—the 17 hour rides hitched in the back of band vans and the random episodes of less-than-discreet outdoor urination that became necessary in the face of endless lines to get into Austin’s hottest clubs to see the week’s coolest shows. And then there were the in-office Christmas parties with Dirty Santa gifts that included bottles of liquor and punching nun puppets. Mayor Gwen O’Looney was always the belle of the ball and, while it’s impossible to imagine our current mayor dancing the funky chicken alongside the 8-Track Gorilla, when Doc Eldridge ascended to office he always made a jovial appearance at the soiree.

Then-editor Richard Faussett was a true newsman who treated Flagpole like it was the Sunday Times. He awoke in me a fierce sense of cynical criticism and a passion for investigation. In the meantime, I owe my continually growing obsession with local politics wholly to Pete McCommons. In the dozen-plus years since I left Flagpole for a stint working for The Man in the seedy underbelly of our local corporate fish wrapper , I somehow ended up happily back in academia.  Today I can honestly say that those three years spent haunting that dusty brick building on Foundry Street shaped me more than any other experience of my adult years.

THOMAS WHEATLEY, former writer:

Growing up in Atlanta, I used to read Creative Loafing all the time. When I arrived in Athens in 1999 and saw there was that same kind of publication—biting, honest, opinionated, fun—I was thrilled. Being some metro Atlanta kid riding high on a HOPE scholarship, I didn't know half of the issues Pete and the team were talking about in the news section. (I remember reading about couches on porches and protecting neighborhoods from ne'er-do-well renters.) But I picked it up every week—even sometimes checking news racks several times a night—because I loved the tone and the way Flagpole delivered news. 

In my junior year, I spent a few months reporting and writing a profile for my magazine writing class about Athens-area men who raced pigeons as a hobby. By the time I finished the piece, it was more than 3,000 words. Our professor pushed us to get our pieces published somewhere, and the only place I could imagine taking it was Flagpole. I knew the Red & Black wouldn't have the room. And I thought it'd be a good fit. Pete loved it, published it and gave me the motivation I needed to keep writing, keep reporting and keep publishing. In addition to some shorter pieces, Pete gave me the freedom to pursue longer stories that interested me. He let me experiment with long looks about nudist resorts and aspiring professional wrestlers in small North Georgia towns.

I was amazed, however, when I visited the office. I thought it was going to be people buzzing back and forth, bringing stories to edit desks and telephones always ringing. But it was a very relaxed atmosphere putting out a very lively publication, and overseeing it all was this man in an office right off the lobby. 

Pete's been one of the coolest people I've ever worked for, someone who became a real mentor and, most of all, a friend. The guy's lent me his ear when I've gone through some tough times. Were it not for Pete and Flagpole giving me a chance, I wouldn't be where I am today.  Also, every woman I've ever introduced to him has fallen in love with him. It's that Greensboro voice and charm. He's also helped shape Athens with a publication that the city desperately needs. Can you imagine Athens without Flagpole? Not just now, but in the past?

I left Flagpole when I left Athens once and for all in 2005. (Pete hooked me up with a housesitting gig, which allowed me to work at a cafe and enjoy the city a little while longer.) After working at a North Fulton weekly newspaper—a big change going from covering nudist resorts to writing about garden clubs—and then living briefly in New York City, I returned to Atlanta and became a staff writer at Creative Loafing. I'm now news editor.  

DEBBIE MICHAUD, former calendar editor:

I started writing for Flagpole during my junior year of college at UGA,  sometime  around 2001, I believe. This was kind of before we were as inextricably connected over email as we are now, and I used to write unsolicited articles, physically print them out, walk them over to the office, and leave them with a copy of my resume in Pete and other editors' mailboxes. I think I also used to try and call and see if they had read them and wanted to publish them. Not sure I ever really got anyone on the phone, though.

None of those stories ever got printed, but at some point Pete noticed that I had interned in Atlanta with ART PAPERS and asked me to start covering local visual arts scene for the paper. I said yes, of course. That was my first regular writing gig. I loved covering that beat for Flagpole. I met a ton of people I'm still in touch with, and it definitely help set me on the path that I've been on for the better part of the last decade, covering the arts in Atlanta as Creative Loafing's culture editor and now as its editor-in-chief.

BEN EMANUEL, former city editor:

When I started at Flagpole, in the basement (Does anybody still spend any time down in that cavern?), it was in the heart of the Heidi years in Athens. Fortunately for a city editor, the single-family zoning ordinance storm had passed by the time I came to the paper around 2005. But there would be other controversies. One of the first during my run was over the window-of-opportunity proposal to three-lane Prince Avenue from Milledge in to downtown; it lost on a 6-4 commission vote one night at City Hall.

I don't know about that particular ACC Commission meeting, but generally speaking, those years were the heyday of the City Hall meetings that often ran as late as 2 a.m. It's really not easy to describe the feeling of sitting in one of those old wooden seats, well after midnight, watching presentations on zoning decisions. Speaking of which, also way back when was the rezone-turned-race-war over whether to allow Bruno Rubio to try to turn his vision of a mixed-use, plaza-style (and tasty!) slice of Latin America into reality on Cedar Shoals Drives.

 In 2006, we were thrust into the news of that year's election cycle, when Mayor Davison had more challengers for her seat than she or we could really keep track of. We finally captured the zaniness of that five-way race with an election-week Flagpole cover that I'm still proud of. There was Heidi, holding fast to the eagle weathervane on top of City Hall, while Charlie Maddox and Tom Chasteen scaled the dome with ropes and the other challengers, one in a UFO, occupied the airspace over downtown. I like to think that cover was an intellectual ancestor of Mitt Zombie.

 What was also interesting about the '06 campaign season was the formation of the Athens Press Club. Fomented by weekly gatherings of the town's newsfolk to record "Athens News Matters" on WUGA (and, okay, often an associated happy hour), the Press Club gave us a way to organize candidate debates at a bar, which turned out to be a pretty good recipe for the Athens political world. Without those debates, we never would have had the chance to see Pete call then-senator (now state insurance commissioner) Ralph Hudgens' gerrymandering "tacky" to his face, on live radio and in front of a full house at the Melting Point. (Pete was right, by the way.) The Press Club debates also set the stage for Andy Rusk's take-no-prisoners speech when he bowed out of the mayor's race at the last minute in dramatic fashion. As always, if you weren't having fun with Athens politics, you weren't paying attention.

Heidi's second term in office brought us the wildest, craziest news item ever during my tenure at Flagpole: Athens' long flirtation with the United States Department of Homeland Security. The controversy over the proposal to build the National Bio- and Agro-Defense Facility (a.k.a. the Bio-Terror Lab) on UGA's horse pastures out at the end of South Milledge Avenue was dizzying from start to finish, splitting the community along some unexpected lines and eating up lots of civic energy, weekday evenings at the Georgia Center and copy space. One ACC commissioner later called the NBAF saga "the nirvana of all Athens new stories," and he was absolutely right about that.

 Somewhere along the line, we revived the City Dope column after a brief mid-decade dormancy, which enabled us to keep up better with all of this wildness and craziness. We also kept both "Follow the Money" and "Pete's Cheat Sheet" alive and well during each election cycle. It was always fun to have candidates for local and state office come in to meet with us in Pete's little office, where they would sit down on the old, extra-soft couch in there and invariably have a lot of trouble getting back up whenever it was time to go. If that couch is still there, I guess I've now given away the tip to avoid it unless you do a lot of yoga. Heads up, 2014 candidates!

My years at Flagpole were also the Sonny Perdue years in Georgia, and they were also mostly years of drought that put a real hurt on the Oconee River and others all over the state. One of the weird, fun things about being at any news agency is that your email address winds up on all sorts of press release distribution lists. Once, probably in '08 or so, we got an announcement about a "Go Fish Georgia" bass-fishing tournament going forward on Lake Lanier despite low water levels. Always one for fun times at the office, Pete forwarded the email to me with an added message of his: "Go, Sonny! Why don't we just wait until the lake is dry and then hit them with baseball bats?!" The only problem was that he didn't forward it to me -- he'd hit Reply instead. Fortunately the Go Fish Georgia publicist was amused, and she wrote back with an equally wacky, but kind, note about how that would involve cruelty to animals.

The truth is that approaching everything with a certain sense of humor is part of the magic of Flagpole's approach to its world. I still feel lucky to have been a part of all that for a few years.

MICHELLE GILZENRAT DAVIS, former music editor:

Ah, it feels like only a few months ago I was the music editor of Flagpole Magazine. Oh right, it was. I began my term in 2008, ushered into office on a platform of hope and change. Or was that someone else? I had my share of hopes, anyway, and moving back to the town of my alma matter after three years in Atlanta was certainly a change I believed in. It was unquestionably the best move I’ve ever made. Through Flagpole, I saw the heart of Athens, and because of that experience, I don’t plan on leaving.

But the first couple years were not without challenge. I returned to Athens to find a restless scene. The new music business program at UGA was struggling to bridge the town and gown divide while record sales dwindled and gas prices soared. The business of music felt more futile than ever. The economy was in shambles, and the trend downtown seemed to be smaller turnouts despite more free shows. I was welcomed by a sort of parade of grievances—hip-hop artists, Americana promoters, underground venues and everyone else who wasn’t pop called to say, “Why doesn’t Flagpole write about us?”

So, it was my philosophy to broaden our music coverage as much as possible without sacrificing our critical integrity. It helped immensely that Flagpole was no longer limited to the confines of the printed page. Our website got a major facelift during my first year (followed by several makeovers), with a new emphasis on daily content and multimedia. We also joined the rest of the world on Facebook and Twitter and began to (slowly but surely) learn how to maximize our impact and reach our readers in new, more interactive ways.

I wish technology issues were the biggest challenge we faced during my tenure, but 2009 cut deeper. For 12 solid months, Athens faced a barrage of tragedy. There were days I felt my heart could not handle another “memorial” issue. So many beloved artists were lost too soon—Randy Bewley in February, Jon Guthrie in September and Vic Chesnutt on Christmas Day. The usually celebratory Twilight Criterium weekend was marred by a horrific shooting spree, and days before AthFest, the Georgia Theatre went up in flames. Has the Athens music scene suffered a more grueling year?

But the silver lining is this: Through all the loss and heartbreak and struggle, Athens endured. I had to be the bearer of bad news more times than I’d like, but I also had the privilege of seeing the incredible support network of our community come through time and time again. When Athens suffered a loss, the first response always seemed to be, “What can we do to help?”

And, of course, the music played on. If I had to pick one band that defined my time at Flagpole, it would undoubtedly be Reptar (followed closely by the best live band of all time, The McCommunists, and the best alien band of all time, The Walmartians). I got to witness the full arc of Reptar’s career—from an underground house party sensation to national media darlings and AthFest headliners. Reptar brought unadulterated, reckless joy—everything Athens needed to dance away its woes. More importantly, Reptar’s success was inspiring. Love or hate ‘em, they proved that local bands can still sell out shows and find success on the road, and we really needed to see that happen. Of course, while new stars were born, we also saw the end of Athens’ most epic music career when R.E.M. called it a day in 2011. It was a bittersweet loss, but it felt invigorating to have an international spotlight on Athens while the world paid tribute to R.E.M.‘s 30-year career.

It’s amazing how much can happen in just four years, no? I am just honored to have been a part of the madness, and I thank Flagpole for helping me find my home.

DAVE MARR, former city editor:

I came to Flagpole as a writer in fall 2008, which doesn't seem all that long ago. I became city editor in fall 2009, which really seems recent, and just left this past summer.

When I realize I was the full-time political reporter and editor for Athens' best local news outlet for almost three years—that I covered a marathon mayoral election, more than a handful of hugely consequential and heatedly divisive development controversies (some still unresolved), the successful restructuring of our local government by an ambitious state-level politician and the torturous run-up to the uniquely bitter legislative primary that would be his undoing—it seems to have passed in the blink of an eye.

It all happened because I liked movies. My friend Chris Cotter became managing editor right around the time Ciné opened, and she knew the paper would need a new column about non-mainstream film. She called and asked if I wanted to do it while I was still in school—a 38-year-old immersed in UGA's undergraduate film studies program. We started the Film Notebook column, and it taught me how to be a writer in the alternative weekly context.

I soon met Ben Emanuel, who was city editor then, covering Athens news and politics with amazing comprehension and clarity; self-effacing but authoritative. I'd been aquainted with Pete McCommons for years—Athens is Athens, and even though he was a serious newsman and I was decidedly something else, we had run into each other pretty often over the years and liked each other.

When Ben decided it was time to move into his life's obvious vocation, taking care of rivers in our part of the country, Chris stepped in again and suggested I apply for his job. I did, and I got it.

I realized pretty quickly that I didn't know anything at all about how the local government operated, which unfortunately was going to be my beat. I was lucky enough to share an office with Ben for a month while I transitioned into the job and he phased out, and luckier still to have the door of that office three feet from Pete's. Still, there was a bit of a learning curve.

I'm pretty sure that the week after Ben left, I reported something in City Dope about Paul Broun Jr. bathing in the blood of a horse on the Capitol steps with Michele Bachmann. It was probably about a week or two later that I embarked on my first major news story, which was about a giant pile of dirt in Normaltown. Then I started covering a race for mayor that lasted about a year.

Of course, there were other stories during those first 12 months or so—who could forget the downtown parking deck and the tennis center?!? Or better yet, the District 5 ACC Commission race in 2010, which was by far the sleaziest political circus I've ever been anywhere close to—unless you count zoning issues.

Whether it was the Normaltown dirt pile, the big-money Classic Center expansion, somebody transparently lying about whether or not he's trying to cut down a tree within the code or put up a multimillion-dollar shopping center outside of it, the zoning battles were consistently the nastiest—except for the political ones instigated by Doug McKillip.

If my tenure at Flagpole was marked by an ugliness that even a seasoned pro like Pete would acknowledge as unusual, Doug must receive his due credit. His rise and fall after betraying his constituents and switching to the Republican party played out like a squalid little Greek tragedy, dominating the second half of my term as city editor. Whether out of unchecked ambition, desperation or, as he claimed, a religious conversion that somehow didn't preclude him from deceiving voters about which party he intended to represent when elected, Doug engineered the political remolding of Athens-Clarke County in a twisted image intended to reflect his own—only he didn't get to stick around and enjoy it.

But who wants to rehash all of that? Given the chance to reflect on my association with Flagpole, what I'm struck by the most is how dramatically it changed my life for the better. In case I've given some other impression, it bears noting that the great majority of those involved with Athens politics are good, honorable and generous people, many of whom I now count as dear friends. And getting to work with people like Pete, Chris and Ben—not to mention Alicia Nickles, Michelle Gilzenrat, Larry Tenner and the 20 or 30 other great Flagpole staffers and freelancers who were fixtures in my life for those three-odd years—was an honor of which I'd never have imagined myself worthy if it hadn't happened.

So, 25 years, eh? Flagpole would appear to be well on the road to adulthood. Those of us who are uneased by this news will have to keep our eyes warily peeled for signs of excessive maturity. This erstwhile Dope stands ready to sound the alarm as ever.