
The room was quiet as I settled into the slouchiness of the couch a few minutes before 9 a.m. on an August morning. I was used to the clamor of the office on production nights, but it had been over a year since one had been hosted in person at Riverside Church. Now, Spectator’s office was a snapshot of pre-pandemic life, untouched by time. Volumes of past editions were stacked haphazardly throughout the room. Half-broken chairs littered the space, and the cabinets overflowed with years of books and party supplies. In the massive exodus from the city in spring 2020, staffers had used the office to store belongings. A friend and I had packed up our bedding, dishware, and other large items and left them here, too. When I returned to claim them, it all came rushing back—the foggy uncertainty regarding what was to come, and how it had felt to weigh what to save and what to leave behind.