"Goodbye cookies"

Today's intake: one white chocolate chunk with macadamia nuts; one regular chocolate chip. Yesterday's tally: one snickerdoodle, one oatmeal raisin. Earlier in the week, I passed on the homemade pastries someone brought in.

I wish I could say these workplace treats were celebrating someone's birthday or a journalism award. Instead, they've become a sad and all-too-common symbol of the slow shedding of newsroom jobs at The Oregonian.

Late last year, when 50-something full-time staffers -- every one of them a seasoned professional and some of them among the best people I've worked with -- we had sheet cakes, coffee and lemonade by the gallon and, in some cases, an after-work drink or two. Although painful to see so many talented colleagues leave at once, we all thought we were seeing the worst. By shrinking the staff, we were bringing the size of the payroll down to match current expenses in this fragile economy.

Little did we know that worse was yet to come. Along with a temporary pay cut, mandatory unpaid furlough days and freezing of our pension benefits came the news last month that we'd also have to lay off up to two dozen part-timers. Bless their hearts, enough people volunteered to accept the company's severance offer and move on. Some had been here a while and, I'm sure, saw it as a good time to wind down. Others, half their age, no doubt saw the modest pile of cash awaiting them, enough to launch into a new line of work or go back to school.

Starting a few days ago, they started leaving. Yesterday we said goodbye to a trio (two reporters and an editor). Today we said goodbye to four people on our floor (two designers, a clerk and a columnist) and to another seven on the floor below us (four in sports and three others from the copy desk, the listings desk and the political reporting team). With each departure came the well-intentioned e-mail from a supervisor or co-worker, urging the rest of us to come say goodbye to (fill in the name here) and swing by his or her desk for a cookie. Today's sayonara involved a noon potluck and the ubiquitous cookies.

I've taken to thinking of them as "goodbye cookies." When I think about their meaning, I can't help but feel:

Sad. Obviously. I know that each of these people took pride in their work and in the contribution they made to our community. To wind down -- or in some cases cut short -- their careers in these circumstances seems undignified.
Discouraged. It's no fun saying goodbye to good people. Of course, I wish them the best, and some of them do have some interesting plans. Everything from travel and massage school to contracted editing services to spending more time caring for aging parents. Still, the contracting of our industry is troubling because newspaper journalism is so vital to our democracy.
Relief. Let's be honest. Other companies, other industries have laid off massive amounts of people. So far (knock on wood), everyone who's left The Oregonian's newsroom has gone willingly, choosing to accept a buyout or layoff offer. No one's been forced out. In this economy, I don't underestimate the good fortune I have to still have a great job at a great newspaper in a great city.
Resignation. I know more people will leave in the coming months and years. I can only hope they will make their decisions on the basis of their individual circumstances rather than a worsening of our financial situation.

This week, I talked to a young, full-of-potential reporter who is starting to think seriously of medical school. She's that bright -- and her family is nudging her in that direction. Yet journalism is all she's ever wanted to do. I wish she could look forward to what I've had: a long, deeply satisfying career full of variety and the opportunity to grow my skills. But I also won't be surprised if, a decade from now, she walks across a stage to receive her medical degree.

"Goodbye cookies." I hope I've eaten the last of them for a while.