All good things must come to an end.
It's easy to swallow when it's layered over something basic like a vacation or a really tasty meal. Greeting the end of something bigger and more meaningful feels like a boat adrift without an oar.
For generations, community newspapers have served as both compass and anchor, keeping people informed and connected to the issues that shape where we live.
But seasons change. Relationships drift apart, children grow up, the landscape shifts and beloved institutions fold.
Like other publications across the country, The Beaches Leader closed its doors in April after 63 years. The era ended quietly, which is tragic for a paper that meant so much to so many people.
I've spent most of my adult life connected to The Beaches Leader. I started in 1997 in the production department, building ads and friendships that were stronger than my graphic skills.
Editor Kathy Bailey eventually caved to my unrelenting demand to write something, anything. My first contributions were wobbly, like a baby giraffe on spindly legs.
I had no experience, but I had a voice and an editor who believed in me.
She mentored me about millage rates, mining City Council agendas for the big stories, not using "in order to" but just "to," the importance of accountability, transparency, community.
Kathy loved the Beaches and she was over the moon to raise her family in the same place she grew up. Her kids went to the same schools and eventually followed her to the paper where they worked until her death in 2020.
I didn't recognize it at the time, but I was also following in her footsteps. For me, The Beaches Leader was more than just a job. It was a classroom where important life lessons were taught, like how to be still and just listen, how to live with purpose instead of splashing around like a fish out of water. It was the first time I knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
It hasn't been easy to let go, but I'm grateful to have a record of my life in my own words. I was 24 when I first entered that newsroom and took those first shaky steps into the rest of my life.
Not all my copy was worth pinning with a magnet to the fridge. Some of it was downright cringey.
Musings on pop culture, interviews with local bands back when the Beaches had a vibrant music scene, the 1999 Vans Warped Tour that introduced the up-and-coming new artist Slim Shady, known to the world now as Eminem, the sophomore directorial effort from my friend Dan, who I met sitting side by side in the Leader's production department.
Dan was directing "Burn This" at Players by the Sea as part of the first full season in its brand-new home at 106 Sixth St. N., where they have spent the last 26 years.
I dedicated 10 column inches to my first karaoke experience and how the fear of making a fool of myself in public fades away when you choose a song that is more than eight minutes long. Goodbye American Pie, indeed.
When I finally had the chance to see my childhood crush, Rick Springfield, in concert, I documented my experience with the headline "I still wish that I was Jessie's Girl." For the record, that ship sailed, sunk and is covered in barnacles.
I wrote about the time I traveled to Memphis alongside Sam Veal to support The Honeytones at the International Blues Talent Competition. The scrappy blues band from Jacksonville Beach represented Northeast Florida and they lit up Beale Street. I was still green — Wilson Pickett said he had shoes older than me — but I knew I'd unlocked something special.
On my 28th birthday, I waxed poetic about my upcoming 10-year high school reunion. It was the first one since graduation. At the time, it felt like a continuation. Looking back, it feels like yesterday and a lifetime ago. These stories not only remind me of what happened, but who I was when it did.
I'm so grateful to have recorded so many personal milestones; my engagement announcement, the wedding photos on the beach, and two years later the birth of my son, who is now 24 years old and the best of me.
I was gifted a beautiful quilt handmade by Linda Spence when she served on the Jacksonville Beach City Council with a tiny newspaper stitched in the corner reading "Extra! Extra!" announcing his arrival.
I was green as a new parent, too. Taking the baby out to dinner for the first time was such a colossal disaster that I devoted more than a dozen column inches to my maternal shortcomings. Today, that baby is a foodie working in a restaurant kitchen as he readies to graduate from college and take his own shaky first steps into the world.
It's been 10 years since I lost my friend, Dan. I'm so grateful to have captured our work, together.
Seasons change, but endings are just beginnings in disguise. While the name on the masthead may be different, the mission of the Beach Gazette remains the same. I am excited to be part of the next chapter, to tell stories that matter, shine a light on our neighbors, and strengthen the bonds that make this community special.
That's the thing about community newspapers. They remember us and ensure that the extraordinary lives of ordinary people are not forgotten.
Liza Mitchell
Senior Reporter
