The kind you’re born with, the kind you choose, the kind that teach Catholic school
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First, thanks to those who responded to my article last month (“Does THE SUN Have a Future?”) by subscribing, or giving gift subscriptions. The letters of support accompanying the checks have been important, too. We’re still a long way from being out of debt, but we will be able to pay the printer for this issue.
Thanks, too, to the advertisers who bought larger-than-usual ads in this issue as a gesture of support. THE SUN has always depended, in part, on the goodwill of those merchants who understand that there is more to life than making money.
A long overdue thanks, also, to our contributors, who, despite a heavy editor’s hand and only token payment, keep filling these pages with material that gets better and better.
And thanks to the rest of you, for bearing with us. A friend suggested that I was trying to make people feel guilty with last month’s article. That wasn’t my intention. I simply wanted to share with you the plain, sometimes depressing (sometimes exhilarating) truth. There’s no way to convince you THE SUN is necessary, nor would I try. If enough people don’t feel that way, then it obviously isn’t necessary — at least not as an expression of our journey together, our shared fears and hopes, our common humanity. If it can’t be kept alive without guilt and exhortation, it’s not meant to be. THE SUN belongs to all of us and will continue, or not continue, because of all of us.
Our situation is the same: we spend more than we make. Our personal savings have run out, and it’s necessary for the magazine to become self-supporting. The key is a wider readership. If everyone who reads the magazine finds one new subscriber, we’ll survive. If you wish to subscribe ($12 year), or give a gift subscription, or make a donation, write THE SUN, 412 West Rosemary Street, Chapel Hill, N.C. 27514 or call (919) 942-5282. Or fill out the card in this issue. THE SUN is a non-profit organization — legally and literally, but hopefully not eternally.
— Sy Safransky