Kurt Vonnegut was a poet, a dreamer, a soldier and most importantly to those at 139 W. State Street, a Sunnie.

Although most of us who currently work on the newspaper never met the man who changed the face of American literature during the 1960s and ’70s, his presence continues to animate The Cornell Daily Sun. Everyone from writers-in-training to past editors in chief cannot help but be greeted by a picture of him that watches over our newsroom. The photograph, taken at The Sun’s 125th Anniversary Banquet, captures Vonnegut’s inquisitive gaze perfectly. It is a timeless reminder that even in old age, he was constantly brooding, pondering and fashioning worlds that many thought could never be expressed on paper.

There is no doubt that Vonnegut’s work resonates. Just ask the generations of high school students who are struck year after year by the vibrant imagery in such writings as Slaughterhouse-Five and Cat’s Cradle. Sun Podcast: A podcast of this "From the Editor" is available. Click here to listen to or to download it.

At the same time, it wasn’t his written work that we at The Sun remember most, but rather, the wit and wisdom that had a tendency to hit us when we least expected it. Stories of his tenure at The Sun, where he was night editor of the issue chronicling the attack on Pearl Harbor, all highlight his unwavering sarcasm and sharp personality. His commitment to our legacy cannot be challenged.

At the start of every semester, Sun editors gather in Goldwin Smith to promote their respective sections to starry-eyed freshmen. The names E.B. White ’21 and Jeremy Schaap ’91 will always be mentioned with pride, but they will never be equal in stature to Vonnegut. As a man who hated pedestals and actually took pleasure in knocking people off them, Vonnegut would probably mock his successors for setting him up so high. Yet, in spite of his eccentricities, we cannot help but stand in awe of both the man’s literary genius and legacy here at The Sun.

On May 3, 1980, Vonnegut famously ended The Sun’s traditional end-of-year banquet with a quote that has been an ingrained mantra for every Sun staffer:

“I am an atheist, as some of you may have gleaned from my writings. But I have to tell you that, as I trudged up the hill so late at night and all alone, I knew that God Almighty approved of me.”

Vonnegut probably entered the pearly gates chock full of his most prized and personal philosophical musings. Though we mourn his loss, it comforts us to know that Kurt is now with a God who most certainly approves of him.