The Pitch, Kansas City’s venerable alt-weekly, turned 40 recently. An age that I used to think was old, but now I tell myself stuff like “40 is the new 20” as I fumble a couple of loose Osteo Bi-flex from my pocket. I spent four years as creative director at the Pitch, a tenth of its lifetime and soon to be a tenth of mine. It was my first real 9–5 job. I was woefully underqualified, but considering the magazine’s paper-thin budgets, my inexperience made for a compellingly low overhead.

It’s bittersweet, looking through these old covers. There are nearly 200. Some hold up remarkably well. It helps when you, as I often did, have some amazingly talented Illustrators and photographers to work with.

Others are quite embarrassing. There are some that I wish I could take another crack at: the typography is sloppy, or the image needs retouching. And there are a few where I wish I could apologize to the writer or the illustrator. It’s like a relay race, where they ran perfect legs, and when it came time for the handoff, I grabbed the baton and started prancing around, playing it like a flute while pissing my pants. Speed and resourcefulness were always the most valuable skills for that position — but sometimes, too often, quality would fall through the cracks.

However, what I feel most when I look back at this work is gratitude. The editor, Scott, took a chance on me that he didn’t have to. And he allowed me enough of a leash to experiment and try to figure out how to do the job however I saw fit. The Pitch was a sort of boot camp. It could, and did, burn people out. But it was also a thrill. A coffee-fueled, daily sprint that tied me deeper to my community; connected me with some of Kansas City’s most talented and interesting journalists, artists, musicians, and chefs; and made for some incredible memories.