Over the past year, I have been hired, promoted, laid off, then
rehired and promoted again. I knew I was entering a chaotic industry
when I graduated from journalism school more than a year ago, though I
mistakenly felt immune to the turmoil because my paper, The Wall
Street Journal, was in good financial shape and seemed to be evolving
with the changing market.

The takeover of Dow Jones & Co., the publisher of the Journal, by
Rupert Murdoch’s News Corp., had taken the industry by surprise, and
the buzz always came back to me in waves of panic and curiosity: Will
the Journal become the New York Post? Will Fox News become our new
editorial model? Will the empire fester or thrive under the new
management? It seemed ridiculous to me, and I was confident any
changes to the Journal would be minor.

I came on to the global copy desk in October 2007, a few months before
the sale became final. The mood was calm on the desk, as far as I
could tell, but that calm eroded steadily after January 2008. Our highly
respected managing editor stepped down amid much head-butting and
closed-door meetings at the New York office. The replacement editor
was straight from the Murdoch pipeline, and speculation over the
paper’s future started buzzing louder. We found out the news
operations would all be moving under one roof in Midtown Manhattan. The front
page saw larger and more frequent photos played above the fold;
business news, which had always dominated the lead spot, competed with
more-general news stories.

I welcomed many of the changes, even as many bristled at the
inconvenience of moving back to NY. (The copy desk moved to South
Brunswick, N.J., in the wake of Sept. 11, 2001,when the newsroom at
the World Financial Center was damaged in the attacks). Bullies or
not, I saw an opportunity to make some needed changes to a paper whose
readership was getting old and whose editorial pages seemed so out of
touch they bordered on offensive. I believed, as I still believe, the
Journal’s news coverage is the finest in the world; and if shaking
things up a bit meant bringing more readers in, I was in favor of it.

Then the ax came down on me. In July, I was working in New York to
help launch WSJ. magazine, so I was shocked when rumors of layoffs in
South Brunswick reached me via e-mail. My boss wrote me a terse
message, telling me I had to come back to South Brunswick for a day.
My co-workers caught me up on some of the gossip, and after a meeting
was called, we knew what was coming. The copy desk, our new managing
editor informed us, was over. Everyone was laid off, but encouraged to
apply for new spots in what would amount to an overhaul of the
news-production system at the Journal. There were just 24 new spots
being created for more than 60 copy editors being let go.

I started thinking about whether I wanted to stay in an industry that
seemed to be falling apart. Even if I got another job at the Journal,
what’s to stop the powers that be from laying me off in another year
or two? As I made lists of backup plans—Peace Corps, graduate school,
bartending, traveling until I run out of money—I took comfort in the
uncertainty of my future. Unlike many of my co-workers, I had no
spouse, kids or mortgages to think about. The rollercoaster state of
the industry, I decided, was something to ride rather than fear. I
liked the idea of being a part of this historic moment in newspapers.

The day before we wrapped production on the magazine, I interviewed
for one of 12 new spots that I was eligible for; but with less than a
year under my belt, I wasn’t expecting to land one. I planned to apply
for other jobs within the company after my editors announced who’s in
and who’s out.

Weeks dragged out in the decision-making process, which was annoying
in itself, but maddening for me with my lease’s end looming. I didn’t
know if I’d need to find a place in New York or if I’d need to ship my
stuff to my parents’ house in Missouri, where I’d likely go to regroup
if I were not offered a job.

Finally, with one week left on my lease, the decision day was
announced. I was in. I’d be starting in New York in less than a month.

Meanwhile, my roommate and I went through the hell that is finding a
decent, affordable apartment in Brooklyn. After three deals fell
through in a week of intense searching, we faced the reality of moving
our stuff into a storage facility, and checking into a hotel until we
could find something to call home.

The copy desk was somber in the wake of the announcement. Although I
was excited to be doing something new, something that actually meant a
promotion for me, plenty of talented editors were walking away.

After two weeks of calling the Holiday Inn “home,” my roommate and I
found an apartment. We will likely move in Sept. 22, the same day I
start my new job.

It’s hard to get a good grasp on what’s just happened. There will be
more grumbling as changes take shape, I’m sure, and there’s no telling
how well this new system will work. I wish I could say that being
rehired has restored my belief in the industry’s resilience; but
honestly, I’m as concerned as ever. Many colleagues have pitied me for
entering the newspaper industry at such a tumultuous time. I’d be
lying if I said I haven’t occasionally felt tinges of regret. As much
as this is a scary time to be a journalist, it’s also a thrilling time
to take part in shaping the future of media.