The scene was memorable and symbolic: Sports Editor J.V. Anderton '01 poring word-by-word over the pages that will appear in Friday's Football Pullout. What was so memorable and symbolic about that? He did it by candle-light (six, to be precise), with his eyes squinting and his face barely three inches away from the flats.

In this evolving world of amazing technology, it is easy to forget just how dependent we are on something as simple (or at least, what now seems to us so simple) as electricity. Last night, for those of us fortunate enough to be at The Sun, the necessity and importance of electricity was never so evident.

As the box on the front page explains, the power outage that blackened The Commons area for four hours severely impacted the normal nightly routine at The Sun, even threatening at one point publication of today's paper. So here is an abridged version of the quirky events that resulted in The Sun that you are now reading:

5:30 p.m. -- Shortly after the first crop of editors arrives down at The Sun to begin the chain of events that leads to publication, the first hint of a long night ahead comes hard and fast, as the power briefly goes out. Editors re-establish the paper's local network and the wire feed with the Associated Press.

6:30 - 8:00 p.m. -- Reporters arrive, hoping to put finishing touches on their articles. The news editor originally expects Sun staff writers to produce seven local stories for today's paper. However, the writing and editing process is repeatedly interrupted by short power outages that knock out The Sun's web server (that is why www.cornelldailysun.com was down last night), network server and feed to the AP. Power outages also teach Sun reporters a lesson that they should have learned in sixth-grade: always save your work every five minutes. Frustration begins to mount among reporters and editors, but not much else seems out of the ordinary.

8:30 p.m. -- The office goes black. Reporters get cut off in mid-sentence on the telephone. Unlike the previous outages, the power does not return immediately. Rather, a few minutes later, sirens can be heard throughout downtown Ithaca. Three fire engines pull up alongside City Hall. Police light flares at major intersections near The Sun's offices. The situation seems a bit more ominous.

8:45 p.m. -- Tired of sitting in the dark, Sun staffers finally find a practical use for the large quantities of candles that populate the composing room. Flickers of light barely illuminate the news room. No phone service. No access to computers. No flashlights.

9:30 p.m. -- Prospects for return of electricity look bleak. Editors begin to send some of the reporters home, not wanting to keep people at The Sun for what is quickly amounting to a fruitless endeavor. Assistant Sports Editor Charles Persons '02 is fast asleep on a couch.

10:00 p.m. -- Editors begin to ponder the unthinkable: not publishing a paper today. Not since a winter blizzard in 1971 has The Sun failed to publish a regular weekday edition during the academic year, excepting holidays. But with the power out indefinitely, the thought of putting out a paper from scratch this late in the evening is daunting. Meanwhile, staffers resort to cheap beer from a distant downtown convenience store to ease the mood. News Editor Christen Aragoni '02 and Stephanie Boswell '02 nod off.

10:30 p.m. -- Editor in Chief Aron Goetzl '01 and Managing Editor Salil Gupte '01 drive to the house of Business Manager Louise Pullin '01 to discuss the possibility and ramifications of skipping today's paper. The three opt to wait until midnight before making a final decision, but decide to shorten the newspaper just in case the power returns.

11:30 p.m. -- The number of staff at The Sun has shrunk from 25 at the beginning to just 10. Tired and frustrated, the staff is shocked when the other side of Cayuga Street lights up suddenly. The excitement quickly fades, however, as the Sun office remains powerless.

11:45 p.m. -- We have light! Within seconds, the sound of computers re-booting and the phones ringing pierce the quiet of the darkness from moments earlier. Editors reassess the situation and make a concerted effort to do what it takes to get a paper out, albeit from scratch with reporters long gone.

3:15 a.m. -- Mission accomplished. The Sun will rise after all, NYSEG be damned.