More innocent times capsules

Not long ago, a friend said my columns were becoming a little too mean this year.

On the one hand, who knew she was such a stuck-up witch? But on the other, maybe she had a point. Maybe I could write some cheerier fare, if only in the spirit of the holidays. (Not Veterans Day, we don’t observe that here — the real ones, with Jesus and the Indians.)

So in the holiday spirit, everyone was thrilled and inspired last week to see the class of 1988 open up its time capsule, after 25 years buried deep beneath campus. For many, it was a great opportunity to relive the past. For University officials, it was just nice to unseal something besides an indictment.

Looking inside the capsule, it was funny to see how different things used to be around here. In it, people found school relics, like magazines, fliers, even the last original essay by a UNC football player. It was another time.

Basically, what the class of ’88 left for us was … complete crap.

And how typical of that generation — not leaving anything of actual value behind for us. Why couldn’t they have buried something useful — like cheap gas or Apple stocks or the Mel Gibson who still liked Jews?

Our history is so much richer. In fact, there are many, many other (lesser-known, but better) time capsules hidden on campus.

For example, there’s still one from 1950, perfectly preserved from a time when women were marginalized, blacks had no rights and liberals were accused of socialism: Ladies and gentlemen, the College Republicans! (Ba-dum-bum.)

I’m kidding, of course (1950s Republicans were far more progressive), but there really are other wonderful time capsules, like this one, buried by William Richardson Davie. Davie was the founder of UNC and a slave own— You know what? Forget these time capsules, they don’t mean anything. What means something is opening them.

We need more moments like that, the DTH editorial board wrote, to bind us together.

“The magic of the UNC experience is in the little things,” they said. It’s a drink from the Old Well on your first day of class, the thrill of rushing Franklin Street with your friends after a game, the borderline-inappropriate tweet from your J-School professor you didn’t even know followed you: It all makes up who we are as Tar Heels.

Those are hard to bottle. So it’s time to start thinking: what would you seal in our class’ dark container and bury away?

Here’s just a few things I’m bringing, feel free to add your own.
1. Public records requests (it’ll be fun for the kids to get to open them before the school does)
2. Gary Birdsong (alive)
3. People who argue with him (dead)
4. P.J.’s keys (until April)
5. My official transcript (until hired)
6. The academic advising department (until further notice)
7. 17,000 unread, uncirculated, mint-condition versions of this column, picked back up from newsstands Monday morning.