TO THE EDITOR:
It was heartening to see UNC kids rushing the floor of the Smith Center on Monday, to see that enthusiasm and joie de vivre are still possible in a dark world.
I was struck by how nerdy the students headed from the Smith Center to Franklin were, chatting and teasing about their schoolwork instead of Meeks’ blocked shot.
“Nine thirty accounting class,” a guy called out ahead to a long-haired, attractive, brunette co-ed as we approached the midway point of the trek, at the undergrad library.
“I don’t know if I’ll try and go tomorrow,” another said later during the trek of her early-morning classes.
Even in the midst of the campus party of the decade, the young folks were consumed with thoughts and concerns about work. They’re going to grow up to be just like us, after all.
I was struck at how orderly and clean the Franklin mosh was. Even the occasional gutter word seemed forced and out of place and disapproved. Dean Smith would have been pleased.
I was astounded and a bit disappointed that the party began breaking up after an hour. How utterly droll. How utterly like we were 40 years before.
During the afternoon while roaming the dogwood-dotted campus I got nary a stare from nary a student hinting that I shouldn’t be there, that this place was now the young’s world, the young’s time. I felt right at home.
Thanks, Chapel Hill. My faith in and love of you remains solid.
Class of ’78
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