In celebration of the opening of the UNC menâ€™s basketball season, hereâ€™s a blast from the past, courtesy of Breadmenâ€™s Restaurant on West Rosemary in Chapel Hill.
Whenever I begin suffering from â€œnature deficit disorder,â€ I have only to slow down, ease off the gas pedal and observe.
To the folks who think all newspapers are dying, I have this response: Yâ€™all really need to get out of town more often.
So often we assume we know the people we see every day. And then one day, they appear as someone else.
As a postscript to the Speaker Ban marker dedication on the UNC campus: There were so many magical moments from that University Day celebration, but hereâ€™s one â€œdecisive momentâ€ that will resonate with this photographer for a long time.
Professor Sechriest was actually grinning when he jerked me out of News Editing class and hauled me into his office.
Carl Sandburg, Pulitzer Prize-winning poet, author and historian, was a Midwesterner by birth, but he chose to be a North Carolinian for the last 22 years of his prodigiously productive writing life.
March 2, 1966, a crowd of some 1,200 UNC students, faculty, staff and townspeople gather to protest the infamous Speaker Ban Law.
To a townie like me, every single tree in Polk and McCorkle Place is like a dear playmate with whom I have grown old.
We go through our daily lives seeing but failing to observe.
I have the best job in the world in the summer when I hit North Carolinaâ€™s backroads that take me to the stateâ€™s many community newspapers.
Lest we forget â€¦ there is another Ground Zero. . .
Around this time of year, if you were a UNC student back in 1963 wanting to drop a class and add another, you went to sweltering Woollen Gym.
So Iâ€™m sitting on the Carolina Inn lawn listening to bluegrass when a gent about my age approaches.
One of the reasons real-book libraries are so valuable has to do with simple serendipity.