TOMAS BORSA
Opinions Writer

”˜Twas but a fortnight yonder, and there I sat under the high stone arches of Thorvaldson, deep in ponderance over life’s great mysteries: “What,” thought I, “is our university lacking?”

It struck me like an iron bell clanging merrily above a spired tower. Cryptic legends and nostalgic traditions go hand in hand with the university experience. Greased poles and ham hocks aside, the present incarnation of the University of Saskatchewan has little to offer in this regard. Where have all the monocles gone? What ever happened to Latin, gargoyles and parchment?

Having been founded in 1907, The U of S is a surprisingly old institution, at least by Canadian standards. While a few of our campus’s buildings contain portions of limestone (the most noble of stones), it occurred to me that the Thorvaldson building is just about the pinnacle of our campus ostentation.

And so I feel we owe it to the corpses who helped found this university to recreate (or at least fabricate) the good old days of fountain pens and divinity classes. To avoid further confusion, yes, I am advocating for the creation of a monumental facade of pompous regalia and ceremonialism purely for the sake of novelty.

Yale, one of the Western world’s most beloved tabernacles of elitist eyebrow furrowing, was designed by James Gamble Rogers in the 19th century. Rogers wanted the campus to appear “distinguished” — old, in other words. But as buildings tend to be built with new materials, he had to devise alternate means of getting the desired look. So he did what any sensible person would: he splashed the buildings with acid and soot, broke windows, and left stones missing from the exterior, to give the illusion that Father Time had dished out a mighty ass-kicking to the weathered, sturdy structures of yesteryear.

To my knowledge, there are no secret societies on our campus (although maybe that’s the point). But with a dash of entrepreneurial spirit, this and more can be changed for the better. Like the grand halls of Yale once were, our own campus is in the midst of rapid expansion and development. Place Riel, student housing and virtually every horizontal surface at the university are undergoing massive facelifts.

Rather than dumping money into professional development or construction projects, imagine how our university’s image could be boosted by the simple addition of a few gothic doorway inscriptions, mahogany staircases or “misplaced” human skeletons (to be discovered in a hidden attic in approximately 30 years’ time).

Why is English the default language for signs like “Men’s Washroom,” “Authorized Persons Only” or “No Parking”? Latin is so much easier on the eyes. Why did pipes and exceptionally long, unkempt white beards ever fall out of favour with professors?

Similarly, who decided that the seal of our university would be a sheaf of wheat and a book? Why not a more mysterious and allegorical combination like an hourglass, an upturned raven and the number 44? There is no reason why 2010 can’t be a turning point in our university’s great history. After all, history is what you can get away with.

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