A eulogy for Birmingham-Southern College

What happens to a college when it dies?

What happens to its alumni? What happens to the memories the sacred site stores? What happens to its soul?

Is it tainted somehow, corrupted by its demise, cheapened?

Or do the bittersweet memories become even more important — augmented through the agony — something we will never take for granted, impossible to forget, something which will haunt us forever?

Birmingham-Southern College will soon be closing its doors for the first (and last) time.

Thousands of us, the proud, pained, broken alumni of this wonderful college, are gathering for the “Forward, Ever — Always: A Celebration and Farewell”. This is one of the final events by BSC before we, the lost men and women of BSC robbed of their home, go our separate ways and enter the great wilderness waiting for us, the terrifying wasteland of lost time and memory.

A sacred site for many, including myself, where life’s foundational, formative experiences occurred over a vast, vibrant multigenerational tapestry stretching 168 years, will become… What?

Another school? An Amazon Fulfillment Center? A government storage facility?

Despite all the untold possibilities of what Birmingham-Southern might become, one thing is certain – it will never become BSC again. And that is what hurts the most.

The gloomy, gravitational moment we have desperately tried to avoid, the harrowing hour we tried to convince ourselves could never actually arrive, is, at last, at hand. There is no escape from this fatal, fateful, final reunion. There is nowhere to hide.

With heads held high as we hold in our tears, we, the brave, bold lost men and women of BSC, bonded by our shared past, march fearlessly into the future.

If the grounds of Birmingham-Southern become another school, it will not be my school. If I visit the grounds in the future, I will recognize the buildings, but my recognition will end there.

But we will always have our memories and our stories. These powerful, immaterial, ineradicable things are woven into the very fabric of the grounds, unassailable roots seeping deep down into the soil.

This invisible canvas of memories and stories — the very heartbeat of the school — stretches over 150 years. It has reverberated; it reverberates now, and it will continue to sing its timeless song forever.

The hallowed ground will always house our memories no matter what business name is posted at the gate. No one can take these from us. No one can kill these.

Tragically, Birmingham-Southern will write no more stories.

Its stories will live on now only through us. We, testaments to the truth, wonder, and beauty of BSC, as long as we live, as long as we preserve, cherish, and share our memories and our stories, will honor and eternalize the college’s legacy.

Schools die. People die. But stories never die.

They only wither away when we stop telling them. We will never stop sharing BSC’s magnificent story.

We will never allow the sands of time to wash away our memories, our stories, and BSC’s everlasting, ennobling legacy.

Yes, mistakes were made. BSC certainly got itself into this perilous predicament. Foolish, irresponsible administrators crippled the college over many years until it could not stand on its own.

But the state government, the cruel, capricious wielders of the powers that be — powers which could have saved BSC from its deadly dilemma — killed the school. These were the ones who actually pulled the trigger.

This was not negligence. This was murder.

Never forget that. Never let them tell you it was BSC’s fault. Never let them tell you BSC deserved to die.

This disgraceful crime will never be forgotten. This monstrous sin will never be forgiven.

We, the lost men and women of BSC, as the poet Dylan Thomas declared, will “not go gentle into that good night.” We will “rage, rage against the dying of the light”.

In doing so, we will embody Birmingham-Southern excellence in the world wherever we go and in whatever we do. By carrying forth the beauty and immortal values of BSC, by persistently looking “Forward, Ever,” we will make them rue the day they condemned BSC to death.

We, the beautiful, the broken, the bold, the brave; we, who defiantly proclaim our college’s heroic mantra, “Forward, Ever” into the dark wilderness waiting for us, will continue writing our stories. We must.

As long as we keep sharing our stories and singing BSC’s beautiful song, BSC will never truly die.