Carolina Alumni Review - November/December 2011

TIMELINES

Our Davie
Rests, to This
Day, South
of the Border

In 1941, a committee xplored the possibility of bringing William Richardson Davie back to Chapel Hill. A South Carolina newspaper scoffed at the ‘selfish pride of the alumni of the University of North Carolina.’ Selfish, perhaps. Pride, without question.

It was a hot day and, in search of a proper university site, an exhausted committee rested under the umbrage of a giant poplar where they enjoyed “exhilarating beverages” and a picnic lunch and stole a nap. When he awoke, William Richardson Davie was certain the committee’s mission was fulfilled. As he put it, there was simply no more beautiful or suitable spot for North Carolina’s state university than the area around New Hope Chapel.

Anyway, that’s the way the story goes, and it’s as deeply rooted as that aged tulip poplar standing watch in the middle of McCorkle Place.

Another story has it that longtime resident and University advocate Cornelia Phillips Spencer christened the tree in the late 19th century. But our living memorial’s special prominence was noted as early as 1853. It was former Florida Gov. William D. Moseley who, while reminiscing about his days as a UNC student in 1818, remembered the landmark and reverently referred to it as “The Old Poplar.” As steeped in tradition as it is, and we are, perhaps some explanation is required.

First, as wonderful as the story is, the founding of the University under the poplar tree is, most likely, apocryphal. If the committee did, indeed, meet there, we’re not even sure Davie was present. Here’s another myth-buster, and you should take a seat for this one. Our “tulip poplar” is more akin to a magnolia than a poplar, says UNC arborist Tom Bythell, but then again, we shouldn’t allow the facts to get in the way of a good story. One thing for certain, the Davie Poplar has withstood the ravages of time.

NORTH CAROLINA COLLECTION
Honestly, it’s remarkable that it still
stands. Back in August 1873 — in the
darkest days of Reconstruction when the
University was closed — nature itself
punctuated the tough times when light-
ning struck the tree, splitting it from its
base to its upper branches. In August 1902,
high winds ripped two large limbs from
the landmark. Members of the class of

William Richardson Davie and the tree of trees, circa 1918. The scaffolding is no better explained than the steel cables once strung up to keep the tree standing. As yet, it hasn’t needed any help.