Locked deep in Widener's expansive hulk lie a red cardboard package tied with red silk cord, and a long wooden box, painted brown. Thereby hangs a tale.

Josiah Quincy president of Harvard at the 1836 bicentennial and a methodical man by nature, did up a pile of letters from alumni congratulating the University on its 200th birthday, and stuck them away in the attic of University Hall. 100 years later, flocks of photographers and reporters buzzed around the old documents, and there was a great furore over their un-sealing.

Furthermore, he bundled up the flag that flew over the bicentennial pavilion, about where Widener's walls now stand. That flag was sealed up in 1886; opened in 1886, promptly sealed up again; broken open, displayed twice for the Tercentenary, and again sealed for another hundred years.

At the Tercentenary, President Conant did up a box for 2036, if the Martians haven't sacked the College and burned up Widener's archives in the meantime. The packets inside the box are made of rag silk, so they won't smut and discolor the contents.

Free offer of a hermetically sealed box by a firm was vetoed by President Conant, because of the danger that lack of air might lead to chemical decomposition of the contents. But for the 1936 president who knows his chemistry, the 2036 president might ceremoniously open a box full of dust.

The much-sealed flag, too, rests among the archieves, in a long brown wooden box, about 14 feet long, firmly sealed, and battened down with 87 screws.

Thus has been initiated a "custom", and so it may be expected that Harvard will go on happily hiding things and finding them again, centenary after centenary, until Time and the presidents of the University are no more.