Imagine the Arch being dismantled because it blocked the North Campus sidewalk. Or Uga VII being succeeded by some random bulldog because, hey, it’s just a dog.

Though the University is not in danger of losing an important aspect of its character through these absurd examples, it may yet lose another part of its character due to apathy.

Pandora, the school’s yearbook, sold 423 copies of its 2009 edition to a student body of about 36,000.

That number really shocked me. I was an undergraduate at Clemson working on its yearbook, TAPS, which last year sold about 2,200 copies to a student body of about 17,000.

Pandora may have survived the axe of the University budget committee during last year’s budget cut of $22 million, but that budget discussion is coming again this year. Sales numbers will need to be at least 1,000 to give the book a fighting chance, according to Courtney Clark, the managing editor.

The common denominator of declining interest and sales in yearbooks nationwide is simple: Facebook.

With Facebook, I can immediately upload and archive images of my own social events, and with a yearbook, I would wait a year to pay money for a publication full of photos of people I don’t even know.

It must be persuasive. Jostens, the publisher of yearbooks such as Pandora, has stated that in 2008, about 1,100 universities in the United States are still producing yearbooks, equivalent to those that are not.

Yearbook staffers are typically quick to point out the shortcomings of Facebook. Clark, in discussing the advantages Pandora holds over it, says “It’s something that people can keep forever. Facebook is here today and gone tomorrow.”

I learned the truth of that when my ex-girlfriend, with a few mouse clicks, obliterated much of the photographic record of several years of my life.

The yearbooks that are surviving are not offering many clues about why. West Point and Ole Miss are often cited as success stories. Could smaller schools still have the strong social ties to interest people in a publication that pays attention to everyone?

West Point has only about 4,500 cadets. Can a yearbook’s historically prominent place in the minds of students save it? The University of Mississippi took its widely recognized nickname of “Ole Miss” from the title of its yearbook.

The staff of Pandora have come to different answer, realizing that the book doesn’t deserve to survive just because of its connection with UGA, or because it’s been the historic record of student life since 1886.

It deserves to survive because it isn’t like Facebook and it doesn’t turns users’ focuses inward, toward just the people they already know

“We’re all more connected than you may think. We’re going to focus on the importance of networking,” Clark said.

The social networking revolution that is replacing yearbooks is all about navel-gazing. Users of Twitter have no focus outside of that narcissistic question, “What are you doing?” The yearbook reminds students that they live in a university community, not in an isolated circuit of friends.

Clark said of Pandora, “We cover all aspects of college life, from downtown bars to cleaning up campus, to football scores, to tennis records to seniors who are doing amazing things. It’s not just your personal record, it’s the whole school.”

Individuals can help preserve this part of the University. Portrait photos are taken in Tate from Oct. 13 to 23, which very few have done in recent years. Through the Jostens Web site, students can submit their own photographs -just like Facebook. The book costs $20. By comparison, Clemson’s yearbook is $85, and many college yearbooks are up to $100 with skyrocketing production prices.

It is, after all, your yearbook. It will be as good and long-lasting as you make it.

- Russell Cox is a graduate student from Florence, S.C., majoring in journalism.