“And what did the capsule contain?” Professor Murdock asked. “What were the precious items that the designers felt would best show a society five thousand years in the future the things that made 1939 significant? An alarm clock. A can opener. A fountain pen. A nail file. A toothbrush. A Mickey Mouse cup.”
Someone in the audience laughed.
“There were numerous other items, but these examples suggest how difficult it is to decide what’s important in any society. Will there be can openers in the future? Alarm clocks and nail files? Perhaps the things we take most for granted are what a future world will find most incomprehensible. To echo the title of a novel that was placed in the capsule, all cultures eventually vanish, gone with the wind. The 1939 World’s Fair was proud to tell the future what the world was like at that moment in history. But there’s a desperation in the thoroughness with which the capsule was prepared, as if the designers were afraid they’d be forgotten.”
A new image showed what appeared to be a sprawling castle.
“This is the campus at Oglethorpe University in Atlanta, where I teach,” Professor Murdock said. “The idea for the Westinghouse capsule originated there in 1936. Oglethorpe’s their president, Thornwell Jacobs, drained an indoor swimming pool and filled it with thousands of items, including microfilmed pages from encyclopedias along with everyday objects such as a toilet brush, a lipstick, a grapefruit corer, a fly swatter, Lincoln Logs, and an ampule of Budweiser beer. The project was so ambitious that Jacobs didn’t complete it until 1940, one year after the World’s Fair. As a result, Westinghouse received credit for creating the first time capsule, even though the idea was borrowed. Jacobs used a burial metaphor and called his project the Crypt of Civilization.”
Balenger heard a noise behind him. Turning in the shadows, he noted that a man and woman were leaving. At the exit, they whispered to Karen Bailey. The man pointed to his watch. Karen nodded with understanding.
The flash of a new image made Balenger look forward. He saw Nazi soldiers frozen in mid-goose-step. The image became a series that showed the rubble of bombed buildings, tanks marked with swastikas, piles of bodies in death camps, and the mushroom cloud of a nuclear bomb.
“When Jacobs conceived of the Crypt of Civilization, it’s possible that the ravages of the Great Depression made him skeptical about the future of civilization. Perhaps his goal wasn’t to brag to the future, as the Westinghouse time capsule did, but rather to preserve something he feared was in danger of being lost. Certainly, by 1940, when the Crypt was sealed, pessimism was rampant as the German army stormed through Europe. In a document Jacobs placed in the Crypt, he said, ”The world is engaged in burying our civilization forever, and here in this crypt we leave it to you.“”
Balenger heard other movement behind him. Again turning, he noticed a second couple leaving the shadowy room. He frowned.
“The Crypt survived, but most aren’t that fortunate,” Professor Murdock continued. “Their containers aren’t water resistant, or else their contents include organic substances that rot. Moreover, the accidents of human nature defeat the best intentions. An ambitious town in California deposited a total of seventeen time capsules and lost every one of them. At a high school in Virginia, six graduating students helped prepare a time capsule and buried it somewhere on campus. That was in 1965. The school has now been torn down, and those six former students have a total memory gap about what they put in the capsule and where they buried it. It’s as if the event never happened to them. These communities are now engaged in what amounts to a hide-and-hunt scavenger game.”
Balenger tensed as two more people left the room. What’s going on? he wondered.
“Of the thousands of time capsules that have been misplaced,” Professor Murdock said, “five are considered the most wanted. The first is the Bicentennial Wagon Train Capsule.”
The professor’s voice seemed to lessen in volume. Balenger leaned forward to listen.
“On Independence Day, 1976…”
The shadows seemed to thicken.
“… a capsule containing twenty-two million signatures was driven to Valley Forge, Pennsylvania, in a caravan of vehicles known as the ‘bicentennial wagon train.” President Gerald Ford was to officiate in a ceremony commemorating the U.S. War of Independence.“
The professor’s voice became fainter.
“But before the ceremony occurred, someone stole the capsule from an unattended van.”
Balenger’s eyelids felt heavy.
“The second most-wanted time capsule is at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. In 1939, MIT engineers sealed various objects in a container and deposited it under a huge cyclotron they were building. The cyclotron was…”
9
Clang.
Balenger drifted toward consciousness. The harsh, persistent tolling seemed to come from a fractured bell.
Clang.
It matched the agonized throbbing in his head.
Clang.
He managed to open his eyes, but darkness surrounded him. A chill breeze made him shiver. He heard waves crash. The breeze carried a hint of burnt wood and ashes.
A light suddenly blazed. Groaning, he raised a hand to shield his eyes. His forearm ached.
“Buddy, you’re not supposed to be here,” a gruff voice said. “On your feet.”
All Balenger could do was groan.
“You heard me. Get moving.”
“Where…” Balenger’s throat felt raw. He could barely get the word out.
“I won’t tell you again. Move!”
“Where am I?” Balenger squinted toward the glare. He suddenly realized that he lay on sand.
“For God’s sake, you screwed yourself up so bad, you don’t even know where the hell you are?” a second gruff voice demanded. “Asbury Park, buddy. The same place you passed out.”
Clang.
Balenger struggled to stand. The stark flashlight beam illuminated the jumbled wreckage of a building. The smell of burnt wood was stronger. “Asbury Park?”
Clang.
Balanger’s mind cleared enough for him to recognize the sound from his nightmares: a flap of sheet metal banging against the side of an abandoned building. A cold shock of fear seized him.
Clang.
“The city’s working to rebuild the area. Guys like you aren’t welcome here.”
“No,” Balenger said. “Is that…” Frantic, he pointed toward the chaotic stretch of debris. “Don’t tell me that’s…”
Clang.
“The Paragon Hotel,” the voice explained. “What’s left of it. When all those killings happened and it burned down, we said, ”Enough!“ We’re gonna bring this beach back to life. So scram before we put you in jail!”
Emotion made Balenger shake. The Paragon Hotel? he thought in a panic. How did I get here?
“Hold it a second. Eddie, this guy looks familiar. Hey, aren’t you—”
“Balenger,” the other man said. “Frank Balenger. Yeah, that’s who he is. Jesus, man, what’re you doing back here? I’d expect this was the last place you’d ever want to see again.”
“Amanda,” Balenger whispered.
“I can barely hear you.”
“Amanda.” Balenger’s voice was hoarse.
“Who’s Amanda? Somebody’s with you?”
“Wait, Eddie. I think I… Amanda… Last fall when the hotel burned down. What was her last name? Evert. Amanda Evert. Is that who you mean, Frank? The woman you saved?”
Clang.
“Amanda!” Balenger screamed. “Where are you?” His vocal cords threatened to burst. He staggered through the burned wreckage, searching.