Encapsulated Time

Urban legends are marvelous creations. No one seems to know where they come from – and they somehow seem to live on, even to contrary evidence. PDS has its own share, though there is one that may have met its match.

The compass. Everyone knows that there is a time capsule buried under the compass guarding the door at 39 New Hackensack Road. It has been there since 1964, when the exciting move from Hooker Avenue to the Vassar campus happened. One student from each of the ten grades (pre-K through eighth grade) joined PDS director Hillis Howie and board president Debbie Scheer in burying the two foot by one foot silver box, carefully (if not hermetically) sealed with electrical tape. Photographic evidence documents the event. I know. I have seen the photographs. They exist.

And so does the compass, also planted at the time of the move. Planted to reflect the orientation of the building. Or was it slightly askew to represent the slightly left leaning of the school’s progressive philosophy? In any case, it guarded and protected the silver treasure that would await a future generation of curious Day School seekers.

 I know that, too – because I am one of those seekers. At first it seemed easy enough. Now that we have closed the doors at “39” for good, the compass and the time capsule seemed to require some help in rescuing the symbols of our past they had so carefully guarded for nearly forty years. September 25, 1999 seemed like a good day to proclaim their resurrection on our new campus. Sixty-five years to the day that we first opened our doors in 1934. Founders’ Day. The dedication of our new building to Elizabeth Gilkeson, our founding director and philosophical matron. Good day indeed.

And so so it came to pass that I hired a construction crew to dig up the concrete sidewalk that held the compass and guarded the time capsule. At 10:30 on the appointed day, the foreman arrived in my office, informing me that he had freed the compass from the concrete’s grasp and proceeded to dig four feet below. No evidence of a time capsule, though. How deep did I want him to go, anyway?
Not much, I answered, as I went to the phones. The first call was to Richard Chazen – one of the chosen few who helped to plant the time capsule. “Where, exactly, is this thing?” I asked. His response was predictable. “Under the compass.” 

My response was not what he expected. “Further than four feet down?” Richard quickly realized the problem and suggested that I call Debbie Scheer. The photograph in my hand was evidence that Debbie was indeed present for the ceremony. As head of the board, she presumably with a better memory for this kind of thing than did Richard, who was all of 12 at the time.

Debbie’s response was a bit disheartening. Though not exactly sure where it was, she did recall that the compass bore little, if any relation, to the time capsule. Indeed, the secret of the compass was now out. Hillis Howie had purchased the compass as a symbol for the school. It was to represent the search for direction that students would undertake – and equally for the role that the faculty and the school would have in helping them on their journey. It was put in after the time capsule. In fact, Debbie’s recollection was that the capsule might well be inside the outer doors.

Looking at the chasm now gaping at me from where the compass used to lie, my heart sank at the thought of creating a new one inside the building. The price of raising the time capsule was growing by the minute. It was now evident that bricks, not concrete, guarded the treasure. Back to the photograph and more phone calls to try to pinpoint the location, hoping to minimize the damage – and the expense.  How about a metal detector?”, I asked. We had determined that the time capsule was in eality a two foot by one foot metal box. Richard had now arrived. As the two contractors, Richard and I stared at the floor, our spirits rose a bit as the metal detector beeped loudly. Hope again – and good news, as the machine sounded its discovery over the one area of the floor that was not covered with brick. There was one three foot by two foot square of concrete, recessed to allow a mud-rug for cleaning messy feet as they entered the door, searching for direction.

Jack hammers reappeared, and soon a matching chasm appeared inside the front door. Through the grout, then three inches of concrete. Then more dirt. The metal detector beeped again – revealing a metal conduit carrying electrical wires. Was this another false alarm?

The photograph revealed markings on the walls that helped to gain some perspective, and we began to dig – down and under the bricks, further into the entrance. It was a long handled shovel – and soon the shovel disappeared nearly four feet towards the Big Room. The metal detector beeped again – more conduit, a few bolts that had been left by workman 35 years ago. More shovels, a different direction – fleeting hope. Visions of bricks shattering and dollars needed to repair them crossed my mind. We had to be close.

Richard suggested we might dig away from the Big Room – towards the front door.  Dirt flying, the chasm widening – and suddenly, a still shiny, silver box approximately two feet by one foot, with electrical tape still intact – appeared. 

As with all urban legends, this one had been built on many grains of truth. There was a time capsule, and indeed, there was a compass that became the symbol for PDS.  The legend will continue, I suppose, and the photographs of Richard and me with our shovels and jack-hammer, digging with our sleeves rolled up and ties tucked into our shirts, will testify to the “truth”. 

All that remains is the revelation of the contents of our elusive prize. I suppose all’s well that ends well – and the time capsule will indeed be opened, its contents revealed, on the 25th day of the 780th month of our school’s history. We will, of course, create a new one – this time with what will undoubtedly be a much larger container that will allow our 325 students to share their thoughts of what generations to follow might discover. This time, the compass will cover it. My gift to PDS directors to follow is the lack of jack-hammers and shovels.

Sincerely,

Tony Buccelli