Judge Paul and Thornton are leading the discussion amongst the usual suspects – Bitsy, Bernie, Elyse, mayoral candidates Wanda and Shirley, new sheriff Henry, who replaced Sheriff Paul, and a long-term policeman named William, who worked under Sheriff Paul. A court stenographer is recording the meeting.
I had met Thornton along the way – super stand-up guy – but never had many dealings with him. The historical society keeps a low profile in general. In fact, I doubt it’s even issued a press release since he was hired 20 years ago. I just remember a kerfuffle about the fact that he, like many of us, is from Middle Valley.
His voice is booming in the conference room. “This is history, our history, Middle Valley’s history, and we have to be thorough. We appreciate your participation in this meeting and welcome your comments as we proceed.”
“The box is steel,” he continues. “It’s heavy, water-tight, not lockable. It took two of us to bring it in. It was accidentally broken by the backhoe as the young gentleman, Bentley, and his crew were landscaping, but nothing was removed. As of now, it doesn’t appear that any contents were damaged.”
The intention, Thornton tells us, is that each of us has a chance to examine the items in an orderly manner. The society will handle listing and recording the items.
“I will present each item, one at a time, and describe what we think we have. I’ll appreciate your input on the item’s value, etc.”
Thornton begins by explaining the instructions engraved on the surface of the box, which explains when the capsule was buried and when it was supposed to be dug up – 25 years from 1935. For some reason, he says, whomever was in charge of making sure that happened did not, and it ended up buried there for 51 years.
“Did they die? Did they move away? Were there signed papers that indicated responsibility?” he asks. “We don’t yet know.”
He opens the time capsule and points first toward five newspapers with wide-ranging dates before 1935. Topics range from early Middle Valley history to high school sports. The papers were quite fragile, and already old when placed in the box.
In separate files were several fragile photos of early residents, some next to the river, and storefronts.
“Oh that looks like my aunt Martha,” Bitsy offers. “She owned a business … she was a seamstress! And her office was right next door to the Golden Pillar! Of course, that’s her!”
Thornton is quick to quell speculation. “We don’t know yet who these people are. There is much work to be done, but if you have records that you can share, we can make some comparisons, of course.”
He leans in and makes a note of Bitsy’s comment.
Next up are small toys, one resembling a child’s top and a set of jacks, neither drawing comments. But an early map of the town, dated 1930, elicits a gasp from Shirley. She points at the paper. “That’s my father’s business.”
Thornton nods. “Good to know, Shirley … thank you for that.” He pulls a Post-it note from his folder, jots down a few words, and places it on the edge of the map.
Each participant stands and strolls past class photos laid out on the table alongside several elementary-level school books.
“Mr. Denton!” Bitsy shouts. “He was a regular at the Golden Pillar bar toward the end of his life. Daddy used to say if it weren’t for him I’d never have passed math.”
Thornton nods and makes more notes.
The participants return to their seats per Thornton’s request. “We have two more very important items to share.”
From a drawer, he produces a pair of rubber gloves and, using both hands, lifts two books to the display table – a history book about Middle Valley prior to slavery, and one after abolition, both written by our founder, Morgan Nutwell’s, son, Percy.
“Two of the most important items from the time capsule were two hardbound books dealing with life in Middle Valley, one prior to the end of slavery, the other after abolition. Several meeting participants whose families lived in Middle Valley from that time period provided comments made by their parents and grandparents about how the underground railroad functioned.
“These, my friends, change everything we think we know about our fair hamlet,” Thorton says.
“How do you mean?” Wanda asks. I can sense her nervousness – the town she’s been selling may not have been the town we live in.
“They describe how the Nutwell mansion was, at one point, a stopover for slaves being assisted moving north. Basically, the Underground Railroad went directly through.”
Not to mention the photos of smuggled cases of liquor in the back of the books.
“Liquor? Liquor?!?!?” Bitsy exclaims. “Like from prohibition?”
Thornton nods. “Like from prohibition.”
I can see the impact rippling across the faces of each person. Bitsy shakes her head. Wanda takes furious notes. Shirley is texting someone. And Elyse’s eyes – the ones I know so well – are filling up.
I approach her. ‘You okay?”
She shakes her head. “Daddy must know something about all of this.”
I nod as Thornton closes the meeting.
“Thank you for your participation today, and for your feedback and notes. If you think of anything else, of course, you have my email address. Any additional photos corroborating what’s here, we’d love to see those, as well.
“For my part, I’ll be reviewing and organizing our notes into a summary report for your review. For now, we’re adjorned.”
I thank Thornton for his time, then turn toward the door. Elyse is gone, and I can’t imagine why she is so upset.