Old Shoebox Is A Time Machine

 

            While the Great Pyramid of Giza served as arguably history’s earliest time capsule dating back to 2584 BC, the Crypt of Civilization – a stainless steel vault welded shut in 1940 in a basement at Oglethorpe University in Georgia – is considered the first official one in modern times.

 

            An estimated 15,000 registered time capsules have since been created, including in Tulsa where in 1957 a brand new Plymouth Belvedere (filled with other artifacts of the day) was buried to be opened down future’s road.

 

Closer to home, in 1966 the City of San Buenaventura marked its Centennial with a time capsule buried by City Hall’s front steps and in 1976 a second vessel was added commemorating the U.S. Bicentennial, both to be opened a century thereafter.

 

            Inside my home is a newer time capsule. Specifically, in my son’s bedroom closet, top shelf, back corner, where a Nike shoebox has gathered more than a decade’s dust. The box is painted orange, his favorite color as a boy, with black spots to make it look like a cheetah. The lid reads: TIME CAPSULE 2000.

 

            The 10-year-old boy has grown into a young man and together we open it for the first time in 13 years. The time capsule in truth is a time machine. I can imagine no single assignment led by his fourth-grade teacher Therese Yasukochi – “Miss Y” to her students – that could have proved a worthier keepsake.

 

            Inside, on top of all the other items, is a size-5 orange-and-black Nike racing shoe. This is fitting because competitive running was already then his passion – and remains so to this day.

 

            Also prophetically are 30 index cards with color-pencil drawings for the cover and each chapter of the book “Island of the Blue Dolphins.” He obviously included these because this was far more than an assignment, but rather a calling that would see him minor in Painting in college.

 

            Too, there is a Nike wrist sweatband – of significance because the boy wore one every single day, sunup to sundown, through the end of middle school. A basketball card for the “2000 VYBA Bulls” reveals the vital stats of “Point Guard Greg Woodburn – Age 10; 4 Feet 9 Inches; 70 Pounds; Favorite Player Kobe Bryant.”

 

            Also within: a snapshot of his new puppy, a cute boxer puppy named Gar; a hand-drawn family tree; a short essay written in excellent script, if not spelling to match, about a field trip to the Olivas Adobe ranchero (“We took a toor of the house. After that we made adobe briks and got reel muddy!); an origami crane made with orange (of course) paper; and Lego Star Wars.

 

“My 4th Grade Album” is a time capsule within the time capsule. “The first day of school” wrote “Miss Y” on the first page below a picture of the boy, sitting at his desk and smiling like it is Christmas morning. Other photos are of fun and friends and field trips, including the “reel muddy” fun mess at Olivas Adobe.

 

I bring this up, and went looking in my son’s closet in the first place, because Ventura’s City Hall is filling a time capsule to commemorate its Centennial. The airtight 14-inch steel cube, scheduled to remain sealed until 2113, will join the previous two beneath the landmark building’s front steps.

 

“Help us capture time,” invites Richard Newsham. “It’s a perfect way to write yourself and your family into history and make a connection with future generations.”

 

The deadline for the public to donate artifacts (to Room 206 at City Hall) is July 10. Items already collected include yearbooks and original artwork, poetry and personal letters, scans of historic documents and, of course, an iPhone. You can also email suggestions of what you think should be included to Newsham at rnewsham@ci.ventura.ca.us.

 

Obviously, I think a newsprint (which might be extinct by 2113) copy of The Star is a must – and, selfishly at that, a Saturday edition when my column runs. There is no question that this time capsule, like all time capsules, is a wonderful undertaking. My only quibble is that they should not be sealed for 100 years before opening.

 

I think 13 years is about perfect.

 

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for the Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. His new memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” is available for pre-order at: www.WoodyWoodburn.com