When Sandwich Put History in a Box
- Robert Thomson
- 3 days ago
- 6 min read
Updated: 33 minutes ago
In 1876, three leading citizens of Sandwich experimented with a new form of communication.
Today, we call their effort a time capsule, but the term wasn’t coined until Americans had decades more experience with these intergenerational transmissions. Sandwich’s 1876 offering was called the “Centennial Box,” and the packers of that small but sturdy container rank among pioneers.
For centuries, rulers and other very important people hid objects inside monuments, palaces and capital buildings. But they set no specific time for the discovery of their little surprises. In our modern understanding, a time capsule isn’t simply a rocket to the future. It’s a guided missile, a vessel packed to be opened on a specific date for a specific reason.
And historians of time capsules date this modern understanding to a specific year: 1876.
They focus on publisher Anna Deihm of New York who led a high-profile effort to assemble memorabilia into the Century Safe during the nation’s 100th birthday exhibition in Philadelphia. The safe eventually was stored inside the U.S. Capitol for opening on the Fourth of July 1976.
Meanwhile, the people of little old Sandwich were on a parallel course. At an evening meeting at town hall after their July 4 Centennial parade, they resolved to create a memory box including “articles, illustrative of the history and progress of the town to the present time, the same to be closed up to be opened only after the passage of another century on the 4th of July 1976.”
The three prominent men chosen to carry out the assignment were Charles C.P. Waterman, H.G.O. Ellis and Charles Dillingham. They were leaders in local business and government, but none had experience with a mission like this.
For her time traveler, Deihm picked a 5-foot-tall iron safe protected with a combination lock, as well as an interior glass barrier. Sandwich’s committee got a small container at the O.H. Howland store on Jarves Street for $3 (about $90 today).
While the local effort was more modest, it was no less challenging. Anyone assembling a time capsule in that era would have shared the downsides of pioneering. Few people could offer guidance on how to assemble the story of their times, then safely package it for retrieval a century later.
Those enclosing the items had a reasonable expectation of being dead by the time the goods arrived at their destination in 1976. No sender would be around to accept a thank-you card, no recipient could ask a follow-up question. There could be no do-overs.
The 1876 planners took their time. The Century Safe was sealed in 1879. In Sandwich, an ad appeared in the March 10, 1877, edition of The Seaside Press inviting more contributions before the box was closed, which finally happened that August. The offerings were packed into a tin enclosure inside a green wooden box.
The three men left no known inventory of their final selections. “What was received will appear when the box is opened,” Ellis wrote.
In black paint on the wooden lid and on a small metal plate attached to the lid were the words “To be opened July 4th 1976.” The box was secured with 12 screws.
Time-capsule pilots must anchor their vessels in harbors that withstand the whims of nature: fire, water, earthquake. But one of the greatest challenges is all too human: We forget. Many time capsules packed with care and fanfare simply vanish.
Today, time capsuling is an industry, with hundreds of examples to follow. You can buy a metal cylinder that might survive an ice age. Those with more modest intentions can settle for an attractive wooden compartment engraved, “For our daughter to open on her 18th birthday.”
Capsules come with storage guidance. Sometimes, that includes teams of advisers to think about the end game. The 1940 Crypt of Civilization at Oglethorpe University in Georgia is scheduled to be opened in 8113. The creators, following guidance, wrote directions to the crypt in more than a dozen languages and sent them to libraries worldwide.
Sandwich’s committee of three would have benefitted from such advice. By 1927, only halfway through its intended journey, the Centennial Box had become “the mystery box.” What was this thing the new generation found tucked away in a vault at Town Hall?
A reporter from The New Bedford Sunday Standard explored what the locals were buzzing about that summer. “The strange parcel is approximately two feet by one foot by one and a half feet; and it is quite heavy, possibly 20 pounds,” the story said.
“Where the box came from, who gave it, what it contains, and what should be done with it, were the questions that faced the selectmen of Sandwich. It was discovered recently on a shelf in the vault, and had apparently been there for years.”
Uh-oh.
What part of “To be opened July 4th 1976” didn’t they understand?
You’ve seen this movie. This is the point in “Raiders of the Lost Ark” where Top Men send the Ark of the Covenant into eternal obscurity in a vast government warehouse.
This is the point where Sandwich fails to bring the green box in for a landing, where it disappears from radar and dashes the hopes of the Centennial generation.
Relax. That didn’t happen.
After asking around and thinking it over, the selectmen put the box back where they found it. They didn’t undo the wood screws, pry open the tin lid or rummage through the contents. They were selectmen, not tomb raiders.
To avoid any further misunderstanding, they attached a blue envelope containing a clarifying note. The 1927 note, like the 1876 Centennial Box, is now in the Town Archives at the Sandwich Public Library, under the care of Archivist Jen Ratliff.
Addressed “To Whom It May Concern,” the 1927 note begins, “From information received from John A. Holway, Esq., former town clerk for the town of Sandwich, the box in the vault . . . contains the record of proceedings of celebration held in this town July 4, 1876, together with newspapers of that date and other data of like description.” (There was more than that.)
In 1976, news about plans to open the Centennial Box drew inquiries from across the country. The Los Angeles City Bicentennial Committee, preparing a Tricentennial capsule, wanted ideas on what to include.
Russell A. Lovell Jr., the prominent historian in Sandwich, couldn’t answer with a list. The lid was still shut. But in his initial response to the Los Angeles inquiry, he expressed hope for “things which were not printed in current newspapers, town reports, books and magazines that have been amply preserved,” and for “new views of buildings, shops, churches, streetscapes and people.”
Lovell was heavily involved in planning the Bicentennial activities in Sandwich. “The Selectmen have a splendid time capsule in their vault,” he wrote in expectation. “What did they put in? This will be very newsworthy to open up.”
Read more about the time capsule and its contents in "Time Capsule Delivers Blast From the Past" (Part II) and "Did Time Capsule Contain Hidden Messages?" (Part III).
Bob Thomson is a member of the Friends of the Sandwich Town Archives, a dedicated, all-volunteer, 501(c)(3) nonprofit committed to supporting and promoting the archives’ collections and the rich, diverse history of the town of Sandwich.
Comentários