What Ever Happened to the Stolen Southampton Time Capsule?

In 1990, I got a call from Roy Wines, the mayor of Southampton, asking that I bring a copy of Dan’s Papers to his office. It didn’t matter what copy it was. The village was celebrating its 350th anniversary, and they were going to bury a time capsule. It would contain memorabilia from the current era. And it had been decided that a copy of Dan’s Papers should be included.

The capsule would be buried on the eastern shore of Old Town Pond in Southampton, right where Old Town Road meets the entrance to the Murray Compound. And it would be left there until 2040, when people could see what we were doing back in 1990 by digging it up.

I was quite pleased by this. At the time, Dan’s Papers was still a pretty new addition to the community. And since we often wrote very offbeat stuff, it was good to see we were now an acceptable part of the Hamptons scene. Yay, us.

So that’s what happened. The time capsule was lowered 6 feet down into a hole at a ceremony on July 1. With the hole backfilled with the dirt dug to make it, a giant boulder was then rolled into place on top. And that was that. On the boulder, a bronze plaque read: “1990 Time Capsule Buried Here. Not to Be Opened Until 2040.”

And the Dan’s Papers? At first, I thought it should be the patriotic series of three consecutive issues reporting on how the Hamptons became an independent country. “War Declared” was the front page headline the first week. “Battle Rages” headlined the second. “America Surrenders” was the third. I liked writing this.

These issues were published in the first week of July 1976, our part in celebrating the 200th anniversary of the United States of America. The U.S. had surrendered that third week, after their soldiers, massing along the western shore of the Shinnecock Canal, were sent fleeing by Bridgehampton farmers firing potato bazookas at them from the eastern shore, sending a whole hail of potatoes into their ranks.

That would be in keeping with the patriotic experience of the time capsule, but it appeared in 1976, not 1990. So, instead, I donated an issue that featured more contemporary stories. There was stuff about real estate prices, the Shinnecock Nation burial grounds, and the Plum Island Animal Disease Center off Orient Point. But also I chose it because, learning of the time capsule, I’d written a letter to the people of 2040. In it, I mentioned the Industrial Revolution, the flights to the moon, then global warming, traffic jams and endangered species.

“Anyway, come visit me,” I concluded. “I’m 101 years old now. I’ve very likely forgotten that I’ve written this little letter and no doubt, as I’m escorted by my beautiful young wife down the ramp of my private jet to the runway there at Suffolk County’s Francis S. Gabreski Airport in Westhampton, having just returned from the international conference I chaired in Paris, I would no doubt be genuinely amused to read what I had to say back in 1990.”

Eight months later, however, a woman who lived across from where the capsule was buried called Village Hall to report trouble. The boulder had been moved. And next to it was a huge pile of dirt.

Thomas Rewinski, who was at that time the town ordinance inspector, drove down to the pond. He found that someone had moved the boulder, dug up the capsule — a 6-foot-long aluminum object — broke it open, made off with everything in it, then threw it, empty, into the bushes nearby. Rewinski took the capsule back to the office, then returned with an earth mover, and carried off the boulder with the plaque to the Building Department in Hampton Bays. An investigation ensued. But nothing ever came of it.

In the months that followed, I often wondered why anybody would do such a thing. They’d gone to a lot of trouble.

Perhaps, I thought, the perp had thought something in the capsule might embarrass or harm him — even if it wasn’t opened until 50 years later. Or maybe it was teenagers. But teenagers would have taken off with the aluminum capsule with the stuff in it, then left it off empty somewhere. Well, with the plaque on it, maybe it was just too tempting for somebody coming by it every day. Hey. Don’t do it.