Capsule Provides Us With A Time To Remember
I often wondered why people buried seemingly useless items. I failed to understand the motive for burying a small cigar box or other rather ordinary vessel in cement knowing that the item would rest there for years or even centuries. But, after watching those who gathered and waited at the Noel Methodist Church that day to celebrate the unveiling of a much talked about item, as well as, Jim Stauber’s 88th birthday, some measure of awareness, an epiphany I guess, came over me.
It seemed as though there was more than the meager aura of curiosity in the room. There was some sort of bond between the current congregation and that of the one who worshiped there some 80 or so years ago — the same past collection of Methodists who had given cause for Jim to ponder his very mortality and, of course, he also had more than a smidgen of curiosity about what might lay behind that plate on the wall.
Jim Stauber lives on the land that his ancestor, Alexander James Avery, purchased on Dec. 12, in the year 1888, and Jim’s predecessors have turned the soil on that land ever since. The Methodist Church in the small southwest Missouri town of Noel holds a special place in Jim’s heart for it was there in 1893 that his grandmother, Caroline Frances Avery Stauber, the wife of James Benjamin Stauber, played a significant role in founding the small Methodist church.
In addition to Avery Stauber, other charter and founding members of the church included John Manning, Anna Harmon, Laura Caldwell and John Price. These formidable men and women were people with purpose and resolve who possessed deep-seated convictions and who were equally strong of faith.
A spot in Noel was selected for the new church and that small parcel of land was donated by Elise and Willis Bridges Noel and Mary and T.A. Marshall. Much of the stone used in the construction of the place of worship was quarried from land owned by Caroline and James Benjamin Stauber, while timber from the John Manning farm was used in the construction.
Forty and four years passed until, in the year 1937, Jim’s father, Martin Stevens Stauber, and other members of the Noel Methodist Church decided to create a small opening in the stone facade of the church’s front wall. Under the watchful eye of the Rev. G.O. Tolman, those in attendance that day secreted within that opening two rectangular pieces of metal and several similar shaped pieces of paper. These items would be covered by a plaque which read 1897-1937.
After the passage of 80 years, it was finally here. The day, date and time for the celebration had at long last arrived. It was Sunday, March 11 and it was noon. The place, well the venue was the rear addition and gathering room of the Noel Methodist Church. Here friends, neighbors, fellow members of the congregation and family would come together to celebrate the 88th birthday of Jim Stauber. Oh, yes, there was also the matter of the time capsule’s appearance for its unveiling which was also eagerly anticipated.
On that cool March afternoon, the sounds of laughter escaped through the church doors. Talk of Martin Stauber and the others brought back memories of a time some 80 years ago. There were those who couldn’t wait until there was a break in the conversation so they could speak of their recollections of the church and of worshippers who no longer attended the Sunday services.
Round tables accompanied by folding chairs were scattered about the room, all of which surrounded a center of the room arrangement of tables and tables of delicious looking varieties of culinary delights. The rumbling of stomachs birthed by the sight of the mouth-watering assortment of meats, potatoes, salads and desserts was only surpassed by the captivating aroma emitted by each and every delicacy.
As the gathering of what must surely have been more than 100 people poured through open doorways, hands were shaken, smiles and hello’s were exchanged and stealthy glances were directed at the tables of food. Seating was on a first-come, first-served basis, so greetings were conspicuously brief as table-side chairs quickly filled. It appeared as though the thought of a meal had, at least for a moment, stolen the group’s interest and original purpose for the party. That being Jim’s birthday and the viewing of the time capsule.
There had been all manner of rumors and speculation as to the capsule’s appearance and what might lie inside — silver coins, various pieces of antiquated jewelry, possibly important documents whose existence had never been considered. The possibilities were endless, as were the softly spoken discussions about the capsule’s contents. But now, the time had come to quell all of those many speculations.
Some of the few who gathered already knew that valuables were not intended to be hidden in that stone wall. That secretive place was meant as a vault for memories — memories of a time some 80 years in the past, a time when Jim’s father and others massaged mortar between irregular shaped stones while they dreamt of a day when memories of them and the time they spent here on this earth would be remembered, when on Sunday, the 11th day of March, in the year 2018, that day, that moment of discovery arrived.
The sense of heightened anticipation began to wane as the waiting minutes turned into a quarter hour, then half, and past an hour. The gathering of friends and Methodists gradually dwindled to well below one-half its number, and still time passed with nary a glimpse of Jim or the capsule.
As the hands on the wall clock moved to 1:30 p.m., a quiet but constant murmuring spread from one table to another. Some of those seated leaned over, almost falling from their seats, as they strained to hear the words which were passed from table to table.
Some time ago, Jim and his son Robert excused themselves and went to Jim’s home to search for the then-misplaced capsule. It had last been seen within the confines of Jim’s house but, although for some 80 years it had remained safe behind that plate after no more than two days following its removal, it was now lost. Well, at the very least, it had been misplaced.
With looks of regret and disappointment on their faces, men, women and children passed through the open doorway as they exited the room. It seemed that an apology of sorts had been extended to the group with an accompanying explanation regarding Jim’s absence from his own birthday celebration.
The afternoon event ended and, after all the fanfare and hoopla and following rumors and speculation, the great reveal was at best postponed. Not yet known to everyone at the time was the fact that the capsule turned out to be nothing more than two pieces of copper. As for the precious contents sandwiched between those metal plates, there were no antiques and there was no jewelry. Concealed between plates of metal were old scraps of paper that had weathered over those many decades causing the writing that had once appeared on those scraps, like those who scribed the words there, to fade away.
The remainder of Sunday afternoon and well into the night was devoted to locating those elusive pieces of copper and paper. The unsuccessful search ended late that night. The missing time capsule had to be inside Jim’s home, and so it was that the quest began again early Monday morning. As the late night hours of that day approached and, without success, it was decided that the hunt would resume early the next day.
Faith that the capsule would be found remained high as the inside of the house was once again, and for the umpteenth time, scoured. Then, and when it was thought that every nook and cranny had been searched over and over again, there it was. A small sack was noticed hanging from railing attached to the wall near the back door. It was certainly and conspicuously out of place. Upon removing the bag and, with the utmost optimism, a glance inside brought the welcome sight of the copper plates into view.
When all was said and done, there really was no time capsule. In fact, there was no capsule at all. There behind that metal plate which had been mortised into stones affixed to one wall of the church were two rectangular shaped pieces of copper. When the two bits of old and tarnished metal were separated, nothing more than brittle bits of brown paper were found to be hiding inside. No money, no jewels and nothing of real value had been placed in that wall or had it?
Over the ensuing week, the bits of paper were scrutinized over and over again. Faint scribbling could be seen but very few if any words could be deciphered. It appeared as though the writing was in script, but what words could those letters possibly form. Was there a spiritual message to be found within the writing? Possibly something of historical value lay hidden within those words, maybe something about the church building itself or possibly a history of the worshipers who had stepped through the door over the preceding 44 years.
The tattered and brown slivers of paper sandwiched between those copper plates contained nothing more than a list of names, a grouping of letters penned in script, if you will, which denoted the names of people like Mary Leonard, Jeanie Kerr, Mrs. W.H. Hatfield and Anna Pearl Rose Stauber. So, what was it that those members of the congregation wanted to leave for others to find so many years later? Nothing more and nothing less than the evidence that they once lived. And maybe, just maybe, there was a wish contained within those faded signatures, a dream that, after the passing of many years and so very many lives, the Methodist church would continue to be a home to those seeking a place of worship. It seems as though some wishes do come true.
I want to believe that Martin Stauber, John Hamby, Mabelle Schifferli, R.S. Palmer, as well as others who secreted those ragged fragments of paper between the copper plates did so with blessings of goodwill and with the hope that, after the passage of some 80 years, the congregation would be strong in numbers and pure of faith. A faith that would defy the decades to come and span another 80 years. Those whose names once appeared so clearly on those papers asked nothing more than to be remembered, and so they are.