Rahr

Fort Worth Star-Telegram (TX)
Aug. 18, 2005

What to preserve for the history buffs of 2055?
By Paul Bourgeois
Star-Telegram Staff Writer

FORT WORTH - It's tough to imagine what will be significant in 50 years, but Tarrant County judges and lawyers are giving it a shot.

A time capsule -- loaded with what they hope will mean something to jurists of Fort Worth and Tarrant County circa 2055 -- was filled Tuesday at the county's new Family Law Center.

The stainless-steel capsule will be sealed this week in the wall at the northeast corner of the lobby. A plaque will mark the spot.

Given the lifespan of county buildings, Joe Shannon, an assistant district attorney and outgoing president of the county bar association, said he expects it will be there for the official opening, tentatively set for July 19, 2055 -- 50 years to the day after the doors opened to the Family Law Center.

What the judges, lawyers and county officials of 2055 will find is likely to enlighten, confound and amuse:

Law books; bar association directories and photographs; court histories; the 2005 Texas Family Code; a complete Star-Telegram dated Aug. 16 as well as a copy of this article; blueprints for the Family Law Center; and pictures from the building's groundbreaking and opening.

Photos detailing the construction of the building will also be included on a CD.

"It may be of interest historically," Shannon said, "but to play a CD then might be like finding an eight-track player today."

Folks in 2055 will also find a copy of the first recorded divorce in Tarrant County, dated Feb. 13, 1891. Alice and Newton Gordon could hardly imagine that their marital woes would turn into a historical artifact.

Those opening the capsule in 50 years will have to fight over who gets the 2005 Tarrant County Bar Association T-shirt (extra large) and a shiny blue insulated coffee mug.

They will also find a laminated menu from Riscky's BBQ from 2005 and undoubtedly find it difficult to believe how cheap everything was.

Judge Sue Walker tossed in a baseball signed by the Fort Worth Cats baseball team, along with some ticket stubs.

Shannon provided a letter to the 2055 president of the bar, along with a couple of rolls of uncirculated Texas quarters and his old cellphone. He figures by that time cellphones will be nothing more than microchips implanted under the scalp.

Kaye Lynne Boll, president of the Tarrant County Family Bar, provided photographs taken during a recent bar association luau. Many judges and lawyers in the photographs will take comfort in knowing they will be dead the next time the pictures are seen by the public.

Judge Frank Sullivan included a letter asking whoever reads it to track down his children and grandchildren and just say "hello." Sullivan included a $20 bill with the message, "If 20 bucks still buys something in 2055, have a drink on me."

Judge Bob McCoy added a Rahr Beer bottle.

For those reading this in 2055, the beer bottle was empty when McCoy put it in the box. He downed it for fear it would break and leak on everything else. Shannon also removed the battery from his cellphone. Good luck finding one of those.

And if anyone looking in the time capsule wonders what the heck that chunk of pinkish foamlike stuff is...

It is a piece of faux exterior applied in 1988 to the famously ugly Civil Courts Building that was erected in 1956 west of the historic courthouse.

And just in case no one remembers, as of 2005 there was another time capsule at the base of the 1895-era historic courthouse.

It's under the cornerstone to the right of the front doors in a sealed copper capsule.

It contains an 1894 vintage bottle of Tarrant County wine; local newspapers; photos of downtown buildings; a list of courthouse employees; rosters of local fraternal lodges, church memberships and the local chapter of the Grand Army of the Republic; $100 in Confederate money; a commemorative coin from the 1894 Columbia Exposition; copper pennies from 1847 and 1883; the original text of the oration given at cornerstone ceremonies by Henry M. Furman; and a lock of hair from a child of Robert G. Johnson, who was county judge when the cornerstone was laid March 17, 1894.

It's been 160 years. Somebody needs to crack it open and taste that wine.