A fable by MAGNET’s Mitch Myers
“May there only be peaceful and cheerful Earth Days to come for our beautiful Spaceship Earth as it continues to spin and circle in frigid space with its warm and fragile cargo of animate life.” —John McConnell, 1971
Some said the ceremony was a spin-off of Earth Day, a naïve ritual fallen from favor long ago. Some elders recalled an Earth Day when the town sponsored the burial of a Buick LeSabre automobile. The old-timers claimed those quaint ecological ideals had evolved into the current Time Capsule Coronation. Others maintained the ceremony’s origins went further back in time.
Their Time Capsule Coronation was the big spring celebration—that was for sure. The Coronation didn’t land on a specific date; it simply followed the Vernal Equinox and usually took place just before Arbor Day (the last Friday in April). Some planted trees in memory of loved ones for the occasion.
Every year, disagreements ensued over what items were to be placed within the time capsule. Digital sources were included, but the emphasis was on physical objects to capture a tangible essence of time and place, distinct from conventional museums and historical record keeping.
Another annual concern was the crowning of the King, and how commercial interests were distorting the ceremony’s original design. The event’s reliance on town resources and other financial underwriting was also a source of debate.
Essentially, a fusion of private industry and civic altruism had transformed the commemorative gesture into a thriving popular event—driven by mainstream media and corporate sponsorship as well as government incentives. Moreover, the Time Capsule Coronation remained the only affair of its kind.
When Tom Tutt pulled into the Stop & Shop for gas and coffee, he bought a newspaper. He was still sitting there in his truck when he noticed the front-page story about how his identical twin brother, Tim, had decided to run for the honor of being the new Time Capsule King.
The Tutt twins were close growing up, but had drifted apart. Their parents were deceased and although the brothers still lived in the same town, they hardly saw each other, save the occasional holiday dinner. Their paths had diverged sharply, and with that split went the affection the two once shared.
Tom lived by himself in a small apartment on the west side; he got by doing carpentry and odd jobs for cash. Tim was a corporate man, married with two kids, and a homeowner active in his community.
Tom drove over to his brother’s house. His sister-in-law Sandy looked apprehensive as she sent him around back. Tim was in the garage cleaning an old barbeque grill and nodded indifferently to his brother, “Haven’t seen you in a while Tom, what’s up?”
“What’s up?” Tom was shouting, “The newspaper says you’re campaigning for the Time Capsule Coronation. Are you kidding? Why would you want to be part of something like that?”
“It’s not so ridiculous,” Tim said. “There’s $300,000 in savings bonds, complete relief from our property taxes and 10 years health insurance for the family—as well as reality show money and some endorsements. I think it’s worth a shot.”
Tom insisted that his brother withdraw from the contest but Tim was adamant about pursuing the crown. Finally, Tim admitted that he’d been laid off of his job 18 months earlier. Undeterred, Tom began another harangue and Tim got more defensive. Old resentments and rivalries were invoked. Tom kept up his berating until Tim finally told him to leave.
The following week, Tim was in front of Whole Foods passing out fliers promoting his campaign for the Time Capsule Coronation. He’d only been there for 20 minutes when someone casually informed him that there was a new contender for the crown—namely, his brother Tom.
The contestants vying for the coronation had looked weak up to this point. Tim was half-expecting to win and Tom’s gesture left him steaming. Of course, there were other candidates, including an elderly fellow who’d just retired from the shoe business and a younger local who’d been drafted and was being shipped off to Afghanistan. But now, with Tom entering the race, it was personal.
News of the twins’ rivalry accelerated the usual hype surrounding the Time Capsule Coronation and drew the attention away from the other contestants. Tim was designated frontrunner and relied on a platform of family values—claiming to be an earnest townie deserving of the Coronation honors.
Initially, Tom was seen in a less sympathetic light. With no close friends, wife or kids and a reputation as a ne’er-do-well, he was portrayed as an outsider—a negative image of his brother Tim—devoid of accomplishments, ambitions, or previous civic involvement.
But Tom began campaigning aggressively as the underdog, reaching out to folks working less meaningful jobs and representing other urban isolates lacking familial support. He also maintained that his respected twin brother was a self-serving liar.
Tim retaliated, discrediting Tom for his feeble work history and barren home life, claiming drugs and mental problems were responsible for his lifestyle. Tim also acknowledged the loss of his job was a motivating force in his Coronation run but insisted that he still held the community in the highest regard.
Then an anonymous source released some old photographs of the twins together in a compromising position with the redheaded Chambers sisters—two troubled girls who’d left town soon after the alleged liaison. Tom Tutt verified the authenticity of the photos, claiming that the event in question had occurred a few weeks after his brother Tim’s wedding day.
The media devoured their descent into mudslinging, detailing all aspects of enmity between the twins. Blogs, cable news, tabloids and talk radio covered the story—highlighting the incentives that fueled the contest against speculation on the siblings’ personal motives. Efforts to locate the redheaded Chambers sisters were unsuccessful and Tim railed against Tom while trying to shelter his own family from embarrassment.
With only a week before the Time Capsule Coronation, the battle picked up more momentum. One twist came when local politicians from one party all turned out to endorse Tim while the other side rallied around Tom. Most townies didn’t know what to make of the partisan factions, but the Coronation was certainly getting more exposure than anyone expected.
Amid speculation as to who would be chosen King, another coincidence came to light. It seemed that both Tim and Tom had been gambling in Las Vegas every January for the last 15 years. The twins each denied any further connection with the other, but the revelation seemed to help Tom gain support in the community.
New contenders for the crown signed up before the event deadline only to drop out in lieu of everyone’s fascination with the twins. Then, after the old shoe salesman withdrew from the contest and the young draftee shipped out early to Afghanistan, it was down to a two-man race.
There was one event prior to the coronation that both twins attended. It was at the mall, arranged by one of the cable networks covering the event, and Tom had gotten a lot of mileage out of his Mom Always Liked You Best T-shirt until Tim shoved him during the introductions and they had to be separated by mall security.
Tim always resented Tom’s one-upmanship, but two days before the coronation, he held a press conference to reveal the old family secret … that … his brother Tom was gay, which explained the true closeted nature of Tom’s unmarried, childless life. When Tom finally responded to the allegations, he refused to admit or deny anything, but maintained that Tim must be pretty desperate to use the question of his sexuality to sway public opinion.
News cameras followed them both on the day before the Time Capsule Coronation. Each visited City Hall (Tim in the morning, Tom in the afternoon), as pending financial agreements and other details had to be settled with both contestants. By this time media outlets were unable to ignore the obvious “King Tut” angle and were including references in nearly every story, even reviving the old novelty song from the 20th century.
On the big day, cordoned off far from the ceremony, a group of protesters held up signs decrying the event’s complicity with corporations, mass media and all forms of government. Meanwhile, down in Town Square, the televised pomp and circumstance of the Time Capsule Coronation was in full flower—resembling a grotesque carnival sideshow or an overblown high school prom.
The twins were seated a few feet away from each other on opposite sides of the time capsule but made no eye contact. After rambling speeches by the mayor, a city councilwoman and the three-star general who’d flown in from Washington, D.C., came the moment everyone was waiting for—a christening of the time capsule by their new-crowned king.
The councilwoman then declared that Tom Tutt was the new Time Capsule King and placed an ornate crown on his head. Tim thought he was going to pass out as he watched his brother slowly maneuver the large time capsule down into the underground vault. There were 12 items stored inside, he heard someone say.
People were filming and taking photos when Tom climbed up to the entrance of the vault and waved farewell to the townspeople. He declined to make an acceptance speech, smiled once directly at Tim, and then calmly went back down into the vault as special event volunteers sealed off the doorway to entomb him.
The crowd didn’t stay long after the ceremony. A town planner had hired a local DJ, but it wasn’t much of a party—just more forced revelry and expensive junk food in the square on a Wednesday night. Still, it was the most profitable Coronation event ever, which pleased some.
Late that night, a reporter called Tim at home asking how he felt about his brother Tom bequeathing all of the money, tax relief and insurance options to Tim and his family. Tim was mostly speechless, but the next morning he planted a tree in memory of his identical twin, Tom Tutt.
—for Shirley Jackson
