Are you excited about the U.S. time capsule?

Certainly, I look forward to becoming reacquainted with all the groovy hairstyles, dated slang and kitschy doodads in a couple of years when my high school classmates open our 50-year time capsule. But I suspect most patriotic citizens are currently more focused on America's Time Capsule. That's the one commemorating the United States Semiquincentennial. It's a 3-foot-by-2-foot stainless steel cylindrical vessel ("3-foot-by-2-foot? My kid has a Stanley tumbler bigger than that!") to be buried in Philadelphia's Independence National Historic Park on July 4, 2026 and to be ceremoniously opened on July 4, 2276 (the nation's 500th birthday). I'm heartened that planners have enough optimism to believe that the nation will still stand in 250 years (after an "existential crisis" every 15 minutes). I'm heartened that we think the national motto will be in the soul-stirring spirit of "E pluribus unum" rather than the dystopian "Inde est quod res gratas habere non possumus" ("This is why we can't have nice things"). Our country was birthed in the violence of the Revolutionary War, and there will doubtless be hyper-competitive brouhahas on the TV panel shows between now and July 4. ("I am an EXPERT on how people in 2276 will react to the time capsule." "Hmph! I am an AUTHORITY on how people in 2276 will react to the time capsule." "Bah! I am in touch with sources CLOSE TO THE SITUATION of how people in 2276 will react to the time capsule. Let's rumble!") I know your imagination runs wild as you brainstorm things that would best represent your state or territory, but the America250 Commission has been a stickler about items that are too bulky, too prone to corrosion or too likely to interact poorly with other artifacts. This is to avoid what has been dubbed "the WKRP effect." America would be the laughingstock of the world if we had a rogue governor lamenting, "As God is my witness, I thought turkeys could survive a quarter-millennium inside a stainless-steel cylindrical vessel!." The container and its contents could conceivably remain intact for 250 years (if we resist the initial pushback from the "Are you sure that COMPOSTING flags, medals and student essays isn't a better plan?" busybodies, but things could go sideways in as little as 15 or 20 years. ("Season 37 of 'Storage Wars' needs something really special to boost the ratings. Hey, what if the National Park Service has missed some rent payments???") Even if the written documents remain in pristine condition, cultural and technological changes could take a toll. After 250 years, will anyone even be able to interpret them? ("What is this 'Times New Roman' font? Summon the Chief Scientist and the High Priest of Entrails Reading! Both on vacation? It's re-gifting time then!") We Americans owe a great debt to our forebears who built this great nation. I'm less sure what we owe to the people of 2276, so the mischievous side of me thinks maybe we could yank their chain a little. ("Here are the cremated remains of a time traveler who came back to tell us of your progress. We salute you for resolutely surviving the Zombie Apocalypse of 2275. No, wait – that was the Zombie Apocalypse of 2277! My bad. Um, you have not yet begun to fight. Be brave. The Class of 1978 is re-burying polyester leisure suits for the cause…") – Copyright 2026 Danny Tyree, distributed by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate. Danny Tyree welcomes email responses at tyreetyrades@aol.com and visits to his Facebook fan page "Tyree's Tyrades."