Peter Schworm
When the Old State House’s century-old time capsule was opened last
fall, the red hardback book found inside, a routine government report,
was dismissed as a mere space-filler.
Now it appears that the
book’s curious inclusion was anything but an afterthought. With a corner
carefully folded on a page that describes an attack against Armenians
by Ottoman Turks, the volume is seen as delivering a message, a call to
remember from the distant past.
It was an Armenian coppersmith, Moses Gulesian, who was commissioned
in 1900 to replace the wood figures of a lion and unicorn on the east
facade of the building. When his work was completed, he placed the time
capsule — a copper box filled with letters, photographs, and newspaper
articles from the time — inside the lion’s head.
“One of the last things he did was to seal a copper box,” reported a Boston Daily Globe article from 1901.
But
not before he placed the thick tome inside, nestled snugly atop the
other objects as if it had been cut to size. When the capsule was
opened, the book, which contained a summary of US foreign relations from
1896, was the first item seen.
Yet, the reason for such a prominent placement remained unclear.
Officials at the Bostonian Society, which operates the Old State House
Museum, were eager for answers, but the book’s broad scope defied them.
“It was a mystery,” said Elizabeth Roscio, the society’s archivist.
When Don and Barbara Tellalian, a couple from Newton who had
researched Gulesian’s life, heard about the book, they quickly made the
connection.
Gulesian was a leading figure in the Friends of
Armenia, a Boston group that raised awareness about the Armenian
massacres. And the book provided a historical record of attacks against
Christian minorities that began in 1895.
“From his point of view, it made perfect sense to include,” said Barbara Tellalian. “It just seemed to fit.”
Don
Tellalian, a retired architect who had worked on the restoration of the
Old State House, set up a meeting with Roscio in October to examine the
book. As he thumbed through the section about the Ottoman Empire, they
came across the folded page, a cleanly pressed triangle marking page
887. The section describes an attack by Turkish forces on an American
mission in an Armenian province.
“There can be no doubt I think,
judging from the penetrating force of the bullets, that they were fired
from rifles such as are used by the Turkish troops,” a diplomatic letter
read.
In a revelatory moment, the Tellalians concluded that the
book was Gulesian’s way of preserving a piece of history, to mark a
moment in time for future generations. What had first seemed to be a
dull, bureaucratic selection was instead a deeply personal choice to
document the atrocities against his homeland, they decided.
“We knew then,” Barbara Tellalian said. “This was a passion for him.”
Gulesian
was 17 when he came to the United States, arriving in New York City in
1883. He slept on a park bench before a fellow countryman put him to
work at his carpet shop.
In 1890, he built a copperworks factory in Boston, and in the coming years took in scores of Armenian refugees.
He is best remembered for rallying support to save the USS
Constitution from being scrapped by offering to pay the Navy $10,000 for
the vessel.
For the Tellalians, who are both of Armenian
descent, the discovery has strong contemporary resonance. At a time when
refugees from the Middle East are viewed with suspicion, Gulesian
provides a classic American success story, a man who built a fortune
from nothing.
“You begin to realize that there are some things that haven’t changed so much,” Don Tellalian said, shaking his head in regret.
There
is no proof, of course, that the book in the time capsule had any
significance at all. The initial reaction — that it was chosen as much
for its dimensions as its content — might have been correct, and
Gulesian may not have been involved. But the evidence, from the book’s
prominent placement to the crisply folded-down page, is tantalizing.
“There are no hard facts in history,” said Brian LeMay, the Bostonian Society’s director. “This passes the test.”
"Boston Globe," December 14, 2015
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