Fifty feet below Flushing Meadows, time stands still. Buried there is a message that
will not be received for nearly 5,000 years. This seems absurd to our modern sensibility
in which the instant gratification of faxes and emails are commonplace. But these
are truly special deliveries.
They are messages to posterity, to be opened long, after the senders and the
senders great grandchildren have passed on. Using everyday objects, newspaper
clippings and pictures, the time capsules from the 1939 and 1964 Worlds Fairs are a
record of who we were. Assuming someone remembers to open this gift in 6939, they may
either prove to be invaluable tools for historical research or completely useless junk.
In celebration of the Queens Tribunes 28th Anniversary, and the boroughs
100th birthday, we have created our own time capsule. While it is intended to be read
first by the Queens of the present, we hope that you, the residents and Tribune staff of
tomorrow, will remember to open this gift.
In this issue we describe the Queens of 1998, its people, its places, and its things.
It is a place seemingly full of contraries: city/suburb, industrial/residential, but,
as the poet William Blake put it, "without contraries is no progression."
We can only hope that by the time you turn these pages that progression has occurred,
and the Queens of our dreams has been realized.