Built to Last

I was wearing flip-flops and the dew on the grass was soaking my toes and jean bottoms. It was muggy out already and it wasn’t even nine in the morning- typical New England heat. I moved slowly towards the new structure that I had glimpsed from the road and was surprised to see the beginning stages of an open air theater lit up by the fresh morning light. Marble seats were laid out perfectly in a semi-circle, only a few rows high. I walked through the interior of the front of the theater poking my head through empty doorways and windows. I took the few shots on my camera and began the quick walk back to my car.

As I approached my car the door of the building next to the theater swung open and I heard footsteps coming my way. I figured that someone was coming to reprimand me for taking photos and trespassing (oh the woes of being a chronic photographer). As the man approached, I could see that he was smiling. He had a sweat-stained button down shirt revealing his chest-hair. Before he could say anything I sputtered something about seeing the theater from the road and needing to pull in to get a closer look. He was the opposite of defensive as he gestured towards the new construction site, expecting me to walk with him.

I found out pretty quickly that he was a Greek Professor at Uconn and that his name was Elias which, when looked up, is derived from the name Elijah (thanks Google).

As we walked towards the theater, Elias began to guide me through the details of what the theater was and why he was building it. According to his story, the building is a gift from the Greek community (not the frat houses) to the state. But, as he continued, it really was much more than that…

He invited me to climb up a ladder to look at the theater from the roof. “The walls around the theater are two feet thick,” he explained in his accent, “but most people think they only need to be eight inches.” He went on to talk about the theaters in Greece and how they have been around for thousands of years with their thick walls. “If I built these only eight inches thick, they would be cracking and broken in fifty years.” He wanted this thing to be around for thousands of years. He wasn’t concerned with how much time that was going to take.

Elias dabbled on with his architectural philosophies but I noticed that it was all becoming a bit metaphorical. Before long, he was relating the stable structure of the theater to the continuity of society. “It’s not like it was 30 years ago. Everyone’s in a glass bubble these days. People are so independent. The divorce rate is forty-nine percent, that scares me. Families are the structure of our society and if they are failing then…” Then society is failing, I thought as I finished his sentence.

We walked back towards my car. I listened intently to a man who believed deeply in the importance of family, relationships, and longevity. That theater is going to be there for thousands of years. It’s got a solid structure and nothing is going to rock it. Of course, it is going to take a lot longer to build too. Two foot walls and solid marble seating require a lot more work than eight-inch walls and marble coating.

We stopped by a pile of marble steps sitting on the grass near the theater. He picked up a perfectly square chunk of marble sitting atop one of the slabs and handed it to me. “Here’s a souvenir for you to remember!” he said grinning. “Thanks. I’ll remember; built to last.” I hoisted up the marble with the last part of that sentence and smiled.

As I drove away, I tried to recall some of the pearls of wisdom that Elias had offered in our conversation. I couldn’t remember all of them but I did remember those two-foot thick walls and I wished that there were more people like Elias who wanted buildings and people to be built to last. In a society where speed and innovation are honored, legacy and sound-structure are left behind.

Elias, thanks for being a messenger. You made my day with your simple elegance and jovial spirit.

Let’s build buildings and lives to last.

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