Mystery of the Georgia Guidestones.
October 7, 2013
Mr. Joe H. Fendley, Sr. looked at the clock on the wall. He was trying to get the payroll out at the Elberton Granite Finishing Company in Elberton, Georgia. He had a strange and eerie feeling—like he had an important appointment with someone and that the someone would be a no-show. There was no appointment, but he could not shake the feeling—the feeling that made him keep checking the clock.
As Mr. Fendley was taking a short lunch break, a potential customer insisted upon barging past his secretary and into his work space. When this potential customer had finished his speech, Mr. Fendley was flabbergasted. Private people did not have the kind of money to buy that much granite, nor to pay master craftsmen to sandblast esoteric messages into it. Jumping Jehoshaphat! The customer even wanted some of the messages translated into Spanish, Hindi, Hebrew, Arabic, Chinese, Russian, Swahili, ancient Babylonian cuneiform, classical Greek, Sanskrit and Egyptian hieroglyphics. This customer was not supplying the translations so that would be the job of the research department of the Elberton Granite Finishing Company, Inc. A more than sufficient fee would be supplied by the customer, R. C. Christian, to cover all costs.
After he was gone, the secretary confessed that the man had called several times before and she had turned him away. Mr. Fendley frowned at her. The frown had deep furrows.
“But this is a wholesale outfit, Mr. Fendley. How was I to know you would be interested in working with a private individual?”
“Of course, Miss McElroy. I am sorry if I appeared annoyed. I have hired you to be a gatekeeper. We cannot expect our employees to be mind readers.”
After this June day in 1979, Mr. Fendley, his masons and sandblasters and Miss McElroy all jumped through hoops to give the mysterious customer what he wanted. Their bank accounts would be rewarded.
And what was it the mysterious customer wanted? He wanted a granite monument constructed, and the monument, consisting of Pyramid Blue Granite slabs over nineteen feet tall and weighing 237,746 pounds en toto, was to be inscribed with ten commandments compiled by the group he represented:
Maintain humanity under 500,000,000 in perpetual balance with
Guide reproduction wisely—improving fitness and diversity
Unite humanity with a living, new language
Rule passion, faith, tradition—at things with tempered reason
Protect people and nations with fair laws and just courts
Let all nations rule internally, resolving external disputes in a world
Avoid petty laws and useless officials
Balance personal rights with social duties
Prize truth, beauty, love—seeking harmony with the infinite
Be not a cancer on Earth—leave room for nature
“These commandments do seem more than sensible upon first reading,” Mr. Fendley said to Miss McElroy. “But after you read them a few times, they start to become creepy.”
“Yes, it is what we don’t know that is bothersome—and what R. C. Christian will not explain.” She answered.
“How is that magic population number arrived at—we are way over that number now? How is it accomplished? Genocide?” Fendley asked. “Who gets selected?”
“Mr. Christian has hinted that his group believes that apocalypses coming in cycles will take care of this—and that we are due for a cycle.”
“How do we know what this group intends? Commandment number two hints at genetic engineering, look!” Mr. Fendley exclaimed. “R. C. Christian is not his real name, he readily admits, by the way.”
“I didn’t know—I thought it was.” Miss McElroy envisioned the man in her head. His outstanding feature was his thick, silver-white hair. He was tall, courtly, and articulate with a Midwestern accent.
“Some believe R. C. Christian, the pseudonym, is symbolic of the order of Rosicrucians and that is the group behind it, possibly—it is a mystical group that has always been controversial.” Fendley added.
Curious parties made sure they were in attendance at the dedication of the monument on approximately March 22 of 1980. They hoped they might catch a glimpse of the mysterious Mr. Christian. He was not spotted in the assembled group which numbered between one hundred and four hundred, depending on who you asked. Newspaper photographers even hoped to get a shot of him as the monument was unveiled. They were disappointed. He did not even come to his own event, unless he had dyed his hair and hunched himself over. Perhaps he had someone make a videotape of the event for him, so he would not have to appear in public.
Photographers were able to snap shots of the astronomical features of what has been nicknamed The American Stonehenge. A channel through the stone indicates the celestial pole. A horizontal slot indicates the annual travel of the sun. A sunbeam through the capstone marks noontime throughout the year.
R. C. Christian, when questioned by Fendley stated that the monument was sponsored by a small group of Americans, Christians, living outside Georgia who wished to remain anonymous forever. They are seeking the Age of Reason. He also confided to Wyatt C. Martin, area banker, that he hoped others would erect monuments in an outer ring around the Georgia Guidestones.
During the building of the Guidestones there was a snag. They could not proceed unless the local bank had R. C. Christian’s banking information (was it the information of a person or a group?) In order to have the stones erected, Christian had to part with this information to Wyatt C. Martin. Martin vowed to take the information to his grave. “I have made an oath.”
The Georgia Guidestones were erected on the highest point in the county, on county property, and is termed an exhibit. The land belonged to a farming couple named Mullenix. It has been defaced by paint over the years—“It is the work of the devil, the work of the antichrist!” It is restored each time that happens. Some men at the quarry remember their fathers and grandfathers working on it. Some outsiders want it smashed to smithereens.
The county has recently considered making a tourist attraction of it, to supplement hard times—but the deed forbids ever charging money to see the monument. “There is nothing in the deed about having a week-long festival around it,” one cagey businessman points out. Though the good people of Elberton do not understand the giant in their midst, they have grown accustomed to it. There is even a small group of cynics that think the erection of the Georgia Guidestones was a publicity stunt to put Elberton on the map.
There may or may not be a time capsule buried under an explanatory tablet to the west of the monument. The lines listing the date the capsule was buried and the date it is to be opened were left blank.