(ANALYSIS) The back of a vending machine is home to many lost treasures, ranging in value from vagrant dust bunnies to orphaned coins. The soda machine located in The King’s College Fishbowl conceals a far greater secret — a legacy.

Mounted into the wall about four feet above the floor, in the shadow of the vending machine within a claustrophobic two-inch gap is an unknown monument to a forgotten memory: a plaque commemorating the dedication of “Miller Circle” to a certain William A. Miller.

This relic from the original Briarcliff King’s campus is as old as the encampment of bricks adorning the pillar, but significantly less revered. Nobody knows it exists.

Dr. Stephen Salyers, one of the longest-tenured professors currently working for the school, had never heard of it.

“I didn’t know it was there,” Salyers said. “Those vending machines have been there as long as I can remember.”

It’s hidden away so effectively that it even managed to evade Nick Swedick, the former Associate Dean of Students, and his formidable attention to detail.

“I didn’t know there was something back there. Those vending machines have been here for as long as I can remember, and I never thought to look behind them,” he said.

When interviewed about this last spring, former President Tim Gibson was in the dark, noting that the plaque was “quite difficult to see.”

The plaque reads:

MILLER CIRCLE

NAMED IN HONOR OF WILLIAM A MILLER, JR., CHAIRMAN OF THE BOARD OF TRUSTEES OF THE KING’S COLLEGE, AND DEDICATED THIS DAY TO THE GLORY OF GOD, WHO “COMMANDETH HIS LOVE TOWARD US, IN THAT, WHILE WE WERE YET SINNERS, CHRIST DIED FOR US.” (ROMANS 5:8) OCTOBER 17, 1970

Almost nothing is known about William Miller. The name is common enough that an internet search yields nothing, and the college offers little information about his life.

The archive of old board meeting minutes yields limited information. King’s elected Miller as the Chair of the Board of Trustees on Nov. 5, 1960, mere days after the passing of Dr. Percy Crawford, the college’s founder. The date on the plaque indicates that he served at least until 1970, but beyond that, his story is unknown.

Surely David Leedy, Dean of Students, must know something about this artifact? Unfortunately not. Leedy admitted he “had never even noticed that plaque” but was able to confirm that it was a relic from Briarcliff manor. After thinking it over, however, he did have an idea of someone who might know something about the plaque’s history.

Assistant Vice President Judy Barringer serves as the Controller for King’s and is responsible for audits, payroll and monthly closings. She has worked for the school since 1999 and is an alumna of the original Briarcliff campus. She had never heard of Miller but immediately recalled what the plaque represented.

“Miller Circle was a dorm on the Briarcliff Manor campus,” she explained. “It mostly housed women, occasionally men in one section. I spent all four years of my time at King’s in that dorm. That plaque is likely the dedication date of the building.”

Barringer’s revelations cleared much of the fog away from the nature of the plaque itself—it was most certainly the dedication plaque for the old dormitory. But the mystery of Miller and the reason for the construction of Miller Circle remained obscure, along with the story of the plaque’s eventual covering-over by the vending machine. Development Staff Chief Bridget Rogers combed through the college’s records upon request, but also could not find anything.

A surprise lead from an alum revealed that the former on-campus dormitory DeVos Hall had a similar dedication plaque. Although an examination of that plaque yielded nothing, that year’s yearbook included DeVos Hall’s dedication. What if a record of Miller Circle’s dedication was hidden in the pages of the library’s yearbook archives?

A search for yearbooks mentioning a commemoration of the dedication, a record of its construction or a tribute to Miller yielded eight books from 1965 to 1972. While the yearbooks revealed none of these things directly, the pictures and documents included each year told a story — a tale of success gone wrong, of unprecedented growth in an initially small school.

Few references to the dormitory’s construction are found within their pages. It was instead a history of delays. Here is an artist’s rendering of a splendid crescent of stately buildings, the next year replaced by a heavily downsized model. A 1969 letter from Robert Cook, the school’s president, apologizing for delays and arranging makeshift housing in nearby hotels, accompanied by images of construction in shambles.

In an unsorted binder without labels was the final key. Nestled between two reports was a small cardboard slip creased neatly down the middle, a hovering hint of yellow betraying its age. It’s a program for the dedication of Miller Circle on Oct. 17, 1970, that took place at 1:15 p.m. The school invited the entire campus community, and after a public reading of scripture, then-Chairman Miller recited a prayer of dedication over the building named to honor him. The program included a short biography.

William A. Miller, Jr was a founding member of the King’s College, serving on its original board of advisors since day 1. He is a chairman of the Manhasset Baptist Church’s board of deacons, treasurer for the New York State Executive Committee for the Salvation Army, an advisor to the Red Cross, the New York Bible Society, and the Queens Borough Chamber of Commerce. He follows in the footsteps of his father, the Reverend Miller, founder of the Brooklyn Gospel Meeting house, in leading the world to Christ.

How the plaque came to be behind the vending machine remains a mystery, and is likely to forever remain one. However, it will not be forgotten. It is a story of growth, faith in difficult circumstances and tenacity despite setbacks.

Today, the school is navigating similarly stormy financial straits. King’s is struggling and the future remains uncertain. But we have been here before.

The story this plaque tells is one of resolution—although King’s stumbled, through faith and tenacity they survived and emerged stronger than before. Though his memory lies forgotten behind a vending machine, William Miller’s legacy shines as a beacon for anyone with the courage to stick it out.

Joshua Story is a junior studying Journalism, Culture and Society.

Mystery Plaque Reveals a Part of Forgotten King’s History