There is far more to Mount Rushmore than four granite heads on a hill.
The giant heads are most impressive, portraying pivotal men in American history worthy of being studied and remembered. But there is a backstory—with some notable hidden gems—behind these prominent sculptures in the Black Hills of South Dakota that not all Americans are aware of.
No kidding.
Today, one cannot simply jaunt up the mountain to explore this tomb like Indiana Jones. It’s off limits for public visitation, and state employees—bearing sidearms—ensure no one veers off the beaten path. But rest assured, it’s there.
A Hall of Records
The sculptor of Mount Rushmore, Danish American Gutzon Borglum, had the heads basically completed for all intents and purposes and, one year prior to his wrapping up the project in 1941, he somewhat clandestinely commenced work on what was to be a grand Hall of Records for the monument.Within a nook behind Lincoln’s lithic likeness, the hall would delve deep into the living granite rock. It would feature 14-foot-high twin doors, beyond which there would be a chamber whose ceiling would soar 100 feet overhead. There would be glorious statues of famous Americans lining this hall, including American Indian leaders and important political figures. The majestic space would display, among other writings, the nation’s founding documents: the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, and the Bill of Rights.
It was intended as a time capsule to inform the future. You see, Borglum lamented how wonders such as the Great Pyramid of Giza and the heads of Easter Island bore no explanation for later civilizations. Modern man was left to wrack himself over, ponder upon in vain, and forever be confounded by ancient wisdom lost to time. Borglum would see our forbearers—hundreds or even tens of thousands of years later, perhaps after America was no more—demystified upon uncovering this wealth within Mount Rushmore.
Yet his work went unfinished. The war effort saw funds dry up, and Congress ordered him to just finish the heads and be done. Yet he persisted in his excavation of the hall until the House found out and promptly squelched his foray. He insisted its completion was necessary.
Though Borglum’s grand scheme survives on paper, only a rough passage saw fruition in carving. Boring diagonally up into the mountain, the markings of old tools bear testament to this effort—air-powered chisels and dynamite were used to bite away chunks of the dense granite while finer tools finished it. Jagged within, the tunnel evens out nearer the opening as workers meticulously “bumped” raw surfaces into walls as straight and smooth as finished concrete.
The Vault
Over the years, many expressed interest in seeing Borglum’s hall completed, including his children. In 1998, his daughter saw him honored to some extent.Obliging her wish, officials had a cavity drilled into the floor inside the threshold for what was to be a sort of time capsule. Here, a corrosion-resistant titanium box as inserted, which in turn housed a teak box containing 16 durable ceramic tablets that could withstand the test of time. The tablets were emblazoned with the nation’s founding documents, profiles of the four presidential portraits, the meaning of the monument, and the artist’s own biography. A capstone of polished granite bearing an inscription was slid overtop all this, protecting it from wear. Inscribed upon the capstone were the words of the artist:
“Let us place there, carved high, as close to heaven as we can, the words of our leaders, their faces, to show posterity what manner of men they were. Then breathe a prayer that these records will endure until the wind and rain alone shall wear them away.”
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