Rider University

13 Nov 2009. Does that horse's eye look right to you? It's kind of rolling back in its head. Is this out of pleasure, fear, pain, sarcasm, hallucinogens - what is it?? I'll stay on my high horse and won't accept that it's just bad art.


THE PRESIDENT REQUESTS YOUR PRESENCE AT CITY HALL LAWRENCEVILLE NEW JERSEY SATURDAY NINE A.M. ~ STOP ~ TO BE FOLLOWED BY A PUBLIC APPEARANCE ~ STOP ~ R.S.V.P. AT EARLIEST CONVENIENCE ~ STOP ~ SINCERELY MR. AND MRS. WOODROW WILSON

"Mr. Riis, take a look at this telegram. What do you suppose that minister's boy means by this?" Theodore Roosevelt passed the paper over to Jacob Riis, his mousy journalist friend.
"It means you'll be taking a trip to the haberdasher before long. You're not one to resist a public appearance, TR!"
Roosevelt laughed. "Indeed I am not. But does he intend to draw me into a public debate? That would be quite uncharacteristic of the ol' Virginia gentleman. Just in case, I will need to dress for both formality and aggression. The blackest of black top hats and tailcoat. Oh, I will be ready for you, Wilson!"

******

Wilson checked his pocketwatch in between sentences. Roosevelt had replied with an affirmative response to the invitation but had not yet shown up. He was nowhere to be found for the pre-announcement briefing, and Wilson could not delay speaking to the impatient press much longer. He had no choice but to begin and hope against hope.
So there he stood, on the stage decorated with maroon and white bunting, sweating it out and talking in circles. It began well enough. Wilson dove into his signature 'Three Points' program governing foreign policy. He stretched his words, fearing that he would repeat himself, outlining his views on free trade and open diplomacy.
When the time came to introduce Roosevelt and the issue at hand, he was still on his own. Wilson adjusted his glasses, laughed nervously, and pretended to shuffle his notes. Improvisation was not his strength.
He glanced back to Edith, who held up three fingers on one hand. She then firmly shot up her little finger, then her thumb, then all five fingers on her other hand. Wilson blinked.
Time to get specific.
"But to aid in achieving these Three Points, there are certain measures we can take as a nation to assure their coming into being.
So, fourthly, the American government will require that adequate guarantees are given and taken that national armaments will be reduced to the lowest points consistent with domestic safety."
Wilson's mind shot back to his drafts of the Three Points. There were too many details to include in that broad agenda. But now that he had time and an audience, they came surging back to his brainfront.
As he continued, the original number of issues had now tripled.
"Ninth, the frontiers of Italy ought to be readjusted clearly along recognizable lines of nationality."
His shoulders fell back, his vest seemed tighter around his chest, and his lively hand gestures complemented his now expanded Fourteen Points.
"Fourteenth, a general association of nations must be assembled with the purpose of guaranteeing political independence and territorial integrity!"
With this last declaration, Wilson pumped his fist in the air as his voice crescendoed skyward. The crowd ate it up and cheered wildly. At this point they weren't paying attention to the words but to the man. Wilson was not one to let emotions get control of him, and they were massively enjoying it almost as much as he was.
He would not go any further. A man sitting head and shoulders above the rest bobbed his way toward the stage. Theodore Roosevelt, in dusty formalwear, jumped from his horse and onto the stage.
"Fifteenth, my rump is numb!"
The crowd laughed. A mob of photographers, including Jacob Riis, stormed the stage to get a shot of Wilson and Roosevelt together. Both men were beaming. They exchanged hearty two-handed handshakes and quick words. Roosevelt sat next to Edith. Wilson took back the podium.
"I am honored to share the stage with President Roosevelt. Here is a man who never breaks his word, even when a malfunctioning motorcar forces him to commandeer a farmer's horse and ride the remaining miles!" Wilson pauses and allows the crowd to calm down.
"And that is why we are here today. Lawrenceville State College has been gracious to stage this event for us today. But after we are finished here, it will no longer be referred to by that name. In honor of our esteemed guest, President Roosevelt, the Dakota Bronc, The Colonel, The Rough Rider..."
Applause.
"...the school will be appointing him to the Board of Trustees..."
Roosevelt looked shocked.
"...under its first year with a new name. May I present...Rough Rider College!"
Two huge white curtains were pulled apart to reveal a maroon and white painting of the new school seal. Roosevelt turned to admire the giant banner. He stood up and ran his hands across the canvas. When he turned back to the crowd, his eyes were shining. Wilson gave the 'by-all-means' arm sweep. Roosevelt stepped to the microphone.
"After all the unkind things I have said about President Wilson, I truly don't deserve this. But it is this brand of generosity that makes him a great leader of our great country, no matter what this upcoming November has in store. With this new responsibility, I vow to make this school a place of vigorous learning in the spirit of our Founding Fathers. It will be a bully good university!"
Roosevelt doffed his top hat. The brass band drowned out the cheers with Hail to the Chief. The crowd dispersed. The executive and former executive made their way offstage.
"I cannot believe you turned three points into fourteen!"
"I had no choice, did I? You need to rid yourself of that bucket of bolts Ford, and upgrade to a Pierce-Arrow. Rides like no other."
"A new motorcoach is not in the cards right now."
"Oh, no?"
"The Amazon calls, Mr. Wilson!"

Princeton University

13 Nov 2009. You know how every campus has that one 'centerpiece' building? The building designed by a famous architect, or resembles a Gothic cathedral, or is cut from expensive rock? The picture postcard, bulk mail brochure, website banner building?
Every building on Princeton's campus is like that.

Technically, Rider was added to the collection an hour or so before Princeton, but it fits the story to have Princeton go first. Sorry, Rider. You're second banana here too.


Theodore Roosevelt's face reddened. His voice boomed throughout his Long Island estate, Sagamore Hill.
"That bird-beaked, four-eyed bookworm!"
He slammed a fist down on his fully stocked bookcase. The force shook the pince-nez from his nose.
"We are in a crisis! And in a crisis, the worst thing to do is nothing!"
A small, alert man sat in the corner, scribbling furiously. The man was Jacob Riis, Roosevelt's longtime mouthpiece to the press. The two had met while Roosevelt was Police Commissioner of New York City. Riis' crusade for justice through writing and photography instantly caught Roosevelt's attention. Now, after years of political climbing, ex-President Roosevelt trusted Riis to instinctively know what tirades were for his ears only.

This was not one of those tirades.

The war in Europe was escalating. It was the top issue in the presidential campaign of 1916. The incumbent, Woodrow "He Kept Us Out Of War" Wilson, was leaning on his isolationist platform. The poll numbers showed this to be a wise strategy. But the constant public attacks by Roosevelt, always popular with the American people, were threatening Wilson's reelection bid.

In the White House, Wilson looked out over the south lawn. With hands clasped behind his back, he watched horse-drawn carriages and state-of-the-art Pierce-Arrows jockey for the road. Wilson finally turned to his wife, Edith, and posed a rhetorical question: "What to do about Roosevelt?"
Edith, never one to leave any question unanswered, replied, "Idle hands are the devil's playthings, Woody. Give him something else to do. What, to Roosevelt, would take priority over his vicious ramblings?"
"He craves action. But he is advancing in age. Though it would appeal to his ego, I cannot allow him to take to the battlefields in Europe."
"Well then, maybe not physical action, but..."
Edith didn't have to finish. She adjusted the velvet drape ties while Wilson's brain silently worked its magic.

******

"Egad! Wilson! The Almighty save us from your lily-livered policies! 'He Kept Us Out Of War'? Codswallop! Codswallop I say! You led an entire University at Princeton, so you know our citizenry is capable of rational thought. Yet you assume them to be invalid flea-bitten mules with such an ignorant statement. The writing is on the wall, Mr. President. We cannot allow Germany to advance unabated. Allow me to lead a regiment if you are ill-inclined to do so. The time to act is now. ...Are you getting all of this, Mr. Riis?"
"Yes, Colonel. Though what is the spelling of 'codswallop'?"
"Hmm. Let's simplify it to k-o-d-s-w-o-l-o-p, shall we?"
"'Kodswolop'?? Is that right? Maybe I should double check..." Riis pulled from his pocket a copy of the Princeton Collegiate Dictionary. He had barely flipped to the C's when Roosevelt grabbed the book and hurled it across the room.
"Nothing from Princeton will be allotted any repute here, Mr. Riis. Least of all Wilson himself. Is that understood?"
"Why don't I just replace codswallop with poppycock then."
"Take care with the blue language, Mr. Riis. Now consider this a gift from me to you."
Roosevelt hefted a volume from the bookcase underneath and dropped it onto his desk, scattering the dust from the pages of the New Harvard English Dictionary.
"This is a wonderful resource. Unfortunately the editor did not take to my suggestion to affix Wilson's photograph beside the entry for 'spineless'."

******

Meanwhile, Wilson was busy pulling strings that only an ex-Governor of New Jersey could.

Behind these aged, storied doors lie the traditional Ivy League institutions of Quiznos and Pizza Hut.

Northwestern University

7 Aug 2008. Northwestern is another brilliantly planned and beautifully arranged campus, crowding the coast of Lake Michigan. Where did the purple wildcat mascot come from? It's hard to say, but I'd like to think it had something to do with a cornbreadus-interruptus safari on the Chicago River.

Young Theodore Roosevelt was riding the rails of the Union Pacific from his fledgling ranch in North Dakota back to his home on Long Island. He sat smiling, extremely satisfied with his recent trip. He had accomplished his main goal, bagging a bull bison, on the final day before departure.
On one side of him was Bill Sewall, a longtime friend and companion on the frontier. On the other side were two men looking at a biology textbook and discussing a local issue.
"By the river? Are you sure?"
"If he said he saw it, he saw it."
"Amazing! With all the raucous construction about only makes it more unbelievable."
TR broke in. "Pardon me, sir, but may I ask the unbelievable event of which you speak?"
"A Northwestern Wildcat has been spotted by the Chicago River! One has not been seen anywhere in thirty years! It had been presumed extinct."
"By the Chicago River, you say? Thank you very much." TR turned to Sewall. "Bill, where are we right now?"
"In Chicago."
"Chicago! By criminy! Stop the train!"
"The train is already stopped."
"Good, good. How much time before departure?"
"Almost three hours' worth."
"Bill, I feel a bit of residual luck. What say we test it out?"
TR, never at a loss for energy, was determined to bag the cat.

******
 
Armed with a textbook illustration courtesy the friendly passenger, TR and Sewall, still clothed in fringe buckskin and armed with flintlock rifles, rowed the urban waterway in a rented canoe.
"These steam powered behemoths are deafening! Keep your eyes sharp, Bill!" shouted TR as they paddled past a cadre of earth movers.
The duo spent the next hour hunting the wandering cat and admiring the adolescent metropolis of Chicago. The constant din of steamshovels made their heads buzz. It also prevented them from hearing the warning cries from the shoreside laborers.
Bill Sewall began to tire of the cityscape. To him it was much duller and more interminable than the giant dirt dimples of the Dakota Badlands. He was about to request they give up on their impulsive hunt when he spotted it. The Northwestern Wildcat was crouched underneath a bridge, muscular and shimmering grey-blue from the sun's reflection.
"Brilliant sighting, Bill. And what a sight she is!"
TR began to load a tranquilizer ball when a piercing whistle sounded.
"Oh no, the train! Bill, I thought we had another hour!"
"We do. That's not the train whistle."
"Then what is it?"
"I don't know."
After the siren stopped, so did the construction equipment.
"That's better. Our ears were taking a pounding," said TR.
Roosevelt finished loading his rifle, steadied it and took aim. A soft mass bounced off his right temple. He looked down and saw a soggy chunk of yellow cornbread.
"What the...? Bill, hoisting rancid cornbread again? Not now."
"I didn't do it."
TR looked behind him. A small crowd of workers were hooting something fierce. One was breaking off pieces of his lunch and throwing it at the canoe.
"Well, they are excited to see the rare cat, but there is no point in assaulting us like pests."
The crowd all started pointing downriver.
"What?? No, the wildcat is here under the bridge. We have him cornered. ...What? I say, just stop all the commotion!"
TR thought of firing a shot to silence them but feared it would scare off the animal.
The men on the side timed their next shout together: "GET...OUT!" The cat ran off.
TR was furious. "What in the name of the devil is the problem?"
Bill Sewall motioned him to sit back down. "Do you hear that, TR?"
Their ears picked up another distant sound, not one of machinery, but of...water. Rushing water. Growing louder. And coming from...Lake Michigan? Everyone standing on the side had scattered by now.
TR put down his gun and took up an oar. "Let us also...make...haste!" he gasped in between strokes.
"Aye!"
The canoe was twenty-five feet from the river's concrete edge when they saw the source of the noise. A dirty deluge was crashing towards them, only seconds away from drowning them in a mixture of lake water and typhoid.
TR and Bill Sewall paddled for their lives, homing in on a waterlogged rope attached at the street level.
Twenty feet more till the edge. Four seconds till the wave.
Fifteen feet. Three seconds.
Ten feet. Two seconds.
Five feet. One second.
Bill Sewall was at the front of the canoe. He leaned forward and grasped the rope. TR leaped from the aft, hoping for the rope but coming up with a handful of Bill's rifle strap. They both held on tightly and took a deep breath. The mess slammed into them. They were stripped of all their equipment save for their clothing and rifles. They were hammered with debris. Their nostrils filled up with gunk. Their instinct was to plug their nostrils but realized one hand would not be strong enough to keep them from flying downstream. So they contended with mud migrating up their noses.
The current started to die. It weakened enough that they could pull their heads above water. They gasped and spit and coughed. They made efforts to keep the water out of their mouths while gulping air. In spastic clumsy motions they pulled themselves up onto the street. It took them several minutes to gain the energy to speak.
"Bill, did we get tossed topsy turvy to the other side? Wasn't the current heading east?"
"It was the current that got reversed I think."
"That is very curious. An enviable feat of engineering I should think."
"Pity about the wildcat."
"Yes. But it was a bully good hunt!"
TR and Bill Sewall returned to the train, smellier than ever.
"Oh there you are! We started to think you would not make it back," said the man who lent them the textbook photo. He stared at the puddles forming on the train deck.
"My heavens! What happened to the two of you?"
TR was still breathing heavily.
"Kind sir, can you believe the unbelievable?"

Just another average day for Theodore Roosevelt.

University of Maryland, College Park

7 Sep 2007. From the Comcast Center volleyball concession stand, filled with a Sprite-flavored beverage (may have been Sprite).

The University of Maryland mascot was named when President Theodore Roosevelt would ride full speed on his gelding, Chrysanthemum, up and down the streets of northeast Washington, D.C. Though he was simply giving tours to visiting dignitaries the quickest way he knew how, the spectacle would give permanent terror pains to the elderly professors and residents of the College Park neighborhood.
"Terror Pains?" replied the President. "Bully! I cannot think of another phrase better suited to describe the symptoms of your unfortunate gridiron opponents!"
An opium-addled newspaperman reported on the opening game of the football season using the term but mangled it into "Terrapin", a slow-moving land turtle (as opposed to the fast-moving land turtle).

Terror Pains? Bully!