Ibsen (Part 1)
By: Andrea ‘Drea’ Elzy
….After a late breakfast at the Mont’ De Palace, while en route to his automobile that was dark and shone like a beached pebble, Henry Ibsen was struck by a sharp sensation in the mouth. Mostly a pinch on the gumline, undesirable in that one cannot scratch these sort of itches without breaking the skin. Although not entirely unfamiliar, the sensation seemed foreign to what had become accepted by him as the natural and unavoidable ailments associated with his body and life. This particular pain seemed by him to start at the base of the jaw, or where the muscle and tissue connect the top and bottom of the mouth. Without much time, it was apparent to Henry Ibsen the narrow area of the mouth and the one or two molars that were perpetrating this violence and right then he resolved to ignore them. On this particular noonday Henry was not to be harassed by a mere trifle of the mouth. Yes, it must be so! It must be ignored! For today was not just any other third Tuesday of the month. Upon the platform on which he now stood, just skipping distance from the Mont’ De Palace, our friend Mr. Ibsen, overlooking the broad Hudson, daydreamt of the good fortune which was soon to befall his sometime noble character. Henry wore a white woolen jacket, like those worn by members of the highest order of physicians; a pair of gray trousers that flared outward passed the knee and a top hat of gray. Perhaps the most memorable feature of this man’s constitution was his elongated chin which his children and colleagues found amusing. His cheeks were bulged and almost always red, especially during the colder months of the year. One could not distinguish the peek of his cheekbones and it seemed that from the eyes down the great lord had implanted but one bone that was soft and round. His sharp dark lips accounted for the faint smiles that not too often crept from the base of his chin to the wrinkle in his eye. His eyes were dark and slanted, sharp, his forehead slanted downward and his hair a light golden brown that grew increasingly thinner.
It was during this great month of February; the third Tuesday of the month that Mr. Henry Ibsen was to finally realize the wealth that for so long had eluded his purse. For it was not sixth months ago that his mentor and long esteemed colleague, The President of The City School, drew his final breathes on the New York’s upper east side bequeathing to him entrance into the esteemed league of gentlemen – University Presidency.
The City school, founded in 1835 and nestled along the Hudson River, emerged shortly after the birth of its most comparable institution of learning - the aptly named University of the City of New York. Led by President Gallatin, The University of the City of New York proudly neighbored City Hall, while boasting new academic ‘schools,’ which sought to educate those worthy of the fortune, on subjects requiring the talents of a more wealthy breed. The Law school had been the standard measure of success in recent years. Mr. Ibsen had known colleagues, from said institution, whose longstanding tenure in multiple faculties led them to lifelong careers as educators- all of whom which he regarded as men of less than noble and interesting character. His mentor, Dr. James Thomas, had been guilty of this- as his presidency had not always been of noble intentions. Memorable moments throughout Ibsen’s tutelage often appeared like old skeletons in his closet, and he remembered the repeated lessons that Dr. James had so firmly implanted into his psyche. Those same lessons now palpable in the face of his presidency. Dr. James had regarded the presidency as the work of an opera- a dramatic coming together of a people, and repeatedly warned that much like the opera, dealings behind the curtains were to remain so: “A president never shows his cards,” Ibsen was often told. He bore witness to the many failed attempts at this mission- an undoubted skeleton in Mr. Thomas’ closet, and an equally sad truth.
Political dealings involving city constituents and the university proved tenuous for the immediate years of his mentor’s presidency- as a bitter competition fueled between The City School and the already established University of the City of New York- creating contention among groups who had interest with one institution over another, and those whose pockets had not yet been lined with money. Consequently, Dr. James’ presidency had been the subject of repeated scandal. These same groups, upon his death, resigned to influence discussion of City School’s new president, however attempts at influence remained unsuccessful- as the decision to name a Henry Ibsen as the new president of The City School was highly favored by faculty and students alike. Ibsen’s impending presidency, received with mixed emotions by the city of New York, was believed by many to be a sign of hope for students and education in New York City in the 1800s.
On the first day of March in 1840, reporting for presidency, a calm and confident Ibsen entered the Smith Building..
To Be Continued..
