citizen cornell
Ezra drove up the hill past the entrance to Llenroc today on his way to the Magic Mountain. Why Ezra was wending his way up to the Magic Mountain in the first place is a subject for another blog. Readers of Ithacasucks know how Ezra feels about Cornell. The feeling is mutual, he's sure. All the checkpoint huts guarding entry to campus come equipped with a grainy photograph of Ezra as a young blogger. Usually covering up the Osama Bin poster. Persona Non Gratis. Ezra is less welcome up at Cornell than the head of Al-Quaeda, a known terrorist organization.
Anyway, Ezra glanced up at the massive stone pile that represented Ezra Cornell's power and preeminence in the universe. A chill came over him. How totally different are the lives of the rich and powerful from the lives the rest of us lead, he thought. Imagine heating the frigging place. Imagine shovelling the driveway in winter.
Ezra's second thought was - why didn't he just name it Lenroc? Couldn't he drop an "l" and make it less Welsh sounding? All is vanity.
Think about it for a moment. Ezra Cornell was the Citizen Kane of Ithaca. Llenroc is EC's Hearst Castle. He was the wealthiest, most influential, most powerful man in Tompkins County. Fuck the Tremains; they may have got there first and donated a few acres to build parks but EC made up for lost time, parvenu that he was. He founded the local college, the library, the banks. He even started his own church. He owned a lot of the land. Once he started building his little neoGothic matchbox empire on East Hill, he controlled the whole Monopoly Board. His son became governor of New York, a buddy of Roscoe Conkling, Chester A Arthur, Grover Cleveland and all the political grandess of the Gilded Age in America.
Imagine how those cats lived! How many frigging butlers did he have, ferrying those
sherry trays around from one end of Llenroc to the other? How many scullery maids did EC have down in the kitchen, fussing over the frilly anklets for the Thanksgiving Day turkeys? Holy shit.
We're talking American Brideshead. We're talking robber barons. Masters of the Universe. Gilded Age. Age of Excess. And Blogger Ezra is wondering if his car will make it up the hill.
The parallels are interesting. We're living in a different age now but little has changed in how the rich enjoy their wealth. It's a new Gilded Age and billionaires are scoffing up Van Gogh's and Picassos to hang in their bathrooms. But what has changed is how people have become just a bit more uncomfortable talking about the trappings and accouterments of big money in the same way. Millionaires like to walk around without ties. They sport the Common Touch. Except for Donald Trump and he's not really that rich.
Ezra Cornell was rich. Once he got rich, he never looked back. Did he have a favorite sled as a child? Did he whisper something mysterious, barely audible on his death bed? Like Telegraph Pole? Or Big Red Hockey?
Comments invited at: ezrakidder@gmail.com - Peace, Ezra at 9:25 PM
