With the widespread process of renovation across Duke’s campus finally beginning to end, The Chronicle begins to reflect on how construction proliferated so quickly and thoroughly in such a short amount of time. We sent Monday Monday behind the scenes to get the inside story on what really drove the renovation saga.
President Richard Brodhead: The day was July 31, 2012. I had had a long and tiresome day writing poetry at the Lemur Center. I like to go there sometimes on my days off and make eye contact with the lemurs until we both begin to weep. I then collect both the lemurs’ tears and mine and mix them together with charcoal to create ink paste. I use this to write my poetry. This is my favorite pastime, but it is also emotionally tiring — so on that day, I decided to stop at a bar before heading home. While waiting for my virgin vodka, I saw a child in the corner of the bar playing with some wooden blocks. The child had arranged the blocks so as to perfectly resemble my one and true love, The Duke University. Yet as soon as I had sighted this achievement, the child stood and began smashing and kicking at his masterpiece with a hammer.
Dean Sue Wasiolek: Little known fact — lemur tears are hallucinogenic.
President Brodhead: It was in this moment that I understood the brevity of life. Within only a century or so, this young child would be dead and I, too, would be nearing the end of my life. I needed to create something magnificent so that my place in history would be secured — and I needed to do it soon. I grabbed a napkin and began furiously penning a plan for a new Duke.
Dean Sue: It was ambitious. West Union was to be expanded. Central was to become a real campus, featuring a Gothic village and a grand boulevard connecting it to the other campuses. Every room on campus was to have at least three bidets, each carved from a different kind of stone.
President Brodhead: Lemurs would be free to roam the campus at will. They would come up to my office and weep freely from my windowsill, dampening the students below with their lemur tears. This is my dream.
Dean Sue: He called me that night and told me about this grand new vision he had for Duke. I told him it all sounded wonderful but that there was no chance it was going to be approved by the BOT.
Board of Trustees (BOT): I am the Board of Trustees. Please pay no attention to the endowment investment that may or may not be happening behind this curtain.
President Brodhead: I spoke to the BOT for fifteen hours. I had myself hooked up to seven different IV drips in advance to make sure I would stay hydrated.
BOT: He spoke for so long that one of the old, white men that constitutes me died during his speech. I held a funeral right there in the room by burning him on my conference table. Even during the eulogy, Brodhead continued to loudly pitch his plan.
Dean Sue: I didn’t think the BOT would go for it at all. But as President Brodhead was leaving, it asked him to leave his napkin-plan behind.
President Brodhead: The next day I looked out my office window and there it was — a fence around West Union.
Dean Sue: We were very excited. The West Union was going to look exactly as Brodhead designed it. It would have Gothic touches but be rendered in glass to confuse any burglars.
President Brodhead: Burglars cannot see glass so they would keep bumping into the glass until they went away or died of blunt trauma injuries.
Dean Sue: But then something began to go wrong. Fences were coming up rapidly all over campus over a much shorter time period than Brodhead had planned. And none of the new renovations looked like what he had designed.
President Brodhead: Originally I had planned for a grand baroque building, five stories tall, which would be a kind of library for food. You would roam at will around the space and rent out the food you wanted so that you could look at it in your room for up to a month. But the plan was taken away from me, and instead it became Penn Pavilion. I was very upset.
Dean Sue: The whole project was hijacked. Originally, instead of just getting a touch-up, the Chapel was to be totally rebuilt as a 600 feet tall marble penis.
President Brodhead: The Chapel is a grand phallus guarding us all from the sky. It is childish to euphemistically cloak it in the garb of a church. Anyway, I fell out with the BOT after their treachery became apparent.
BOT: Brodhead’s plan was an opportunity to increase revenue on campus. I could fit in more vendors and more students and decrease running costs by erecting many glass boxes. A university needs money, you know. It can’t all be paid for by the dark and nefarious investment activities that may or may not be occurring behind this thick, black, velour curtain.
President Brodhead: There was nothing I could do. In anger, I locked myself in my room and remained there for three days with nothing for sustenance but the lemur tears I had harvested in anticipation of the Great Lemur Death. But then, on the third day, the great Pharaoh Khufu visited me.
Pharaoh Khufu, builder of the Great Pyramid of Giza: I felt bad for the guy. I told him, “look, sometimes things don’t work out how we planned them. I mean, look at the pyramids. Did you know my original plan for that was just to build a commemorative bench? The idea got taken away from me and we ended up with the Great Pyramid. But it wasn’t the worst thing to ever happen to me,” and I told Brodhead that. I told him, “Brodhead, you are a good man and a great president. One day, they’re going to name a dorm after you, and your place in history will be sealed forever.” I think that cheered him up a lot.
President Brodhead: Pharaoh Khufu was right. One day, my name will be on a dorm. And ultimately, that’s all that matters in life — knowing that somewhere in the world, people are sleeping, drinking and having sex in a location that bears your name.
Monday Monday would like to note that President Brodhead’s fantasy campus was ultimately built in China as Duke Kunshan University.
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