The Dedication
(As viewed from a different angle, which is either acute or right or
straight, according to the viewpoint of the reader.)
And so we went to the Dedication. At least, we
tried to. Let us admit candidly that our attempt did not succeed. The reasons
for our non-admittance were numerous. If, dear reader, you are desirous of
ascertaining the exact number of reasons, you may do so by inquiring at
headquarters just how many myrmidons of the law were stationed at the various
entrances to the noble edifice on the corner of One hundred Eighty-sixth
Street and Amsterdam Avenue. Each of these alone would have proved a
sufficient reason; how much more so, then, so vast an aggregation.
We had the pleasure and the privilege of
interviewing several of the officers guarding the various portals. Indeed they
seemed quite a jolly lot of Irishmen, and were not averse to indulging in
conversation, in a somewhat jocular vein, it is true.
We approached the first pair of minions with a
confident bearing, but found our passage obstructed by four brawny, blue-clad
arms. We looked up interrogatively.
"Yer can't get in!"
"!הלא ברב עם הדרת מלך" we retorted wittily.
They saw that we had them there, for they kept
quiet. Immediately pursuing our advantage, we extracted all the tickets which
we had in our possession, each of which read somewhat as follows:
YOU ARE CODIALLY INVITED
TO ATTEND THE DEDICATION CEREMONIES
OF THE
YESHIVA COLLEGE
ETC.
We had one white ticket, three blue tickets
and four or five of a non-committal character. We boldly produced these and
flaunted them before the eyes of the officers in triumph. There was no visible
effect—not a flicker of an eyelash or the turn of a hair.
I*) departed without the courtesy
of saying goodbye, determined to seek elsewhere, and approached the next pair
of officers.
I now assumed an attitude of youthful
innocence.
"Can you tell me," I asked solicitously, "What
this ticket is good for?" I herewith presented a blue ticket, hoping the
gentlemen would feel flattered by the color-match between the blue pasteboard
and their uniforms.
"Well," one replied, "not exactly. Maybe if you had some more
you might be able to do something. You might—"
"Make a fire and warm yourself," interposed the other,
benignantly.
"Or use it for a page in a book," suggested the
first.
"You mean a book-mark," corrected the second,
wisely.
"But I thought this was an admission card," I
remonstrated.
"It was, at eleven in the morning," said one. "You
got up too late."
"But it says four o'clock," I sputtered.
"We know what it says, but we don't give a hang.
We're telling you."
"Oh," I remarked, "You're telling me!"
This superb bit of sarcasm seemed to pass
completely over their heads. They did not utter a
word.
Thus I strolled past the several entrances,
holding fruitless conversations with numerous policemen.
That is to say, fruitless as far as my entrance was
concerned, but serving to give me a deeper insight into
human nature.
In the course of my meanderings, I
happened to repass the portal where the first
conversation occurred, and who should appear before my
eyes but one of the fifteen or twenty—I am not exactly sure of the number—members of the presidium of a certain
organization of Rabbis, who was trying with might and main to obtain entrance
into the auditorium.
"We got our order," was the only satisfaction he could get
from the officers.
"But here is my card," he ejaculated in astonishment, "I am
the president!"
"We got our orders!"
We**) decided to explore the edifice, with a
vague hope in the back of our mind that there might be an unguarded
side-entrance somewhere. We succeeded merely in stumbling over some
dark staircases and finally in getting within hearing range of the
applause in the auditorium, which served merely to whet our
desire.
As we were upon the point of departing, defeatedly,
we heard a personage who is intimately connected with the Yeshiva
urge a well-known restaurateur in a stage whisper:
"Go up on the third floor, and tell them you are a
member of the Agudas Harabbanim, and since you wear a beard, they
will surely let you enter."
Having taken a razorless shave some days
previous, we decided not to follow. . . .
Soon thereafter we noticed a young gentleman
with an artificial carnation in his buttonhole earnestly
trying to avoid being heard while he urged a party of young
men and women:
"Follow me."
We immediately took advantage of the
invitation. He led the party, followed by us, up the
stairs, through a corridor, and over to a small door in an
out-of-the-way alcove. Being too far away to see how the
door was opened, we reached it just in time to find it
locked. We murmured several incantations, including "Open
Sesame," followed by "פתחו לי שערי צדק"—all to not avail. The door, strange to say, with an insufferable
persistence, remained firmly closed.
We descended the stairs with a slow and thoughtful step,
pondering upon the injustice of the world and its ways. We noticed several
cantors departing, also several young gentlemen with artificial carnations
in their buttonholes seemed to be upon the point of leaving. The officers
were beginning to invite people to enter. . . .
We buttoned our coat and started out for the
subway.
Note: Others who may have found themselves in the
same predicament as ourselves on the day of the dedication may find
consolation in the hope that when the new buildings become too humble to house
the entire student body, and a new group of buildings are dedicated, then,
surely, better provision will be made for the accommodation of those who found
themselves out of things on the recent occasion.
*) At this point the writer seems to have lost a great deal of his self-complacency and confidence, probably due to his inability to gain admission to the auditorium. This would explain the abrupt change from the editorial "we" to the singular "I."
**) Here, evidently, the writer regained a modicum of his former easy bearing, not doubt taking comfort in the fact that so eminent a personage as the one just mentioned was also refused admission—thus accounting for the reassumption of the editorial "we."
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