By Brian Watko
In the small hours of Saturday morning, Bard registrar Peter Gadsby was spotted on the bank of the Hudson River staring longingly at a single green light across the bay. “He stretched his arm out towards the dark water in a curious way,” said a neighbor who witnessed the scene. “As far as I was from him, I could have sworn he was trembling.” The witness added that Gadsby wore a black single-button tuxedo and carried a beechwood walking-cane with a silver handle.
Well-regarded throughout the Hudson Valley for his affable demeanor, his professional attitude, and for the lavish parties he holds in his colossal Barrytown mansion, Peter Gadsby has cultivated a reputation as a man of mystery. His origins remain shrouded in speculation and gossip. At a recent Gadsby get-together, I spoke to several members of the Bard faculty to inquire about their enigmatic host.
“I’ve heard that his real name is Pete Gads—he changed it when he moved out east from North Dakota,” said one professor.
“He’s a bootlegger, so they say,” said another. “He helped rig the Senior/Faculty basketball game last year.” Both men insisted on remaining anonymous but admitted to working in the Theater and Performance department.
Hugh Klipspringer, a professor of Music and a longtime Gadsby party-goer, said that Mr. Gadsby often leaves his own gatherings early to stand in silence down by the river, gazing at the mysterious green light.
“Gadsby believes in the green light, old sport. He believes in the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us,” said Klipspringer, before mumbling something about boats being borne back ceaselessly into the past.
Peter Gadsby left Ludlow Hall around midday on Saturday; he was seen driving down Annandale Road in his nickel-plated yellow car. The assistant registrar told the Bardvark that Gadsby had a late lunch scheduled in the city with a Mr. Carraway.
At press time, the mysterious green light was hidden behind an ominous layer of fog.
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