The Chancellor’s “official Book,” Hall of Fame, is also a leisurely rambling talk on foot, so to speak. He tells visitors how things are going and how he expects them to go and pauses to explain and answer questions when so inclined:
— The single purpose of the Hall, he says, is patriotic commemoration, and everything that comes into the large rooms down under — the so-called Museum — must be mementos to the people installed in the Colonnade above.
–Apparently it will not matter what that something is — statue, bust, tablet, portrait, mural — anything “as givers may decide with approval of the University” to dress up a basement. At present he has in mind a random collection of such embellishments as “an antique marble vase wrought many years ago in Italy by an American artist {name not given} in honor of Franklin, Fulton, and Morse,” all of whom are in the ambulatory above. It is the first gift to the Hall of Fame, donated, appropriately enough, by Helen Gould. the second gift is a copy of the Declaration of Independence.
— He tells us that periodicity (the space of five years) rules elections to ensure continuity; and he reminds us that despite the excitement of a national election in 1900 there was widespread notice in the press of the first election at the Hall. He has declared himself on the major periodic circuits with Congress, Presidents, and Olympic Games. Obviously the Hall is, if not primus inter pares, at least of equal position. And if the president of a college in South Carolina did not respond to his invitation to become an elector, then obviously, the Chancellor says, “as far as is known he did not receive the invitation.” It cannot be otherwise.
— He is confident that the stirring of the intellect every five years will, if wisely directed, be preferable to its not stirring at all. It will create a wholesome and lasting effect on the public. (Several decades later it was suggested that elections be held more frequently in order to”keep alive the interest of the public” and “afford an opportunity for more frequent contact with electors.”)
— He stops to emphasize a point: the Hall will be open for citizens young and old to suggest names. All will get “due consideration” from the University Senate, for “this rule of popular participation is designed to be permanent.” And so it was. But the big guns were the electors, under the direction of the Senate, which had the power of veto. In 1900 the Senate was composed of 19 members. The President of the University was chairman, and the other regular members were the Dean and senior professor of each of six schools; each of six theological faculties in the New York City area was represented by an honorary member. an excellent combination of wisdom and position.
— Why, Dr. MacCracken, do you preclude famous foreign born Americans. The Chancellor allows that the rules restricting admission to the native born has been severely criticized, but he asserts that they were not made lightly. The electors, he explains, had to labor mightily to choose among the native born. If they had also had to consider the foreign born, there would have been many accusations of prejudice from both sides, a no-win situation. The requirement of admitting only native Americans shuns what Shakespeare called “odorous” comparisons. Besides, and possibly of paramount importance, the “giver of the Hall of Fame [Helen Gould] prizes no rule more than this, which speaks only for first to last Americans.” (Later they would remove the restriction and admit naturalized citizens.)
— He skillfully avoids further discussion of this point by adding that he has heard that “the rule which includes the foreign born would also exclude those who might die abroad.” and regains his composure by observing dryly that the remark was the humorous invention of a dull season, and “was never even thought of in the agreement between the giver of the Hall and the University.” He is having a good time, letting himself go a bit. He is not displeased with his work.
–The Chancellor supports the long waiting period peripherally: “no man should be counted surely great until his life is ended.” Before we can pursue this questionable assertion, the strolling visit draws to a close with the Chancellor’s admission that “it is impossible to forecast the future of the Hall of Fame,” but forecast it he does, with the confident expectation that “the electors will in all time to come consider all classes of citizens impartially when they inquire what Americans are the most famous and at the same time deserving of fame . .. Local and temporary influence or the solicitations of interested supporters are not likely to weigh seriously” with such a tribunal. Indeed not.
— He also promises that the Hall will “have an enduring and increasing influence on the youth of America.” At present that influence requires restoration. In any case he says only what he, Henry I, wishes us to hear, speaking ex cathedra, living in pious hope. And he takes his leave after sitting us down with his scrapbook, twenty pages in the Appendix of press reviews, most of them favorable.