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Morty Schapiro: The Man, The Myth, The Legend

Morty Schapiro: The Man, The Myth, The Legend

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It is well known amongst Northwestern students that the University’s president, Morton Owen Schapiro, is, for all intents and purposes, a god among mere mortals. Those who admire and fear his clout often whisper his name in secluded corners of the sorority quad or the bowels of the Technological Institute or the basement of Norris, questioning if the legend is true. Did he really spend a summer translating ethnic slurs to Portuguese refugees in Angola when he was 10? Is the wildcat sound effect during Northwestern football games actually a recording of him yawning? Did he actually find Waldo AND Carmen Sandiego? As surely as Francis Church affirms the existence of Santa Claus, I am here to tell you, reader, that yes, Morton Schapiro has accomplished all that you’ve heard. And more. After receiving his driver’s license when he was 16 days old, Morty Schapiro kicked the dust off his baby booties and decided to take on the big world. By age 3 he became the world’s youngest professional contortionist while living in an original Adolf Loos house in Austria. During his time there, Austrian tourism shot up by 348%. He was quickly relocated to the United States to serve as a consultant for the Federal Bureau of Investigations and took part in several covert operations with the Mexican government. Four months later he canoed to South Africa with only a can of Cheez Whiz and a ping-pong paddle as an oar. He made it in one day. After tutoring Steven Biko in public speaking and political activism, Schapiro made his way to Angola, and then to Tanzania, where he climbed Mount Kilimanjaro. Twice.

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When he was fifteen, he worked in conjunction with the United States 56th Rescue Squadron in search and rescue missions throughout North Africa and southern Europe. Years later, his expertise in the field allowed him to single-handedly devise a plan to rescue the trapped Chilean miners, which he explained in a single text message. In his spare time, Morty traveled back to the United States to take the SATs, which he got a perfect score on after drinking two Four Lokos.

During his years in college and graduate school, Morty spent his free time wooing women with his sensuous oboe and saxophone playing, though he was first chair violinist in the Philadelphia Orchestra on the weekends. In the same night he built a telescope in his dorm room (which was later used as a prototype for the Hubble Telescope), cooked 10-minute rice in 5 minutes, and drew a doodle, which would earn him an honorary degree from the Rhode Island School of Design.  He got a perfect score on three exams the next morning. He read the Count of Monte Cristo and the Divine Comedy in an hour and was the only student in the history of University of Pennsylvania to earn a 4.8 GPA.

While studying abroad in France, he visited every exhibit of the Louvre in a day, and still had time to cook a four-course meal, using only a blender and toaster. He first discovered his love of economics after working with Benoit Mandelbrot on his paper, Fractals: Form, Chance and Dimension. The day before his return to the United States, a parade was held in his honor and he was awarded by President Valery d’Estaing “The Only American Loved by France.”

In the years since, Morty has never ceased to amaze those who surround him. He has been nominated for two Oscars, a Grammy and every Nobel Prize. He was the source of inspiration for the Old Spice commercial character, plays tennis with Rafael Nadal every Wednesday, and knits onesie pajamas for needy children. He is impervious to Rickrolling. He’s never lost at Risk, is in perfect physical condition, has designed floral arrangements for several celebrity weddings, and makes a mean apple pie. Students revere him, Evanston aldermen cower in his presence, and the weather fluctuates according to his mood.  He is mighty, he is kind, he is refined.

He is Morty.

Best Coast/Wavves at Lincoln Hall

Best Coast/Wavves at Lincoln Hall

ZOMG Who Hid the Facebookz!?

ZOMG Who Hid the Facebookz!?