"You can almost smell the blood,"
remarked a recent art connoisseur.

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El Dorado History

Our Respected Founder, looking sharp.

Whither the foam conquistador?

Spurred by the Broadway smash "Man of La Mancha," industrious entrepreneurs
cashed in on the craze, mass-producing foam conquistador
bas reliefs to the delight of refined consumers across America.

They could just hop in that Spanish-conquistador-named car
and the quixotic search for adventure amidst suburban sprawl
was a mere redecoration away!

Cervantes had hit prime time, and all things Spanish were the rage
-- black velvet matadors stabbing mighty toros, brass plates
embossed with graceful galleons, and foam busts of merciless
conquistadors were swept off store shelves by greedy connoisseurs.

Nevermind the gruesome deeds of Cortez severing the neck
of gullible Montezuma, but be entertained by the impaled bull
bleeding in the ring. This is the smell of gold and danger all in the safety
of your den.

El Dorado: a dream realized

To recreate this gilded era of 1960s American design,
El Dorado's curators insist on authenticity.
The mind-numbing minimalism of sterile white-washed art galleries
stocked with painful Swedish furniture don't do justice to these mock masterpieces.

The largest collection of simulated conquistador art demanded
a venue extraordinaire, nay, a basement dungeon sans the rays of our sun
that so tortures fine art. At last, a worthy site! The search for El Dorado
was realized in 1992: a musty cellar of an ex-Catholic girl's school
once inhabited by strict nuns-sisters who share so much of their religious zeal
with that of the Spanish Inquisition.

The punishing severity of these women of the cloth
was no match for the boundless avarice
of aspiring attorneys who founded a law school on this holy site
to produce still more of their ilk. These lawyers, modern-day conquistadors
in search of plunder, have welcomed their like-minded ancestors into their home.
After all, is not Johnny Cochran just Hernando DeSoto in a three-piece suit?
Couldn't Ken Starr be a present-day Ponce de León in search of glory and woe
be unto any primitive souls who bar his way?

The Conquistador: a lawyer's mascot

The founders of William Mitchell College of Law wisely chose the conquistador
as their mascot to represent their eternal search for El Dorado: the City of Gold.
The impossible dream of unlimited booty awaits only the most diligent barrister.
There is no second place in this quest for coinage;
losers are doomed to Justice's sword (procured in a Tijuana pawn shop).

At El Dorado Conquistador Museum every attempt has been made to recreate
the unsanitary conditions of a 1970's rec room as well as the Middle Ages
when the Black Plague ran rampant. The carpet has been carefully stained;
comfortable plush lounge chairs are seldom vacuumed and moldy cheetos
and nacho cheese doritos have been studiously placed under the cushions.

In an attempt at state-of-the-art, interactive, multi-sensory displays,
a toilet's flushing can be heard nearby the Galleon Gallery
to simultate the battering waves on the bow of a Spanish ship in search of plunder.

Studiously located in a used law bookstore with authentic-looking textbooks,
El Dorado features realistic law students to peruse
the tomes to add a touch of credibility to the "bookstore."

The international recognition of the Conquistador Collection has pushed
the law school renovate yet a larger space for the museum
scheduled to open summer 2004. The matadors will wave their red cloaks
on black velvet; the galleons will still shine from their brass plates;
and the man in the golden helmet will continue to horde his haul.
After all, this is El Dorado, the mythical city of gold.

This is paradise, found at last.

Go back to the El Dorado Home Page
or see the Treasures of the Collection

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