Painted by the court artist on the eve of the winter solstice, William, the unyielding pillar of the grand council, was caught in a rare moment of quiet victory. He was the longest-serving magistrate of the sovereign city of New York. His legacy holds numerous tales of crises he had averted. For years, William spent his nights in the Grand Archives. He was a creature of absolute order and law.
The court had perceived him to be a man with a stubborn refusal to be budged by the wind; thus, the figure of a bulldog head by the artist. Everyone knew William for his honor in settling conflicting matters in court and among the people. Each medal told a story of victory over a prophecy threatened to upend the city's law and the end of successful treaties.
On this very day, he had laid his hand on an ancient text and grunted a simple truth that quieted the room. A matter meant to bring discord was ended in a few minutes just by William's knowledge. This moment was especially captured by the artist. To this day, his portrait hangs in the Grand Hall, a silent reminder to all who pass that leadership requires a heavy collar, a sharp mind, and a stubbornness that refuses to bow to pressure.
