Troy

Whenever I read about Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute's debt, as I did again over the weekend, I think about the house.

The house is no ordinary home. It's a 19,500-square-foot mansion built four years ago for $3.5 million. The house is where school President Shirley Ann Jackson lives.

In truth, the Tibbits Avenue presidential residence has nothing to do with RPI's issues with debt, as it was financed by personal donations from members of the school's board of trustees.

Still, the house is an apt symbol of RPI's age of imperial extravagance.

Jackson is certainly well paid: The Chronicle of Higher Education routinely reports that her salary is among the highest university presidents, and says that Jackson's total 2012 compensation of $7.1 million was almost twice as much as the second most highly compensated president.

The mansion is almost as lavish as her salary.

But the real issue for the school's finances is the construction spree that included the Experimental Media and Performing Arts Center — that big glass box that sits high above the city and cost at least $200 million to build.

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The kind of spending led Moody's to downgrade the school's credit rating — "outlook remains negative," it said last year — as it noted that RPI is highly leveraged with more than $800 million in total debt. (The school declined to comment Monday.)

Last week, RPI turned to the city for help.

Troy's economic development arm, the Capital Resource Corp., agreed to refinance more than $80 million in debt. The move netted the agency $480,000 in fees, money that can be applied to economic development projects.

That seems like a pretty good deal, but it led to new grumbling about how RPI, a nonprofit, doesn't do enough to help a financially struggling city where homeowners are facing a 9.3 percent tax hike.

Griping about RPI is hardly unusual in Troy, where people love the hockey team but think the school holds itself apart from the city. Jackson certainly contributes to that perception by being a distant and remote figure.

You're not likely to see her picking through the carrots at the Troy farmers market or swilling a beer at Rockin' on the River.

But let's be honest about what Troy would be without RPI. It would be a Rensselaer County version of Utica — another grim upstate city with little hope and little appeal to the bearded dudes in skinny jeans who increasingly find Troy a pleasant locale.

Without RPI and its students, there would be no downtown renaissance, which has benefited from RPI investment. Nor would there be additional development attributable to the school's presence, such as the Hilton Garden Inn on Hoosick Street or the City Station project along Congress and Ferry streets.

But much of Troy away from downtown is hurting. It remains a city burdened by intractable poverty.

RPI donates annually to the Troy Redevelopment Foundation, but does it have a responsibility to do more?

It wouldn't just be charity. The school's fate is tied to the city, and vice versa. Troy and RPI each need the other to succeed.

Given Jackson's salary, you can understand why Troy residents would believe that RPI has a fat enough wallet to do more for the city. She's paid like a corporate CEO — and corporations pay property taxes.

Then there's the mansion.

The house is barely visible from the road. It is set behind an iron gate, towering trees and a large expanse of grass. There's almost always an RPI security vehicle parked near the entrance.

The building replaced a perfectly fine Colonial, which, with seven bedrooms, was hardly petite. RPI presidents had inhabited the house since the 1930s, but the school said its limitations made it "impossible for the president to entertain prominent visitors appropriately."

Oh, how those visitors suffered, crammed into that 5,000-square-foot house. Really, it just had to go.

The new house looks like a classic Georgian on steroids. Its height, at nearly 45 feet, even exceeded what was allowed by Troy's residential zoning limit.

The house was controversial when it was being built. In some quarters of campus, it was seen as unnecessary icing atop Jackson's already frosted cake.

RPI officials always said that the house was for future school presidents, too. It was not being built for Jackson alone, they said, stressing that the mansion should be seen as a long-term investment that could help the RPI woo potential donors.

That's money, perhaps, that could help the school pay off all that outstanding debt.

cchurchill@timesunion.com • 518-454-5442 • @chris_churchill