Norman Balmoral: The elevator

The elevator door closed. Mr. Winfrey, tall, silent, and gaunt, pressed the button for the bottom floor. How long had he worked at the 20th and Locust Professional Offices? How long had he collected a paycheck from the owners, earned his livelihood, taken money home to his wife and children? How many days had he donned his starchly pressed navy blue uniform with white lapels, white gloves, black hat? How many years had he shined his matching black shoes to give them that brilliant, reflective sheen? How long had he given each passenger a shallow bow of his head as the door opened and wished him or her a good day as he or she exited, whether it be the building or one of the higher floors?

Mr. Winfrey didn't have to worry about losing his job. The building needed him. He was an absolute requirement, the man who ran the elevator. Mr. Winfrey had never been to college and, so far as Norman knew, had not even graduated from high school. Mr. Winfrey spoke halting English, "yes, sir" this and "no, sir" that. Life required little of Mr. Winfrey besides cranking the elevator door open and shut, pushing the button for the requested floor, and making his greetings to his esteemed passengers.

The world might need elevator conductors, but it didn't need architects. At least not now. Smith and Weisskopf might be one of the leading firms in Philadelphia, but it didn't need an architect whose vision always pointed to the future. It didn't need an architect who proposed fascinating, interesting projects to Herbert Hoover's Reconstruction Finance Corporation, who proposed revolutionary hospital wings and luminative library designs. No, the firm and the world didn't need an architect -- especially not in January 1932.

But what of Norman's needs? How could he go home and face his parents, recently turned out of their home of 28 years, the three of them now living in two small rooms above their struggling pharmacy. How could he go home and tell them they'd just lost $108 per month in income? How would they put food on the table? And how could he face Agnes Limerick, knowing that he would never be able to propose to her, like he wanted to do?