Elevators of My Youth
In the rear lobby of the gray bank building, a glass encased marquee listed the room numbers for the professionals who had offices above. My mother Sybil Miner Beck located the floor and room number of the doctor we sought. We walked across the white and gray marble floor to stand outside the elevator at one side of the lobby. The frosted globe chandeliers hanging from the plaster fluted ceiling cast its light onto the door. The car wasn’t at the lobby level. And I could see the metal bars of an accordion gate through the thick, diamond-shaped chicken wire impregnated glass window.
I glanced at my mom. She nodded and I pressed the black button with the ivory colored up arrow near the top of a shiny brass plate. Somewhere above in the blackened shaft a bell sounded. “Br-rin-ng.” Above us, the rumble of something heavy being shut followed by the squeak and rattle of something else being closed. Elevators had an operator who controlled the car taking riders to the requested floor. The noise continued to grow in the shaft. I heard the snap of a spark, then the thrum of an electric motor starting. Soon, it was replaced with the whoosh of the car as it descended.
Through the small window I could see thick dirt and grease coated electric cables loop into view, then droop lower as a pale light in the shaft grew stronger. The humming of the motor and the clicking of the elevator car intensified as it dropped into the lobby. A soft swoosh pushed the smell of ozone out of the shaft and into the air around us.
Slowly the heavy platform of the car appeared in the window and slid by the glass. Its hum became louder as it neared its stop. I heard a gentle jiggle of the car leveling with the lobby floor.
A smooth mahogany colored hand reached across the lighted window to unlatch the accordion metal safety gate and scissor it to one side. The hand reappeared. The rasp of metal elevator door slid open with a heavy rumble.
As I stepped inside, I saw the operator. She was a middle aged black woman who smiled as we entered. Her smile revealed a set of dazzling white teeth enhanced by her dark skin. She wore a white button down blouse, white socks, a black skirt, and black tie-on shoes.
“What floor, please?” she asked.
My mom gave her the floor that we wanted. The woman smiled again as she reached for the metal handle and levered the car door closed. The operator shut the accordion gate before settling onto the polished wooden seat.
Grasping the handle of the dial on the green painted metal wall at her side, she pushed it forward and the elevator car slowly rose in the dark shaft. There was a small bump then I felt the vibrations of the motor through the hard soles of my dress shoes. Several floors passed by the window, showing a large white painted numbers on the thick concrete floors. The numbers designated the level of the building.
I saw the numbers 2, then 3, and then 4 come into view. The operator twisted the dial and the elevator slowed as the floor we needed approached. With a small adjustment that made the car jiggle, she stopped the car. With a practiced tug, the accordion gate opened, then she opened the outer door by tugging a long metal handle.
As we moved toward the door, she gave us a dazzling smile and said, “Have a good day.”
“Thank you,” I replied exiting the elevator.