The Unseen Here and Now . . .

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Stuart Revercomb

Stuart Revercomb is a marketing consultant and joyously married father of four children. He seems to remember someone once telling him he ought to be a writer. "The Unseen Here and Now" -- Thursdays.

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May 17, 2001

Going Up?

I have a love-hate relationship with elevators.

As a child, however, it was all love - indeed, love at first sight. What a magical machine - back lit buttons surrounded by big brass panels, and sliding doors and chrome. Elevators smelled like new carpet, and the hydraulic sound that hummed and strained deep beneath their mirrored walls gave them a mystery that was all their own.

Important looking men who wore ties were always getting on and off elevators. They went up and came down from important places.

My first memory of an elevator was at the Greensboro Public Library. I was perhaps 6 at the time. Mom had dropped my older brothers and I off for a public sponsored summer activity - probably a puppet show or some such thing. I don't recall seeing the first puppet that day - or any other adult sanctioned event, but I do remember seeing the inside of that elevator . It was an Otis and it had the classic concave brass buttons that were surrounded by an acrylic ring that lit up when you touched your finger to it.

But there was even more electronic fingertip magic to be had in that facility. My brothers quickly discovered that if you rubbed your feet on the brand new carpet in the brand new elevator of that brand new library, you could reach out and give your sibling the shock of a lifetime. I mean a good one - the kind that often drew a blue spark from the givers fingertip.

The game was on.

We must have chased each other in and out of that elevator and up and down those 3 floors for about as many hours. When mom came and picked us up, I guess she assumed we had just come down from the show. I'm sure we were sweaty and giddy and full of static, but what else was new. She was never the wiser. Until now, of course. Oh the things moms can learn in these columns...

Recently I was able to relive the wonder of those early elevator days by watching my not quite 2 year old son take his first ride. Rob's face lit up when I pointed his finger to the button on the first floor of the new elevator at the Rescue Mission's new Chapel and dining facility. This was only possible after 5 minutes of intense negotiation with his brother and 2 sisters for "button rights". Rob doesn't know it, but he now owes them about $3 Zillion Dollars for the opportunity to press the buttons first that day. True to form they all clamored to press the little up arrow immediately after he did. Surely there are elevator engineers out there who account for such usage.

Rob's eyes grew wide as a little bell sounded from somewhere and the big chrome door slowly retracted, revealing the little room inside. He peered around the corner, and glory of glories there were more buttons in there. He took 3 quick steps to the center of the box and then looked up at me with a proud grin as if to say, "look what I've done Dad!" His 3 siblings clamored in after him as Rob jumped forward to the control panel.

I am convinced you could put a 2 year old in the cockpit of a 737 and he would think he knew completely how to fly the thing. Rob confidently pushed every button at his disposal. Thankfully the fire control switch had been placed just out of his reach by those same wily Otis engineers. The door slowly slid shut, and the elevator began to almost imperceptibly rise. Rob cast a quick glance my way. He was a little concerned. "Was this all OK? Is this supposed to be happening?"
Moments later we bumped to a stop and the door magically slid open, revealing a whole new world to walk in to. Rob was rightfully amazed. He stepped out, looked all around and then gave me his "WOW!" look. He wasn't sure what Dad did down here all day, but it was obviously a pretty cool place to be. We took 2 more rides on the way out.

But as adults, elevators are entirely different animals. In a world of personal freedom and personal space, elevators force us to get close to one another - even strangers. When you push the button on an elevator the game of chance has begun. You never know who might be waiting on the other side of that door. Its "office building roulette" at its best.

Think about it. Every few seconds around the world, random collections of between 2 and 20 people are being put into small quiet boxes for periods ranging from just a few seconds to several minutes. B.F. Skinner's Psychology Lab produced no finer experiment in human behavior.

And what do we do?

We stare at the numbers of course. 99 out of 100 people that get on elevators immediately look up and watch the numbers go by. No one looks at anybody. Everyone faces forward. People rarely if ever speak. Staring at those numbers is a way of fighting the inactivity and the silence that we are so unaccustomed to, especially in the presence of others. It keeps us from having to engage our fellow man.

When I ride an elevator alone I'm liable to look around the compartment, inspect it for cleanliness or otherwise just notice its details. I guess it's a holdover from childhood, but the buttons seem to warrant allot of my attention. How many? Does the fire alarm / emergency stop button look like it might work? Is there a phone? A thirteenth floor? But if someone else steps on board, I have historically been guilty of watching the numbers. All that silence in the presence of others is just too much.

But maybe it shouldn't be.

Lately I have been striking up a conversation when possible and practical, whether its in an elevator or some other public place like a checkout line. And the startling result has been that most of the people that stare up at those numbers or at those magazine covers are just as human as I am. When given the opportunity, they're as happy to share a moment of their lives and their selves as a member of my immediate family would be.

And maybe at the end of the day that's just who they are - a member of my greater family, that I will only have the opportunity to know for just this moment. Will I speak into the silence between us if the moment permits? Or will I lose myself and the possibilities in the numbers that flash by above - counting off the floors and even the seconds which I have left to give?

I certainly hope it's the former, for the more strangers I discover to be family, the easier it is to offer the smile or the kind word in the right and fitting moment... and the easier it is to believe that ultimately we're all traveling upward together.

How about you?

Going Up?