family history, part eleven
Or if you prefer, the wedding, part two. . .
After 10 or so minutes, the heavy wooden door that marked the official entrance to The Club could be heard to unlock and slowly open as Old Grandad and The Retired Colonel returned to the oversized elevator lobby where the wedding of Roosevelt Barrington, my father, The Bastard, and Catherine Adler was to occur.
By this time those assembled in the darkness of the lobby had either run out of matches or burned the fluid in their lighters, so the room was dark save for two candles at the front near the makeshift alter. The room was cast in their eery flickering shadows.
The Retired Colonel carried a box with a eight half-burned large red candles, an old oil lantern that was almost full, a dim flashlight with a cracked lens and a ball of twine. Old Grandad carried a black walking stick with a gold plated bulldog at it's head and a brass paw on the end that he kept in his private office. He enjoyed waving it around during business meetings as a way to intimidate and make emphatic points. He also found it calming to turn and stroke it gently it during stressful moments.
The Best Man whose name I can't recall made a lame joke wondering about what sort of arcane and occult rituals the candles were used for in the privacy of The Club. He was immediately shut up and stared down by the icy glare of both Old Grandad and The Retired Colonel.
Within a few moments the candles and the lantern were lit, the knocked over furniture was picked up and folks just kinda stood milling around. Granny Adler sat on a wooden folding chair, panting and weeping with frosting in her hair and holding the broken pieces of the cake topper in her cake covered lap.
While he was in The Club, Old Grandad went to his private office and phoned his contact in the Mayor's office. Back in those days, the phones were separate circuits from the power and were thankfully still operational. His contact was the secretary to an assistant mayor. He had been banging her for years and using her both physically for his pleasures and intellectually as a mole to provide him with inside information about the dealings and schemes of city government. She told him that they received dozens of reports and that the power was out all over New York, both city and state. They were working on the problem but at present no one knew what had happened.
As Old Grandad found it difficult to believe that such a thing could happen in a great modern industrialized nation, plus he didn't really believe the secretary could be correct. She was after all a woman and he was of the generation that believed in the intellectual inferiority of women. He then phoned a contact in the police department, a Pollock Captain who provided security on the side for events at The Club when The Mayor and other important elected officials were in attendance. The Pollock Captain told him basically the same thing, New York was dark, they were working on it, and to just sit tight and wait.
Old Grandad paced about, waving and stroking his walking stick as he explained this to the group.
Granny Adler began sobbing louder and moaning, "but the wedding, but the wedding." It was then they looked around and began to wonder where was the bride?
All got quiet and looked at the closed doors. From the other side, faint cries and calls for help could barely be heard over the increasing cacophony of a now very chaotic rush hour on the street below. Catherine, my mother, the bride and her father, Old Man Adler were stuck in the elevator. Old Grandad walked across the room and began to beat on the elevator doors with his walking stick. In a minute or two Old Grandad was able to use his walking stick, along with the legs of a folding chair wielded by Roosevelt to pry open the doors. They looked cautiously over the edge and shown the dim flashlight down into the dark shaft. The elevator was stuck, nearly perfectly parked between the ninth and tenth floors. After confirming the bride and Old Man Adler were fine, the guests began to brainstorm a plan to get them out.
A half hour or so of activity passed, and concluded with the sad realization that although they could pry the doors open on the ninth and tenth floor elevator lobbies, the elevator had a second inner security door which could not be unlatched unless it was parked perfectly at floor level. This extra precaution was installed when the building was constructed at the insistence of Grandma Milly, God rest her soul, who had an acute phobia of falling from an elevator.
What to do, oh what to do?
When it looked as though all was lost and the wedding would have to be postponed, Old Man Adler called up. He had managed to remove the access hatch in the ceiling of the elevator, and with a small boost from Catherine he was able to pull and push himself through and was standing on top of the elevator car. With the dim flashlight for guidance he climbed a service ladder on the side of the elevator shaft and in a moment crawled through the open door and stood in the lobby. His crisp black tuxedo was wrinkled. The tuxedo, his face and hands were smeared with grease and grime from the elevator shaft.
Now all that was needed was Catherine, my mother, the bride. She was screaming hysterically about being left alone and in the dark of the stuck elevator car. A brilliant plan was hatched to save both the day and the wedding.
The Retired Colonel took a candle and some matches and tied them to a wooden desk chair. He then tied the rest of the twine to the chair and he carefully unwound it, lowering the whole thing down the elevator shaft. After a couple of noisy tries banging against the top of the elevator, which caused Catherine, my mother, the bride, to scream with fear that the elevator was falling, he was able to get the chair through the open access hole and lowered down into the elevator car.
Now all that remained was for Catherine to light the candle for illumination, stand on the chair, pull herself up through the access hole, climb the ladder into the lobby and marry Roosevelt, my father, The Bastard.
A lit candle popped through the opening followed by Catherine's head. She took one brief look around at the dirt and grime of the elevator shaft then ducked back inside the car. She sat on the chair, crying. She was not about to dirty her beautiful white wedding gown climbing up out of the elevator.
She could not be persuaded. Everyone, except for Granny Adler, who was still struggling to regain both her breath and composure, and her college girlfriends who were still embacing suspiciously, tried to convince her. She was simply just not going to do it.
If Mohammed would not go to the mountain, then the mountain must go to Mohammed.
And so it was that shortly after 7:30 in the evening Roosevelt Barrington, my father, The Bastard, found himself holding a dim flashlight and cautiously climbing down a dark and dingy elevator shaft.
After 10 or so minutes, the heavy wooden door that marked the official entrance to The Club could be heard to unlock and slowly open as Old Grandad and The Retired Colonel returned to the oversized elevator lobby where the wedding of Roosevelt Barrington, my father, The Bastard, and Catherine Adler was to occur.
By this time those assembled in the darkness of the lobby had either run out of matches or burned the fluid in their lighters, so the room was dark save for two candles at the front near the makeshift alter. The room was cast in their eery flickering shadows.
The Retired Colonel carried a box with a eight half-burned large red candles, an old oil lantern that was almost full, a dim flashlight with a cracked lens and a ball of twine. Old Grandad carried a black walking stick with a gold plated bulldog at it's head and a brass paw on the end that he kept in his private office. He enjoyed waving it around during business meetings as a way to intimidate and make emphatic points. He also found it calming to turn and stroke it gently it during stressful moments.
The Best Man whose name I can't recall made a lame joke wondering about what sort of arcane and occult rituals the candles were used for in the privacy of The Club. He was immediately shut up and stared down by the icy glare of both Old Grandad and The Retired Colonel.
Within a few moments the candles and the lantern were lit, the knocked over furniture was picked up and folks just kinda stood milling around. Granny Adler sat on a wooden folding chair, panting and weeping with frosting in her hair and holding the broken pieces of the cake topper in her cake covered lap.
While he was in The Club, Old Grandad went to his private office and phoned his contact in the Mayor's office. Back in those days, the phones were separate circuits from the power and were thankfully still operational. His contact was the secretary to an assistant mayor. He had been banging her for years and using her both physically for his pleasures and intellectually as a mole to provide him with inside information about the dealings and schemes of city government. She told him that they received dozens of reports and that the power was out all over New York, both city and state. They were working on the problem but at present no one knew what had happened.
As Old Grandad found it difficult to believe that such a thing could happen in a great modern industrialized nation, plus he didn't really believe the secretary could be correct. She was after all a woman and he was of the generation that believed in the intellectual inferiority of women. He then phoned a contact in the police department, a Pollock Captain who provided security on the side for events at The Club when The Mayor and other important elected officials were in attendance. The Pollock Captain told him basically the same thing, New York was dark, they were working on it, and to just sit tight and wait.
Old Grandad paced about, waving and stroking his walking stick as he explained this to the group.
Granny Adler began sobbing louder and moaning, "but the wedding, but the wedding." It was then they looked around and began to wonder where was the bride?
All got quiet and looked at the closed doors. From the other side, faint cries and calls for help could barely be heard over the increasing cacophony of a now very chaotic rush hour on the street below. Catherine, my mother, the bride and her father, Old Man Adler were stuck in the elevator. Old Grandad walked across the room and began to beat on the elevator doors with his walking stick. In a minute or two Old Grandad was able to use his walking stick, along with the legs of a folding chair wielded by Roosevelt to pry open the doors. They looked cautiously over the edge and shown the dim flashlight down into the dark shaft. The elevator was stuck, nearly perfectly parked between the ninth and tenth floors. After confirming the bride and Old Man Adler were fine, the guests began to brainstorm a plan to get them out.
A half hour or so of activity passed, and concluded with the sad realization that although they could pry the doors open on the ninth and tenth floor elevator lobbies, the elevator had a second inner security door which could not be unlatched unless it was parked perfectly at floor level. This extra precaution was installed when the building was constructed at the insistence of Grandma Milly, God rest her soul, who had an acute phobia of falling from an elevator.
What to do, oh what to do?
When it looked as though all was lost and the wedding would have to be postponed, Old Man Adler called up. He had managed to remove the access hatch in the ceiling of the elevator, and with a small boost from Catherine he was able to pull and push himself through and was standing on top of the elevator car. With the dim flashlight for guidance he climbed a service ladder on the side of the elevator shaft and in a moment crawled through the open door and stood in the lobby. His crisp black tuxedo was wrinkled. The tuxedo, his face and hands were smeared with grease and grime from the elevator shaft.
Now all that was needed was Catherine, my mother, the bride. She was screaming hysterically about being left alone and in the dark of the stuck elevator car. A brilliant plan was hatched to save both the day and the wedding.
The Retired Colonel took a candle and some matches and tied them to a wooden desk chair. He then tied the rest of the twine to the chair and he carefully unwound it, lowering the whole thing down the elevator shaft. After a couple of noisy tries banging against the top of the elevator, which caused Catherine, my mother, the bride, to scream with fear that the elevator was falling, he was able to get the chair through the open access hole and lowered down into the elevator car.
Now all that remained was for Catherine to light the candle for illumination, stand on the chair, pull herself up through the access hole, climb the ladder into the lobby and marry Roosevelt, my father, The Bastard.
A lit candle popped through the opening followed by Catherine's head. She took one brief look around at the dirt and grime of the elevator shaft then ducked back inside the car. She sat on the chair, crying. She was not about to dirty her beautiful white wedding gown climbing up out of the elevator.
She could not be persuaded. Everyone, except for Granny Adler, who was still struggling to regain both her breath and composure, and her college girlfriends who were still embacing suspiciously, tried to convince her. She was simply just not going to do it.
If Mohammed would not go to the mountain, then the mountain must go to Mohammed.
And so it was that shortly after 7:30 in the evening Roosevelt Barrington, my father, The Bastard, found himself holding a dim flashlight and cautiously climbing down a dark and dingy elevator shaft.
posted by dr noyz @ 9:38 AM
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