The incident in the elevator

The public TV station for which I toiled so fruitlessly for a year was in a former hotel in downtown Toledo. The original elevator remained in service and had one of those ornate metal grille doors one had to slide manually. Legend said it had carried Al Jolson and the Marx Brothers when they were on a vaudeville tour during the 1920s.

Our station was on the fourth floor. One level below us resided a treatment facility for mentally and physically challenged patients, many of them children. I will be honest and admit that trips up and down with the patients were painful for me. I never knew what to say to them or the nurses guiding their wheelchairs. I usually just stared at the wall. Sometimes I'd smile, but I couldn't bring myself to engage in conversation. When I watched them get off at their floor, I glimpsed at their therapy facility and was glad I wasn't there.

One afternoon I headed to lunch with John Bylow, one of our production crew. As we descended, the elevator stopped on the floor below ours, and a woman wheeled an obviously retarded boy into the car. As we began our creaky descent, we heard an unpleasant metallic grinding sound. The elevator stopped. We were stuck between floors. After pushing all the buttons and trying the alarm, we realized we would just have to wait until someone discovered us. The child was occupied with a toy and didn't seem to notice anything unusual. I was doing my "I'm going to pretend I'm not here" routine, difficult in a four-foot-square area with three other people.

Then my buddy John did an extraordinary thing. He knelt down so that he was on the same level as the boy and smiled. John saw that the boy had a small airplane, and he asked excitedly, "Hey, what do you have there?" The little boy became animated and excited. He couldn't talk, but he waved his arms and held the plane up. John took it and flew it around the little guy, making airplane noises with his mouth, much to his new friend's delight. The squeals of laughter were infectious; as the small boy giggled, he bounced in his seat.

Belatedly, I got into the spirit of things and brought out a stopwatch from my pocket and got down on the floor to join in the fun. It wasn't as cool as the airplane, but the boy seemed to enjoy it. After about 15 minutes, the elevator lurched back to life and deposited us on the first floor. John never mentioned the incident afterwards; to him it was quite normal. To me, what he did was heroic. He had brought a little human contact into that boy's life. It didn't cost anything, it took little effort and it brought joy to everyone. I will always admire John for what he did that afternoon.

Years later, I was flying and was seated next to a developmentally challenged young man named Jerome. He was 17. In addition to his mental handicaps, he looked at me with eyes turned in different directions. But Jerome was a forthright young man. He extended his hand and introduced himself. It was his first time on a plane, and he was flying alone. Even though he was brave, he seemed concerned about several events. I had to explain that the engines were just being tested prior to take-off, turbulence was normal and the popping in his ears nothing to worry about. It made him feel much better. Later in the flight we took turns reading a newspaper out loud and laughed about our favorite cartoons. It was a good trip for both of us.