I was waiting impatiently in front of the elevators on the 41st floor of New York's Pan Am Building. I glanced at my watch again. It was 5:15. If I was lucky I might still make the 5:40 for Port Washington. A bell dinged and the doors opened. Four of us stepped in and the doors closed. I felt my heels briefly leave the floor as the express car accelerated downward. Suddenly the lights flickered, then went out. The car came to a stop so fast my weight was slammed toward the floor, causing my knees to flex.
Dead silence. A dim light behind an overhead translucent panel came on. Our faces reflected concern, even fear and dismay. When after a minute or two it appeared the car would not fall, that it was under control, we looked at each other with relief. Then a speaker on the control panel clicked and a voice asked, "Hey, anyone there?" After a beat, we chorused, " YES!" . "Okay," from the speaker. "We got a power failure here. But there's battery backup. You're gonna be all right. Just sit tight. Click."
And so we sat, or stood, for over five hours . We were pretty cool, exchanging names, home locations, family information, etc. We even tried word games but couldn't seem to concentrate very well. The speaker clicked a few times and a voice assured us help was on the way and that medical assistance would be provided if needed. We continued to cope.
Then we heard faint shouts somewhere outside. Suddenly an irregular thumping and smashing began nearby. The speaker clicked: "Okay, you up there, we got men opening the wall to get you. We got EMT's on your floor too 'case anybody needs medical attention." In a half hour or so the noise ended, the car doors opened and men stretched out arms to help us step up onto what we learned was the 33rd floor -- a new and unplanned local stop for this express car .
We were escorted down thirty-three flights of stairs by fire fighters and other emergency personnel to exit the building. Outside I was greeted with another extraordinary scene. There were no street lights, no lit office windows, no traffic lights. And there were no automobile lights or horns. Yet I could see very well...oh, it's the moon, how wonderful --- the city was bathed in the soft luminescent glow of a full moon! I stepped off the curb and strode up Park Avenue with growing confidence, to join countless others doing the same. Some, like me, walked alone. Others in pairs or small groups. There was almost a festive air, sort of a holiday atmosphere. You could hear people chatting as they walked along, some holding hands. But no one shouted, and there was an overarching hush, as if all knew we had to treasure this remarkable experience, treat it with great respect. Perhaps this explains why there were no muggings and the number of all reported crimes was far lower than normal throughout the city, on this special night.
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