The Effect Of Stairways

Near our home, there is a fitness center located on the first floor of a modest two-story office block. 

One of the personal trainers told me about the time the center decided to expand, and rented a room on the second floor.  They discovered that their clients were not enthusiastic about climbing up a stairway to get to a fitness class.  So, they moved their expansion room to the first floor of a small building behind the two-story office block.

The personal trainer’s story inspired me.  I decided to give a presentation for the Society of Architectural Historians on the effect of stairways.  Specifically: the effect of the stairways in Lewis Hall in Glasgow, Missouri.

Glasgow, on the Missouri River, was a thriving hemp and tobacco port in the mid-nineteenth century.  It was the site of a Civil War battle in October 1864, when Glasgow was attacked by Confederate troops under the command of Sterling Price.  Sterling Price was a former Missouri governor. 

Before the Union troops surrendered, they torched Glasgow City Hall, where their munitions were stored.  The mural at the top of this blog post portrays the burning of City Hall.

After the War, Lewis College was founded in Glasgow, in a lovely two-story building.

Finished in 1867, the first floor of Lewis Hall was used for lectures; the second floor was the library.  The college moved out of the building in 1891, and the city took over.  The first floor was used as a town meeting hall; the second floor was the town library.

As time went by, the librarian noticed that library attendance was dwindling.  The cause: patrons were not enthusiastic about climbing up a stairway to get to a library. 

So, Glasgow decided that they really did not need a town meeting hall, and the first floor became the library.  They did not move the library from the second floor down to the first floor; they simply created a new library on the first floor.  The old library remained --- intact --- on the second floor.

I had a chance to visit Lewis Hall in Glasgow last year.  The library on the first floor was perfectly modern: fluorescent lights, computers, teenagers doing homework or socializing.  I asked the librarian to take me upstairs. 

When I got upstairs, I stood awe-struck.  All the nineteenth-century books were there, sitting in nineteenth-century bookcases with glass doors.  There was a balcony with more bookcases.  The tables were from 1867.  The chairs were also from 1867, and I could barely squeeze into them.  I was in a time capsule 

There was an ironic note.  When Missouri held a convention to decide whether to secede from the Union, the ladies of Glasgow cut up some satin gowns to sew an American flag because they wanted Missouri to stay in the Union.  They went to the convention and presented the flag to none other than the chairman of the convention, former governor Sterling Price.

The flag did not discourage secession; it did not keep war away from Glasgow.  It is displayed in a frame now, and silently looks down on an intact nineteenth-century library. The library is empty of patrons, but it is full of books that once entertained and educated the people of Glasgow.

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NOTE: Doug's best stories have been collected into a book: Puppy Out Of Breath.  Price = $11.  You can purchase a copy at  http://www.puppyoutofbreath.com

The Shiny Piston Inserted In My Skull

I always thought that the bones in my inner ear had cute names and would be easy to remember for a high school biology test: hammer, anvil, stirrup.

However, on Monday my ear changed.  A surgeon inserted a piston in my skull.  Now, my inner ear consists of a hammer, an anvil, and a shiny piston.

Over the years since high school biology, the stirrup in my right ear became calcified.  My hearing was diminished.  When I got my first hearing aid in 1992, I was told about “The Operation.”  This meant replacing the stirrup bone with a plastic bone, which would vibrate and help my hearing.

Time went by, and I decided to investigate having “The Operation”.  By then “The Operation” had advanced medically and meant replacing the stirrup bone with a spring.  I set up a date for the surgery.

Then I was at lunch with someone from the Human Resources Department where I work.  I mentioned my upcoming ear surgery, and she said there was an employee in California who had the same surgery, and I should get in touch with him.

Good thing I got in touch.  The fellow in California emailed back: the operation improved his hearing but damaged his sense of balance.

Hmm…it did not take long to decide which is better: improved hearing or a good sense of balance. Good balance enables you to carry on everyday life.

I went back to the ear surgeon and said I was cancelling my surgery because I did not want to risk losing my sense of balance.  The surgeon’s response: “Oh, it’s not a big deal; only six of my patients have ever lost their sense of balance.”

Really?  Six patients unable to carry on everyday life?  I didn’t care if it was six out of a hundred or six out of a thousand, this surgeon never mentioned it to me.  Surgery cancelled.

Time went by some more, and I decided to investigate again.  This time I looked for an ear surgeon who specialized in balance.  I met with him, and he told me about the results of the surgery.  96% of people gain improved hearing; 3% have no change; 1% have a loss.

I decided to go with it.  This surgeon was upfront about the risks, and if there was a balance problem he would be the one to fix it.

But now “The Operation” means replacing the stirrup bone with a piston.

The piston was inserted five days ago.  At the moment, I am not sure if it has improved my hearing because I have to wear a wad of cotton taped in my right ear to keep medicine from leaking out.

However, my balance is not a problem.

My main problem now is my friends' comments:  "Don’t blow a gasket!"  "You must be high octane now!"  "How many miles per gallon are you getting with a shiny piston in your skull?"

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NOTE: Doug's best stories have been collected into a book: Puppy Out Of Breath.  Price = $11.  You can purchase a copy at  http://www.puppyoutofbreath.com

I Have Never Been A P.O.W. In North Korea

I have never been a Prisoner Of War in North Korea, but I did have a small glimpse into the ordeal that a P.O.W. endured.  We bought a new Honda recently.

At the Honda dealership, the salesman was jolly, the receptionist was friendly, the guy from the maintenance department said hello, the person who arranged the test drive was congenial, the woman I spoke to on the phone was pleasant.  They all did their best to make our purchase a happy one.

When arrangements were almost complete, my buddy Randy had to leave. 

This meant I had to face the finance officer by myself.  All alone behind closed doors, with a man who fully intended to break my will and convince me to buy an extended warranty.

The finance officer said he was a former mathematics teacher, and wanted to show me some numbers.  I hid the fact that I am also a former mathematics teacher; instead, I said I was a literary type of person.  I wanted to show him some letters: the letter “N” and the letter “O”.

So, instead of showing me some numbers, the finance officer told some facts.  2012 is different --- our new car had so many components that it was bound to have problems.  Did I need proof?  Just come to the dealership on Monday morning and look at all the cars lined up outside the maintenance department waiting to be repaired.

No, I do not want an extended warranty.  I have taken very good care of my cars; one of them reached a quarter of a million miles.

The finance officer told me my previous experience with maintaining cars was meaningless.  2012 is different --- cars are so complicated that there is no comparison with older cars.

Our new car was belittled.  My proud ownership experience was belittled.  I began to wonder if the United States has some sort of trade agreement with North Korea, arranging to send extended warranty salesmen to Pyongyang for training.

Somehow I managed to leave the room without breaking down and getting a warranty.

When I drove away from the dealership in the new car, I thought about all the new cars I have purchased in my life.  I used to drive away from the dealership feeling satisfied and happy.  But this time, I drove away feeling angry. 

The finance officer was right --- 2012 is different.

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NOTE: Doug's best stories have been collected into a book: Puppy Out Of Breath.  Price = $11.  You can purchase a copy at  http://www.puppyoutofbreath.com

More Important Than Human Life

I reached a big milestone when I was two months into my Information Technology career.  My employer, a bank, issued me a beeper.

Only certain types of people carried beepers, mainly physicians and drug dealers.  I had joined their elite ranks.

I wore my beeper proudly.  I was an honor to be considered competent enough to fix the bank’s production problems at night on my own.

People would spot my beeper and ask me if I was a doctor.  My response: “No, I am not a doctor. I deal with something more important than human life.”  Most people then figured out that I must deal with money.

I carried a beeper for many years. To my disappointment, not once did someone spot my beeper and ask me if I was a drug dealer.

With a beeper on my belt, I had to make decisions about my social life.  

It was a crap shoot.  If I went out to a movie, and my beeper went off, I would miss a big chunk of the movie while I responded to a production problem.  However, if I stayed home out of fear that my beeper would go off in the middle of a movie, I would never get to see a movie.

Once my beeper went off during a party right when we finished singing “Happy Birthday to You” and the cake was about to be cut. I had to leave the party, and I still feel deprived that I never got any birthday cake. That was thirty-three years ago.

Usually there is a primary beeper and a backup beeper.

One night, when I was on backup, my beeper went off at 4 AM. The woman on primary needed help figuring out a problem.  Since she lived two miles from my home, I drove over to her house so we could look at the problem together.

She greeted me at the door wearing her bathrobe and fuzzy pink bunny slippers. We sat at her home computer in the dining room. We had the problem fixed in an hour --- but not before her husband woke up and groggily looked into the room.

Nowadays, my current employer does not make us carry beepers.  Production problems that occur at night are fixed the following morning.

So, never again will I be interrupted in the middle of a movie.  Never again will I miss out on birthday cake.

However, never again will I get to see the expression on a drowsy husband’s face when he peeks in his dining room at five in the morning and sees a strange man talking to his wife who is wearing her bathrobe and fuzzy pink bunny slippers.

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NOTE: Doug's best stories have been collected into a book: Puppy Out Of Breath.  Price = $11.  You can purchase a copy at  http://www.puppyoutofbreath.com