Looking Out: Being way up high is fine, except for edges, ladders and roofs
“My roof’s leaking,” says my pal Lyle Pratt. “I have to climb up there and fix it.”
“Buy a new house,” I say. “Anything but climbing around on a roof in the middle of winter. Or in the summer, spring or fall.”
“You don’t like heights?” he asks.
“Heights don’t bother me. Edges, ladders and roofs bother me,” I say.
“Have you always been such a wimp?” he says.
“Yes, except for when I was a roofer,” I say.
“You were a roofer?” he says. “When?”
“I was young and landed a job with a roofer. He told me to meet him on the job site at 6:30 the next morning. I was the first one there,” I say.
“You roofed the house alone?” he asks.
“No way. It was already 80 degrees and muggy. The ladder was leaning against the house. It had a very steep roof. I don’t like ladders, roofs, edges or heat. I got back on my bike and rode home,” I say.
“You were a roofer for one minute?” he says.
“Yes. It was like a lifetime,” I reply. “A couple of years earlier, I had tried to cure myself. It didn’t work.”
“How?” he asks.
“Stone sober, 2 a.m., I drove up a logging road to the top of one of the highest hills in Michigan, all alone, and climbed a 125-foot radio antenna. I could have seen the Mackinac Bridge from up there, if I had opened my eyes.”
“Have you ever fallen? Maybe that would explain your fears,” he says.
“I fell out of my crib when I was a baby,” I say. “But my worst experience came when I was just out of college, working in a bank.”
“I don’t think of banking as a hazardous profession, like roofing,” he says.
“The head of maintenance, Wynn, offered to give me a tour of the bank building, from the basement to the roof above the 15th floor. It was the tallest building in town,” I say.
“Must have been a great view,” he says.
“It was, and I felt perfectly safe standing way back from the edge on that flat roof. Great view, indeed,” I say.
“So what happened?” asks Lyle.
“We took the elevator to the 14th floor and then had to climb a metal stairway up to the 15th. It was really just a dark attic full of all the elevator equipment and HVAC stuff. From there, we climbed a ladder, Wynn first. He pushed open a trap door to get up on the roof.”
“Sounds OK,” says Lyle.
“It was. It was a sunny day, so we stood up there awhile enjoying the view before heading back down. Wynn told me to go first because he had to secure the trapdoor.”
“I climbed down that ladder and stood there waiting for him. It was dark in that attic and I couldn’t see a thing after the bright sunshine. When Wynn came down he turned on a flashlight he had in his pocket.”
“How can you stand there like that?” asked Wynn.
“What?” I answered him.
“Look down,” he said. “Very carefully.”
“I did,” I told Lyle. “I discovered I was standing on top of an 8-inch wide curb, 3 feet off the floor. It was the guard rail at the top of one of the elevator shafts near the bottom of the ladder. Just as I looked straight down, 150 feet, the elevator started coming up. The huge pulley loaded with cables was right next to my head. I nearly swooned.”
“Swooned?” he says.
“Swooned. I’m telling you, Lyle — don’t go up on your roof. Sell your house.”
Jim Whitehouse lives in Albion.
This article originally appeared on The Daily Telegram: Jim Whitehouse: Being way up high is fine, except for roofs
