August 7, 2007--The Monkey
We were turned around. Not lost exactly, but confused and disoriented. The Brock Hotel was supposed to be holding a room for us that was guaranteed to have a “full view of the Falls.” It was getting late and we were worried about the dependability of the guarantee. We had driven 300 miles through 100 degree temperatures to get here, and what else was there to do in Niagara Falls other than look at the Falls. Thus, to wind up in a room with a view of the parking lot would be a considerable disappointment. So, against my usual instinct, I said to Rona, “Maybe we should ask someone for directions.”
We had turned into a cul de sac that was in reality a road that led to a parking lot which advertised that it was a “only a short walk to the Horseshoe Falls.” At its entrance, seemingly camped out on a beach chair was the attendant. He rose to wave us in and to collect the six dollars Canadian. I rolled down the window, letting the heat blast away at us, and indicated that we didn’t want to park but rather, I said, “We’re looking for the Brock Hotel. I think it’s nearby because it’s supposed to have a full view of the Falls; but we’re sort of lost and thought you might be able to give us directions.”
“I’ve been working here for 40 years and have seen them come and go. The hotels I mean. And you’re right, the Brock is not more than five or six blocks over that away.” He pointed north up toward where I remembered the American Falls to be. Now I was concerned about exactly what the hotel’s website meant by “full view”—the falls on the American side, as I remembered them from years ago, were by comparison nature’s afterthought.
“So, what do we have to do to get there? The streets around here look a little complicated to me.”
“Oh, you won’t have a problem. As I said, I’ve been working this lot for a long time and can tell you just what to do.” And with that he said to Rona, sensing correctly that she was more likely than me to comprehend and more important remember even simple directions. To do so, he rested his elbows on the sill of my opened window and ducked his head into the car. This allowed me to get close-up look at him and the effects of sitting out there in all weather for 40 years.
Since his head loomed right there in front of me I was struck first by the duct tape that was wrapped around its crown. The silver tape covered the tops of his ears as well as half of his forehead; and I thought he would only have done this to cover some terrible disfigurement or, could it possibly be since a kerchief would suffice to do that, to hold shattered fragments of his head together.
He must have read my mind or noticed my staring because he turned from Rona to me and, lifting from his head his sweat-stained canvas pith helmet, said with a chuckle, “I know what you’re thinkin’, everyone does, but I use this here tape inside the rim of my hat to keep it from falling apart, and after a long day in this heat it tends to slip down on my head and looks kinda funny don’tcha think?. You see, I have this here hat for more years than I can remember; and since I’m reaching retirement age soon, don’t want to have to buy a new one. So this works out fine for me and does bring about some good laughs. Don’t you know, it gets kind of boring sitting out here day after day. Did I tell you I’ve been working this same lot 40 years when it was the place to come for your honeymoons? I think I did. I remember it when it was just dirt and gravel. This lot. When it was dry like that you had to wear a wet rag over your mouth to keep from chokin’ to death. But it was OK. It paid the rent and put food on the table for Teresa and me, bless her soul. Did I tell you she passed on? I get so mixed up these days. Must be the sun. And they say the earth’s warming up. I can tell you there’s a lot less water then ever comin’ over those falls out there. But what are you gonna do?”
We didn’t respond even though we had seen more evidence of that during our drive around the Great Lakes. “By the way,” he added touching the brim of his hat, “I’m Johnny.” We both smiled back at him. “Nice to meet you folks.”
We told him our names and, not wanting to prolong this, I said, “Well, it sure is hot,” I was eager to get the window closed to allow the AC to cool us down. “Like I told you, we’re a little confused about how to get to the hotel. I think you said it’s right back over there on the other side of the overpass, then another right, and a final right at the first traffic light.”
Ignoring me, he smiled at Rona, and said, “As I told you, it’s a left at that light. If you go right you wind up in the big parking light by the Canadian Falls, that’s what we in the business call them, and they’ll charge you 18 dollars just to turn around. If you want to park, here it’ll only cost you six.”
“Thanks very much, but as I said we’re eager to check in since they’re supposed to be holding a room for us with a view.”
“Well, that would be a good thing since after all that’s what you’re here for.” He winked at Rona, maybe thinking we were on our honeymoon and who knows what a view of the Falls might inspire.
Having directed us, he stepped back from the car and I immediately began to close the window to shut out the waves of heat. While attempting a U turn to get us pointed in the right direction, I noticed him checking his watch and then, turning away from us, looking up toward the sky. I nodded to Rona when she reminded me that the first right was just on the other side of the small bridge. But before I could get us moving forward, Johnny trotted back over to the car and tapped on my window with his wedding band.
I reluctantly lowered it half way, it was cooling down nicely and I didn’t want to let too much air escape. I looked up at him. In spite of the duct tape, streams of sweat were rolling down onto the front of his shirt. Some dripped on the side of the car where he was again leaning. “You know, it’s almost four o’clock.” This didn’t mean anything special to us except maybe that was the time was approaching when the hotels in the area released the guarantees on their rooms with views. “I see you folks don’t know about what’s goin’ on over there. I should say, what’s about to happen.” Without turning away from us he pointed back over his shoulder toward the sky where he had just been looking. “At exactly four he’s gonna walk across that tightrope.” He continued to point.
I thought, I know what’s really going on here—he’s tying to get us to pull into his parking lot. From the looks of all those empty spaces it’s been a slow day. But just as I was about to close the window for the last time and race away from there and him, he said, “It’s quite an attraction. He’s been at it every day for nearly 35 years now. Almost as long as I’ve been sittin’ over there. If you have the time you might want to wait around ’til four. It won’t cost you anything.” He was reading my thoughts again.
Also sensing my mood, Rona said, “What’s the rush? We’ve been driving for six hours today so what’s another few minutes? If he says there’s something special about to happen, he should know.” And without waiting for me to respond she asked Johnny, “Tell me what it is? I’m interested.”
“If you like you can sit where you are and stay cool in the air conditioning; but if you look over there where I’m pointing, you’ll see what I mean.”
Rona leaned over me to look out of my still half-closed window. “I don’t see anything.”
“Look way up there,” he said, “By the roof of the Hilton hotel. And then just to the left of it. Look for something that looks like a construction crane. Except one that standing straight up in the air. Right up there almost as high as the roof. About 20 storeys high.”
Rona was the first to spot what he was pointing out and exclaimed, “Is that a man standing up there on top of it?” By then I noticed him too.
“Yup, that’s him way up there. Like I said he’s been doin’ this twice a day for 35 years.”
“You mean he’s going to walk across that tightrope to the other tower? It looks like it’s a half mile away.”
“That’s about right.”
“Is there a net?” Rona asked. Johnny shook his head. “Because if there isn’t I don’t think I can watch. I’ll have nightmares all night.”
“That’s OK,” I said, “We can go. It’s getting late and we should probably get moving.”
“But I can’t not stay to watch him. It will be even worse if I don’t know if he made it across.”
I understood her logic and so we stayed for the full half hour that it took him, painful step by step, to get to the other side--first along the long down slope, then to the leveler part of the parabola, and finally, even more arduously, up the steep incline to the safety of the second tower.
And while he was at it, Johnny filled us in about the long history of daredeviltry at the Falls. How in the old days a series of tightrope walkers persuaded the powers-that-be to allow them to attempt to cross the Falls themselves—some not making it very far and perishing in the rapids. And how others came from all over the world to try to survive going over the falls in wooden barrels. “Can you believe it these people climbed into an old pickle or nail barrel and then got their friends or relatives to seal them in and then push the barrels and them into the rapids up top. I saw a few in my time and you can only imagine what happened to most all of them. Hardly any were ever found as they got swept down along there into Lake Ontario.”
He wiped his brow at recalling the old days. “Call them crazy if you will; but they were only trying to bring a little something special into their lives. Most came from small towns where there was nothing for them but lots of struggles. They must have dreamed about becoming famous by doin’ this. You know, getting their names in the papers. That sort of thing. Anything to relieve the hopelessness. Those were hard times.”
Though we couldn’t take our eyes off the man high up on the wire, we heard what Johnny was telling us and understood. Rona said, “Not so different from today for many people who also dream about being famous. Even for just those 15 minutes.”
“I agree with you there,” Johnny said.
I asked, “How long has he been doing this? You said he does it twice a day.”
“That’s right, at four and then again at eight. If you have the time come out and see him again tonight.” Rona shook her head—once was clearly enough. She wasn’t inclined to want to risk her sleep any further.
“Be sure to watch carefully. He’s over there on the other side now, but if you ask me the way he gets down is part of the show. He’s 63 years old and . . .”
I was incredulous. “How old?” I asked, thinking maybe I had misheard.
“You heard me—63. He’s gonna retire in two years and they may let him walk across the Falls as a sort of retirement present. Though he does make good money. I understand $500 each time.”
“Each time or each day?”
“Each way. But look, look at him now, he’s about to come down. Watch how he does it. Just like a monkey.”
We had turned into a cul de sac that was in reality a road that led to a parking lot which advertised that it was a “only a short walk to the Horseshoe Falls.” At its entrance, seemingly camped out on a beach chair was the attendant. He rose to wave us in and to collect the six dollars Canadian. I rolled down the window, letting the heat blast away at us, and indicated that we didn’t want to park but rather, I said, “We’re looking for the Brock Hotel. I think it’s nearby because it’s supposed to have a full view of the Falls; but we’re sort of lost and thought you might be able to give us directions.”
“I’ve been working here for 40 years and have seen them come and go. The hotels I mean. And you’re right, the Brock is not more than five or six blocks over that away.” He pointed north up toward where I remembered the American Falls to be. Now I was concerned about exactly what the hotel’s website meant by “full view”—the falls on the American side, as I remembered them from years ago, were by comparison nature’s afterthought.
“So, what do we have to do to get there? The streets around here look a little complicated to me.”
“Oh, you won’t have a problem. As I said, I’ve been working this lot for a long time and can tell you just what to do.” And with that he said to Rona, sensing correctly that she was more likely than me to comprehend and more important remember even simple directions. To do so, he rested his elbows on the sill of my opened window and ducked his head into the car. This allowed me to get close-up look at him and the effects of sitting out there in all weather for 40 years.
Since his head loomed right there in front of me I was struck first by the duct tape that was wrapped around its crown. The silver tape covered the tops of his ears as well as half of his forehead; and I thought he would only have done this to cover some terrible disfigurement or, could it possibly be since a kerchief would suffice to do that, to hold shattered fragments of his head together.
He must have read my mind or noticed my staring because he turned from Rona to me and, lifting from his head his sweat-stained canvas pith helmet, said with a chuckle, “I know what you’re thinkin’, everyone does, but I use this here tape inside the rim of my hat to keep it from falling apart, and after a long day in this heat it tends to slip down on my head and looks kinda funny don’tcha think?. You see, I have this here hat for more years than I can remember; and since I’m reaching retirement age soon, don’t want to have to buy a new one. So this works out fine for me and does bring about some good laughs. Don’t you know, it gets kind of boring sitting out here day after day. Did I tell you I’ve been working this same lot 40 years when it was the place to come for your honeymoons? I think I did. I remember it when it was just dirt and gravel. This lot. When it was dry like that you had to wear a wet rag over your mouth to keep from chokin’ to death. But it was OK. It paid the rent and put food on the table for Teresa and me, bless her soul. Did I tell you she passed on? I get so mixed up these days. Must be the sun. And they say the earth’s warming up. I can tell you there’s a lot less water then ever comin’ over those falls out there. But what are you gonna do?”
We didn’t respond even though we had seen more evidence of that during our drive around the Great Lakes. “By the way,” he added touching the brim of his hat, “I’m Johnny.” We both smiled back at him. “Nice to meet you folks.”
We told him our names and, not wanting to prolong this, I said, “Well, it sure is hot,” I was eager to get the window closed to allow the AC to cool us down. “Like I told you, we’re a little confused about how to get to the hotel. I think you said it’s right back over there on the other side of the overpass, then another right, and a final right at the first traffic light.”
Ignoring me, he smiled at Rona, and said, “As I told you, it’s a left at that light. If you go right you wind up in the big parking light by the Canadian Falls, that’s what we in the business call them, and they’ll charge you 18 dollars just to turn around. If you want to park, here it’ll only cost you six.”
“Thanks very much, but as I said we’re eager to check in since they’re supposed to be holding a room for us with a view.”
“Well, that would be a good thing since after all that’s what you’re here for.” He winked at Rona, maybe thinking we were on our honeymoon and who knows what a view of the Falls might inspire.
Having directed us, he stepped back from the car and I immediately began to close the window to shut out the waves of heat. While attempting a U turn to get us pointed in the right direction, I noticed him checking his watch and then, turning away from us, looking up toward the sky. I nodded to Rona when she reminded me that the first right was just on the other side of the small bridge. But before I could get us moving forward, Johnny trotted back over to the car and tapped on my window with his wedding band.
I reluctantly lowered it half way, it was cooling down nicely and I didn’t want to let too much air escape. I looked up at him. In spite of the duct tape, streams of sweat were rolling down onto the front of his shirt. Some dripped on the side of the car where he was again leaning. “You know, it’s almost four o’clock.” This didn’t mean anything special to us except maybe that was the time was approaching when the hotels in the area released the guarantees on their rooms with views. “I see you folks don’t know about what’s goin’ on over there. I should say, what’s about to happen.” Without turning away from us he pointed back over his shoulder toward the sky where he had just been looking. “At exactly four he’s gonna walk across that tightrope.” He continued to point.
I thought, I know what’s really going on here—he’s tying to get us to pull into his parking lot. From the looks of all those empty spaces it’s been a slow day. But just as I was about to close the window for the last time and race away from there and him, he said, “It’s quite an attraction. He’s been at it every day for nearly 35 years now. Almost as long as I’ve been sittin’ over there. If you have the time you might want to wait around ’til four. It won’t cost you anything.” He was reading my thoughts again.
Also sensing my mood, Rona said, “What’s the rush? We’ve been driving for six hours today so what’s another few minutes? If he says there’s something special about to happen, he should know.” And without waiting for me to respond she asked Johnny, “Tell me what it is? I’m interested.”
“If you like you can sit where you are and stay cool in the air conditioning; but if you look over there where I’m pointing, you’ll see what I mean.”
Rona leaned over me to look out of my still half-closed window. “I don’t see anything.”
“Look way up there,” he said, “By the roof of the Hilton hotel. And then just to the left of it. Look for something that looks like a construction crane. Except one that standing straight up in the air. Right up there almost as high as the roof. About 20 storeys high.”
Rona was the first to spot what he was pointing out and exclaimed, “Is that a man standing up there on top of it?” By then I noticed him too.
“Yup, that’s him way up there. Like I said he’s been doin’ this twice a day for 35 years.”
“You mean he’s going to walk across that tightrope to the other tower? It looks like it’s a half mile away.”
“That’s about right.”
“Is there a net?” Rona asked. Johnny shook his head. “Because if there isn’t I don’t think I can watch. I’ll have nightmares all night.”
“That’s OK,” I said, “We can go. It’s getting late and we should probably get moving.”
“But I can’t not stay to watch him. It will be even worse if I don’t know if he made it across.”
I understood her logic and so we stayed for the full half hour that it took him, painful step by step, to get to the other side--first along the long down slope, then to the leveler part of the parabola, and finally, even more arduously, up the steep incline to the safety of the second tower.
And while he was at it, Johnny filled us in about the long history of daredeviltry at the Falls. How in the old days a series of tightrope walkers persuaded the powers-that-be to allow them to attempt to cross the Falls themselves—some not making it very far and perishing in the rapids. And how others came from all over the world to try to survive going over the falls in wooden barrels. “Can you believe it these people climbed into an old pickle or nail barrel and then got their friends or relatives to seal them in and then push the barrels and them into the rapids up top. I saw a few in my time and you can only imagine what happened to most all of them. Hardly any were ever found as they got swept down along there into Lake Ontario.”
He wiped his brow at recalling the old days. “Call them crazy if you will; but they were only trying to bring a little something special into their lives. Most came from small towns where there was nothing for them but lots of struggles. They must have dreamed about becoming famous by doin’ this. You know, getting their names in the papers. That sort of thing. Anything to relieve the hopelessness. Those were hard times.”
Though we couldn’t take our eyes off the man high up on the wire, we heard what Johnny was telling us and understood. Rona said, “Not so different from today for many people who also dream about being famous. Even for just those 15 minutes.”
“I agree with you there,” Johnny said.
I asked, “How long has he been doing this? You said he does it twice a day.”
“That’s right, at four and then again at eight. If you have the time come out and see him again tonight.” Rona shook her head—once was clearly enough. She wasn’t inclined to want to risk her sleep any further.
“Be sure to watch carefully. He’s over there on the other side now, but if you ask me the way he gets down is part of the show. He’s 63 years old and . . .”
I was incredulous. “How old?” I asked, thinking maybe I had misheard.
“You heard me—63. He’s gonna retire in two years and they may let him walk across the Falls as a sort of retirement present. Though he does make good money. I understand $500 each time.”
“Each time or each day?”
“Each way. But look, look at him now, he’s about to come down. Watch how he does it. Just like a monkey.”
posted by Steven Zwerling at
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