Page 8 - Demo

6But there was%u2014an entire second story, consisting of a single, large, open room with a high, tinned ceiling. It was completely empty except for a few dusty cartons, and the table and chairs we dragged up there for our meetings. The exterior of the hobby shop had a large display window at street level with a false front above, so the second floor%u2019s tall windows couldn%u2019t be seen from the outside. From the simple style, I%u2019d guess the fa%u00e7ade had been spruced up in the 1950s, perhaps as much as a decade before I discovered it. To get to the upper level, it was necessary to go through a cluttered storage room, then climb the worn treads of a long and creaky stairway, which I recall having surprisingly ornate spindles.Soon after ascending Mr. Weber%u2019s back stairs for the first time, I found myself looking up at other downtown businesses and quickly realized how many had second, third, even fourth stories, and that most were off-limits to the public. As I began eyeing these other buildings, I could see that many upper levels had never been remodeled. Some had fantastic architectural details%u2014cast-iron decorations, carved woodwork, I even saw faces and creatures. On the backs and sides of a few buildings I spotted fading advertising signs promoting cola, bread, and other commodities. The more I looked up, the more I became aware of another world.As the years drifted by, I had the good fortune to visit the interiors of some of the upper stories I had been noticing. Some were converted to apartments, some were used as warehouses, one was an artists%u2019 studio, but many were empty%u2014filled only with shovelfuls of dust and forgotten memories. Yet, no matter what their current use, they still interested me, not only for what they had become, but for what they had once been. I came to realize that, a century or so earlier, when each of these buildings was erected, the entire structure was used for something. Perhaps you climbed the stairs to additional sales space, a dance hall, a lawyer%u2019s or accountant%u2019s office, or an illegal speakeasy. In any case, there was something going on up there. Today, most people have no idea what lurks in the upper levels of old buildings. I%u2019m sure some simply don%u2019t care, but I%u2019m just nosey enough to want to explore such spaces whenever possible.One such opportunity came on a Saturday morning back in the 1970s. when Lynn and I happened to be inside the ornate Tippecanoe County Courthouse. All the county offices were closed for the weekend, yet the building was open, for a reason that now escapes me. We were just wandering around when Lynn spotted an inconspicuous door that was ajar. I pushed it open to reveal a tall set of wooden stairs rising up%u2014to somewhere. There wasn%u2019t anyone around to ask permission, so we started climbing%u2014and ended up inside the dome.To say the least, it was a remarkably special place. The normally hidden support structure of iron plates, beams, and rivets was all exposed and, in the center, a set of spindly cast-iron stairs rose up to the very top, where we could see the mechanism for the dome%u2019s clock. Lynn placed her hand on the railing, causing the entire stairway to shake. It was obviously not OSHA-approved, so we decided not to climb any further. But there was still a lot to admire about the magnificence of the place%u2014the sheer volume of the dome, the meticulous craftsmanship, the architectural design. Sadly, this extraordinary space was only being used for storage of old records.Not long after our courthouse investigation, a fellow I was working for purchased an old 4-story (5 if you counted the basement) brick-and-limestone building a block away from the Courthouse that had most recently belonged to a roofing contractor. After taking possession, we had to deal with decades of accumulation. The place reminded me somewhat of Grandma and Grandpa%u2019s attic, but a great deal messier. Amid the piles of trash, there were beat-up office desks and file cabinets, brittle asphalt-shingle samples, window frames with broken panes of glass, and hundreds of rolls of wallpaper that crumbled when unrolled for inspection. It certainly looked as if everything was destined for the dumpster but I kept rummaging through the detritus for treasures.Just as I was about to give up, I was drawn to a cardboard carton tucked behind a pile of trash. Inside, amid more rubbish, I discovered a pair of odd-looking mechanical devices. As I turned them over in my hands, they increasingly sparked my interest. Each was constructed of two cast-brass pieces which were loosely fastened together