[SOC] soc

[Bob Krueger]

>From bob, WB9UKQ.
Not so much a SOC story but something that a tower top worker might be 
interested in.  enjoy.

Where Is King Kong When a Bulb Goes Out?
By CHARLIE LEDUFF      (N.Y. times)
It was a cold and windy evening, which doesn't mean much, unless you are one 
of the men hired to change the light bulb at the pinnacle of the Empire 
State Building.
The 10-inch, 620-watt aviation beacon went dark in October, around the same 
time that a man waving a wooden musket and wearing a puffy pirate's outfit 
plunged from the observation deck and died on the outcropping of the 21st 
floor. This interesting bit of synchronicity was related by some engineers 
who were congregated on the 85th floor, where they make their offices.
''Next time, he should try the door,'' said a rotund radioman who was 
halfway through his second jelly doughnut.
Deke Johnson, 38, a Kentucky-born gamecock whose job it was to scale the 
1,454 feet and 6 9/16 inches from the street level to inspect the filament 
in the bulb, shook his head in mock horror at their conversation. ''They 
sure know how to take the thrill out of the thing,'' he mumbled to himself.
The official job title held by Mr. Johnson is antenna tuner. He is the son 
of a good Christian man, he said, an unsuccessful insurance salesman who 
donated his life to the occupation. The son tried the business as well, 
found that he was no good at it, and found this job paying him $17.50 an 
hour with medical benefits and a 401(k).
''Hell, I'm just an old high school boy, and I made it to the top of the 
Empire State,'' he said in a thick Dixie drawl as he zipped his freezer coat 
up to his chest early Saturday morning. The winds would reach perhaps 30 
miles per hour at the summit and the temperature would hover around zero. 
''The only wind and temperature gauges up there's your hind end,'' he said. 
''But it's pretty accurate.''
He was to be joined on the steel needle by Keith Unfried, 40, an antenna 
installer, and Tom Silliman, the boss.
Mr. Silliman has the reputation as one of the best antenna men in the world. 
A stout and robust man of 55, he is a designer and manufacturer of 
commercial antennas, a competent welder and electrician, and above all, an 
able climber. He has made more than 100 trips to the top of the Empire 
State, beginning in the early 1970's.
To maintain his reputation and business relationship with the building, Mr. 
Silliman had to get the work done in the appointed time. Two days. During 
normal operation, 17 million watts are pumping from the antennas at the top 
of the building; for the men to accomplish the repair work, four television 
stations had to be shut down and 16 radio stations rerouted through other 
antennas. The weather had to be ignored and fear left on the ground.
''You climb up there when it's a live wire and it'll cook you like 
popcorn,'' Mr. Silliman said around 1 a.m. as he separated his tools and 
wires while the television stations were taken off the air. ''But you have 
to remember that a television station isn't making money when all you're 
seeing is a black screen. Time is of the essence here.''
Unlike most roughriders, these men did not drive into town in fancy cars, 
drink bourbon with beer chasers or chase women they would never remember. 
They did not bring good-luck pieces. They carried no tokens or amulets or 
pictures of their wives, just a firm belief in the Lord Jesus Christ and a 
sure belief in their grip.
They came by plane and then by a bus and then by the subway train. They came 
from Chandler, Ind., a small rural town in the southwestern corner of the 
state that is the headquarters of Mr. Silliman's concern, Electronics 
Research Inc.
They are simple men and they dressed in leather and canvas and thermals and 
whiskers. Their faces were red and lined and wind-whipped.
Excepting the forlorn and the foolish, the 70-year-old building has good 
luck for the working person. While the building was erected over one year 
and 45 days -- ahead of schedule -- only two ironworkers fell to their 
deaths, and no window washer ever has.
The tower begins above the 105th story, the original mooring mast for 
dirigibles and 1,250 feet from the ground. A hatch opens out into the 
evening air, and from here the light bulb -- which can burn for two years --  
is 204 feet away. Just 117 feet of this climb is enclosed ladders and 
platforms built of U.S. Steel; the spire grows narrower and narrower until a 
crow's nest is reached about 87 feet from the bulb. The crow's nest is less 
than four feet wide and has no railings, and it is a straight plummet to a 
certain death.
There are few sounds besides the howling of the wind, and when a man spits, 
he will watch it disappear into the night, calculating that it will take 
minutes before it strikes the East River.
The men strapped on their gear, including Manila safety ropes. But they 
cannot use those ropes until after they have free-climbed the remaining 87 
feet on 4-inch bolts welded into the antenna, much the same way a high-wire 
diver must.
It was the language of the barracks up there. The humor was pickled, but the 
work, like their footing, was precise. They claimed that they were not 
concerned with heights, but when it was time to go up, Mr. Unfried took a 
deep breath and said to himself, ''I hate this part.''
Once on top of the vibrating antenna that is about the width of a softball, 
they locked their ropes into place and the blue sparks from the welding 
began to fly, giving the appearance that the men were being struck by 
lightning.
Only the welding of new tuning brackets and heating strips that keep the 
antenna free of ice and in proper frequency would be done that night. It was 
not until the next afternoon, during sunlight hours, that they tightened the 
radio antennas into position and solved the light problem. It turned out to 
be a broken electrical line, not a broken light bulb, and the beacon was 
restored at 4:31 p.m. Saturday. As it turned out, the beacon would not blink 
as it usually does because the fuse that makes it do so had burned out. 
Another job for another day.
When the light came back on, the men lingered for a few minutes, and Deke 
Johnson lighted a cigarette and leaned back on his heels. They admired the 
Statue of Liberty and they admired a city that they would never want to live 
in. Then they scaled back down, took off their tools and headed for the bar