It’s Friday and I’m in a small utility room near the top of the 13-story Milwaukee Athletic Club, watching Bango the Buck get a crash course in rappelling down a building.
“This is an emergency mechanism,” explains a pleasant and vaguely hippie-ish woman who reminds me of that lady who lived in a tree in the ’90s. “Think of it like a seatbelt. It’ll catch you if you go too fast. Oh, I love your little tail!”
The Milwaukee Bucks mascot is accompanied by two photographers who have been dutifully documenting the past 45 minutes: gearing up on the first floor of the Athletic Club—harness, helmet, gloves, walkie talkie, two chunky mechanisms attached to the chest, a dizzying array of carabiner hooks—and receiving a quick training session on a small ladder in the utility room. At no point during the process has the person inside Bango spoken, taken off a piece of the costume, or given any indication that Bango is anything other than a furry, anthropomorphic deer. They never break character.
Minutes later, on the very top of the roof, the downtown skyline gorgeous in the September sun, I watch Bango go over. A few minutes after that, photographer and all-around swell guy Isaac Rowlett goes over. Then it’s just me.
“Can I get a smile?” asks a woman who’s snapping pictures. She does this as I’m busy getting hooked up to the final ropes, turning my back to the abyss, edging my heels over the edge, and ignoring every instinct in my body that tells me walking down the side of a 13-story building is a bad idea.
“NO!” I shout, probably way too harshly. I don’t want to do this. Why am I doing this? I am absolutely terrified out of my mind.
Despite later speculation from friends and family that I either A.) lost a bet, or B.) am going through a midlife crisis, the reason for my rappelling adventure is more civic-minded: I’m doing it for Historic Milwaukee, a splashy promo for their annual Doors Open event (September 28-29). Doors Open gives the general public behind-the-scenes access to more than 150 buildings in the metro area. Theaters, churches, courthouses, businesses, municipal buildings, you name it. And you absolutely do not have to rappel down the side of them.
I’ve been asked to participate as a “member of the media,” a “VIP,” and a “local luminary.” (I prefer “local yokel” myself.) When I arrive on Friday, I’m joined by actual local luminaries, including Rowlett, WTMJ’s Kristin Brey, Visit Milwaukee’s Claire Koenig, Turner Hall’s Emilio De Torre, and Milwaukee Fire Chief Aaron D. Lipski. Oh, and Bango, of course.
Organizing everything is the special events director for Historic Milwaukee, Grace Fuhr. Eight years ago, Grace convinced me to do a similar promo at the then-new Adventure Rock on Commerce Street. I remember being vaguely terrified of Adventure Rock’s indoor climbing walls back then; now, Adventure Rock is laughably tame, the site of random weekday visits and children’s birthday parties. This is different, though. I can’t quite imagine a bunch of 8-year-olds swinging down the side of a downtown building.
“At least my phone won’t break if I go SPLAT on the pavement!” De Torre says in the lobby of the Athletic Club as we empty our pockets into plastic bags. I suggest that such talk might be frowned upon, like making jokes about bombs while going through airport security.
About security: Handling the day’s rappelling is Over The Edge, an aptly named global company that specializes in, well, urban rappelling. My eventual out-of-body fear aside, everyone at Over The Edge is professional and no-nonsense. As I’m getting geared up in a cluttered side room there are checks and double-checks, triple-checks and quadruple-checks. There are clear and concise explanations. The main Over The Edge dude is blasting some kind of demented circus music from his phone—maybe it’s The Residents?—but I dunno, it seems appropriate and fun. For the moment, I feel fine.
For the moment.
Fast-forward 30 minutes and, well, you read the first part. After lashing out at the photographer I gingerly step out over the edge. I don’t like to use the word “insane,” but I feel insane.
“Just pull some slack with your right hand and pull the lever with your left,” an Over The Edge tech tells me as I begin my descent. And for what feels like the next 14 hours, that’s what I do: pull a little slack with my right hand, and slowly squeeze a lever with my left hand. (The actual time it takes me to descend ends up being about 10 minutes.) The lever drops me a little further down the line, a little further to the ground below. I keep my eyes focused on the building in front of me and refuse to look down or over my shoulder. I breathe. I move my feet. I get into a rhythm. I can do this.
“HI! YOU’RE DOING GREAT!”
Oh yeah, there’s another Over The Edge tech standing on a ledge about three stories down. I was told she would be there, but I’m startled by her sudden appearance anyway.
“Just step off this ledge like you did the last one,” she says. “You might be hanging in space for a bit, but that’s normal.”
Perfect. The two things that have given me some semblance of feeling grounded—my feet on the side of the building—will now be gone. I’ll be “hanging in space.” I can’t believe I’m doing this.
But I am doing this, so I continue. I mean, what else can I do? I keep applying pressure to the lever and keep making my way down the line. I’m making progress but it feels like it’s taking forever. Everything is agonizingly slow. My hands and shoulders begin to hurt. I want it to be over. I really, really want it to be over.
And then, improbably, it is. I’m on the ground. The last few minutes—and maybe, I dunno, the last six floors?—are a complete blur. Did I black out at some point? I honestly don’t know. There’s clapping and cheering. Someone from Over The Edge is patting my back and unclipping me from the line. Grace appears and asks if I’d like a bottle of water.
“YES,” I shout, definitely way too harshly. My voice is shaky and my body feels like it’s shutting down. Adrenaline. People are telling me I did a great job and asking me how I thought it went. I try to come up with a funny reply. I try to come up with something clever. I come up with nothing. I avert my eyes, turn away, and, for a moment, almost start to cry.
I break character.
Over the next few days I get the same question again and again: Why? Sure, there’s the whole “helping Historic Milwaukee promote Doors Open” thing, but there’s gotta be more to it, right?
Yes, and it’s simple: How often do you get a chance to rappel down the side of a building in downtown Milwaukee? Why wouldn’t I do something like that?
It ties in nicely with the raison d’etre for Doors Open: giving folks a chance to explore spaces they wouldn’t normally be able to. Milwaukee is our city, after all, and there’s something wonderful about seeing and using it in new and unexpected ways. My dubious “member of the media” distinction gives me the opportunity to do these sorts of things all the time; Doors Open does something similar for everyone, one weekend every fall.
“I love this view. It feels like it unlocks something.” That’s Isaac Rowlett, a few minutes before our respective descents, on the not-quite-top-of-the-building rooftop deck of the Athletic Club. It is a lovely view—the eastern slice of downtown and the blue expanse of Lake Michigan filling our fields of views—and he’s right. Something feels unlocked. Something feels new. I’m glad I did this.
Oh, and shout-out to Isaac, Kristin, Claire, Emilio, Chief Lipski, and everyone else who, judging by their photos, had a delightful and trauma-free time. Hell, even Bango looked like they had a blast.
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