OPENING DOORS:

A New York City doorman’s secrets and stories

INTRODUCTION

I am a doorman. I stand at my post in a uniformed stance of prestige. I am supposed to

represent excellence, a perk of feeling comfortable, for the upper income brackets of people who
reside in New York City. I wait for the moment to arise where I can dart for the door and open it
for my tenants. I’m polite, and kind. I flash a million dollar smile, always saying the right things.
“Good morning”, “Good afternoon”, ‘Good evening”, or “You may want to bring your umbrella
today, they say it’s going to rain”. I extend a warm hospitality to those coming home from their
everyday grind. Give them their mail, packages, or dry cleaning. And for the ones who leave
early, a boost if you will. Start them off on the right foot, with a little attitude. “Go get em,
you’re the shit”. They fucking love it. Absolutely eat it up. But what is a doorman?

DOORMAN: a person on duty at the door to a large building.

Thanks a lot. Whoever came up with that definition, pegged it oh so wrong. A doorman is so
much more. We are counselors, doctors; we’re psychiatrists, and ESPN sports analysts,
weathermen, babysitters, dog walkers, friends, matchmakers, dealers, cable technicians, and
phone-operators.
We’re supposed to be this book of vast knowledge at your doorstep, literally. What time does a
particular movie start? I have that answer. Are there any apartments for sale? Have the answer to
that one as well. Is the plumber on his way? Yes. No. Yes. No. You can keep the questions
coming, because I can go all night. I am a doorman, been so for quite some time. For the most
part I do enjoy it. Where else can you meet so many different kinds of people, with different
mannerisms, all living together in the same place? It has led to many stories, and anecdotes,
quotes and quibbles. Some might even say what I’m doing is wrong, telling people’s business
and laying it out all over the table. Is it un-ethical of me to spill their dirt? Who cares? I’m trying
as best I can to be informative in the everyday machinations of a resident building, with a
doorman. You’d be surprised what we all know. What we’ve seen and heard. And what secrets
tenants have wanted us to keep hidden. So allow me now to open the doors of just one building
and the life of a doorman who has worked in it.

CHAPTER 1
CHOCK FULL’ O NUTS

A super once told me, regarding the building he tended to, “Dealing with the people here, I
can easily get a job with Bellevue or any other mental institute”. He was referring to the many
colorful characters that inhabited his place of work. They are tucked away on different floors, in
every building. And I do mean every building. They hide their true feelings and emotions behind
bottles of Celexa, Prozac, Paxil, and Zoloft. Or they simply walk around numb from Vicodin and
Percocets. They may have a thirst issue. And quench that with bottles of Vodka and all sorts of
different liquors. And they do this in order to blend in with society, forced to conformity with the
aid of vices and prescription drugs just to live a normal life. Isn’t that special? I’ve dealt with a
few. Some are way out there, while others are harmless but not in a right state of mind
nonetheless.

CHAPTER 3
A DAY AT THE RACES

A) Win
The everyday job of a doorman, porter, handyman, superintendent, have a lot in common. These
positions are held down by a great number of minority workers. Not just Blacks and Hispanics,
but men and women of various nationalities. Although the numbers may not be an accurate one,
we’ll say there are at least more than 60,000 positions like these throughout the city. Again, not
quite exact, but I’d say more than 90 percent of these jobs are performed by a minority worker.
God bless these souls who maintain these residential buildings, commercial ones, theatres, etc.
All in working order, everyday, all the time. If we take some time out and reflect on the city
itself, the diversity is one of the main attractions of it. One is not confined to the same scenery,
day after day. If its food, you have your pick of just about anything your palate desires. If you
decide on a Broadway show, one can choose from a selection of musicals. Or perhaps you may
go off Broadway and see something of a bit more serious nature. When dealing with movies, you
have the mainstream box office bonanzas. Or you may want something of an art house type, with
subtitles. The fact remains, the city has it all.
Where am I going with all of this? It’s easy. People of all races and color help out every day in
order to make this city run smoothly, and one would think that we should all get along just fine.
For the most part we do. But there are little bumps in the road here and there. These bumps
however, sometimes grow into large potholes. It is these potholes that reveal the true nature of
individuals, and how they view other people. And so we have what is called racism. This is made
up of six ugly letters that form an even nastier word. Unfortunately, everyone is a racist to a
degree. Yes I said it. Everyone is a racist! But I also say to a degree. It’s really more about how
far you let someone else know this.
Are we really two faced? Should we be acknowledged as hypocrites, living in a hypocritical
world? In the comfort of our homes, we can say whatever we want, speak about whomever we
choose. And share these thoughts with family and close friends. No harm done. Yet, when
surrounded by our co-workers and dealing, with people job related. We seek to say the politically
correct things, as not to offend and hurt anyone’s feelings. I think that kind of makes us
hypocrites wouldn’t you say so?
As a doorman, I have been exposed to various types of criticism, snobby remarks, and racial
comments, all served to me on a big fat platter. Problem is I didn’t expect it to be on any menu
when I took the job. But it happens. One way or another, we all have experienced some kind of
uncomfortable feeling at a job for overhearing something that was said. In some cases, that
something said, was probably directed right at you. But it’s how one deals with these situations
that separate a person from the rest of the pack. Some get easily offended, others choose to
retaliate, others might take things in stride, and merely brush off words as if nothing. I have
always chosen the latter. This book is a satirical look at my job and what I have encountered in
my years doing it. Therefore the next few incidents, I have found them to be funny to me. With
each year that passed and put under my belt, I sort of developed a thick skin for the comments I
often heard. Is it because of my laid back nature? It may. But I see it as this. If I didn’t take every
word out of everyone’s mouth with a grain of salt, I would have quit my job a very long time
ago. If anything, it has made me stronger as a person to deal with those who I deem to be
somewhat ignorant.
I mentioned before that it depends on an individual, and how they speak in front of another,
that defines them on whether or not they are racist. Sometimes we experience a slip of the
tongue, and make a reference without noticing. That is understandable, and can be brushed
underneath a rug, without any backlash. But when one person constantly makes remarks
regarding race and gender, it becomes all too apparent this person really means what they say.
One particular woman in my building is just that. I’d put her at mid to late seventies. She travels
back and forth from New York to Connecticut, all year round. This woman I may add is
someone that I have gotten along with in the past three years now. Before that, there was a
stretch of years where we kind of didn’t see eye to eye. I would see her talking to the handyman
as I walked up the stairs to the building. As the door opened, whatever they were speaking about
abruptly stopped. I’ll have you know this had nothing to do with the handyman, no conspiracies
there. It was her. One day while I was approaching the door, I remember seeing her quickly
using her index finger to tap her chest. She also noticeably was nodding her head in my
direction. Putting all these motions together, what she really was doing was telling the
handyman, “Watch out, here he comes”. I emphasize on the word “noticeably” because I saw her
doing it. It was so obvious, blatant as to what was going on.
My first racial moment with her comes on the heels of me being new to the job. But first I must
describe myself. I am a somewhat light skinned Latino male. Reason for this, there have been
times where I have been confused for a light skinned Black man. This woman probably thought I
was so. I remember one Sunday evening she sat in the lobby to bullshit with me for a few
minutes, while she waited for some clothes to dry downstairs in the laundry room. Suddenly
there was a gentleman at the door. It was a deliveryman with food for one of the apartments. This
gentleman happened to be of Mexican descent. As routine, a doorman must notify the tenant of
their delivery then let them up. So far, it was a normal thing. After the deliveryman got into the
elevator and went up, this woman decided to let me know “You have to be careful with these
guys”, she said. I agreed with her. Sometimes deliverymen wander through the buildings,
slipping menus under the doors of random apartments. This is a big no-no. A good portion of
buildings in the city refuse menus of any type. She wasn’t referring to that. “These Mexican boys
are gang members” she said. The seed was planted.
People either see a glass half empty, or half full. You can teeter-totter between being an
optimist, a pessimist, or someone like me stuck in the middle. This I believe falls under the
category of being a realist. I accept things for what they are. Truth be told, regarding this
woman’s comments about Mexicans being gang members, there are many of them. But last I
checked there are gangs also made up of Blacks, Hispanics, Whites, Japanese, you name it. If
you want to take it a step further we can. Gangs have been around for centuries. In the early
1800’s there were people like Billy the Kid, and The James Gang. These men ruled in the Wild
West. Moving down some, towards the late 1800’s new gangs came upon the scene. These were
groups of immigrants who formed together. There was the Irish thugs like the Dead Rabbits,
Italian gangs like The Five Points Gang. And even a Jewish set called The Monk Eastman Gang
that ruled the streets of New York with iron fists. None of these gangs I believe had any
members who were Mexican. Catch my drift?
Another time was when she came home one evening. This was towards the holidays. As she
got her mail she engaged in conversation with another tenant. They went on about how the
holidays bring about celebrations for different people. Catholics celebrate Christmas, and people
of the Jewish faith celebrate Hanukah or Chanukah. Without hesitating, she quickly glanced my
way and asked “How about Kwanzaa, when is that? This can be perceived to be a regular
question, but at the same time there was a subliminal message very well hidden in it. Although I
have nothing against other religions and what they represent and celebrate, I am Catholic.
Therefore I am one who celebrates Christmas. The holiday of Kwanzaa is mostly considered to
be celebrated by African-Americans. It is a holiday that was created by Ron Karenga, an
African-American scholar and social activist in 1966. Kwanzaa is a weeklong festival which
honors African-American culture. Last I checked this has nothing to do with me. But this lady
felt the need to ask. The seeds were being watered.
Some time had passed and everything was pretty quiet, compared to my weekend adventures in
the building. I was now a full time doorman and dealing with the tenants the best way I could. I
remember my friend coming home, and I went outside to help her with her bags and such. As she
stopped in the lobby to gather her mail, a cleaning lady was leaving. As she handed me the keys
to the apartment she was working in, I smiled and politely said “Gracias”. This is thank you in
Spanish. Upon saying this, I sensed a shift in the building coming in the direction of the mail
boxes. The cleaning lady answered back by telling me to have a nice day, and going on that she
would not be here the following week. All of this was said in Spanish. To which I acknowledged
her and continued a slight repertoire, speaking in our native tongue. The cleaning lady eventually
left, but I noticed my friend just staring at me quizzically. “I didn’t know you knew how to speak
Spanish” she said to me. “I should, I’ve been hearing it all my life” I answered back. She pried a
little further into the matter with me telling her that my parents were of Hispanic background,
and even though I was born here in the states, I am considered to be a Hispanic also. I had killed
two birds with one stone. No more questions about when is Kwanzaa, and no more Spanish
remarks or comments. Notch one for the doorman. I had just put a foot in her garden, and rustled
the soil a bit.
Needless to say the comments stopped, at least not whispered in my ears. This lady was a
fighter, and she wouldn’t stay down. A time came by when the building was looking to fill the
position of handyman. We were blessed to have amongst us the very best in a Mr. Fix-it. This
came in the form of a five foot six, blond haired Irishman who so much resembled Barney
Rubbles. He lasted in our building about two weeks, all for the inability to fix anything. And
though his stay was limited, his encounter with a certain woman must have been a memorable
one. Upon trying to solve a plumbing problem on one of the floors, he was met by this woman.
They engaged in a minor discussion that he would later recant to me. At one point in their
conversation, he said that Hispanics, or Spanish came into play. This woman, ever so the battler,
yet again took a swipe. She told Barney the only Spanish he needed to know is how to say
“Don’t shoot me!” She came out swinging and connected. A flower was now beginning to grow.
Some more time passed on and the building was going through changes, remodeling ones.
Management had approved for the floors to be done. This was going to be a big job being our
building consists of twelve floors plus the penthouse. The board had selected two different
patterns regarding carpeting, and wallpaper. In order to get a slight consensus of what the tenants
thought, I was approached and asked if I wouldn’t mind getting some reactions from them. This
meant leaving an easel in the lobby displaying the patterns, and asking tenants to take a moment
and see what they liked. One pattern was a bluish carpet with tan wallpaper, or what the building
currently has now, a greenish carpet with a lightly colored and designed paper. During this time,
my friend was nowhere to be found. She was actually out of the country on vacation. The tenants
would come home every night and give me their opinions, which I recorded for the board. In the
end, the green was eventually chosen. Problem was solved; let’s move onto the next big issue.
My friend finally came back from her vacation. Relaxed and tanned I might add. Once again,
here was I helping with her bags and stuff. And once again I engaged in words with her. I
explained to her about what was going on in the building, and what was new. I also talked to her
about the decision to redo the floors. She was for the most part happy this was being done. When
a building upgrades, even though a slight raise in the maintenance is unavoidable, an increase in
property value is most welcomed. Everything up to now was moving along well, until she finally
swung, this one being a disastrous first round knock-out.
In all my years at the job and interacting with this woman, never had I felt so baffled, and
possibly upset at what she had said. What made it more compelling was, it had nothing to do
with me being Hispanic, or directed towards African-Americans. She looked me in my eyes and
nonchalantly asked, referring to the colors picked for the floors, “Are they Jew colors?” We
often relate feelings with colors. For example, if someone is jealous they may be GREEN with
envy. How about, a person being so mad they were RED with anger. A scared person may be
considered to be YELLOW. We can also tickle someone PINK, and if a person is sad they are
feeling BLUE. Hell, I’ll even throw in BLUE balls. But what were Jew colors? I ran this
question several times in my head, though stuck on stupid for the answer. I really don’t think a
rabbi during Rosh Hashanah, with me blowing those words through a Shofar would be able to
answer it. And still she had the nerve to ask. Was she really being inquisitive? Or was it just
another way to lay down the law once and for all, who I was dealing with? On any other normal
day, I pray that my opening and closing of the door is at a minimum. But for this moment, this
night, right there and then, I prayed extra hard that someone would come home. This was so I
can ask that person the same question, and put this woman on the spot. Unfortunately no one did.
I stood in the lobby speechless, as she made her way towards the elevator and went up. There is
now a great big bush, with many flowers, thorny ones at that.
This woman comes and goes, as the days. I put no mind into what she tells me, unless it has
something to do with the building or her apartment. I let her words roll off like many other things
that occur at the job, you have to. One can easily call me a hypocrite for saying I get along with
this woman now, or for just dealing with her in general. I guess I am. Call me what you will. But
it’s very hard to not interact with people. I’m in a position that whether or not I adore someone
greatly, or I abhor someone immensely, I must deal with them anyway. Plus if she wants to give
me a tip at the end of the year, it has nothing to do with her being a racist. It has more to do with
her at least appreciating the work I do. She might still think of me differently but I was kind of
relieved with the one last incident in the lobby. After feeling her blows directed at my race, I
took it personal. But when a person attacks all races, well that’s a different story altogether. We
shouldn’t feel anger, but remorse. These people are ones that live a miserable life, hating
everything and everyone, including the one person that stares back in the mirror, them. They
possibly live alone as does this woman, trying to get a hold of anything they can, any issue, any
comment, just to make it through the day. Good luck with that. A flower has just been yanked
from this bush. Sadly enough, there are still many more left, in gardens all over the world.
 CHAPTER 6
MORE A MENORAH FOR ME, MORE A MENORAH FOR YOU

While conjuring up ideas of writing a book, one of my instant memories in the building was that
of the menorah. Both the menorah and Christmas tree took a life of their own for lobby
recognition. It was this once a year battle that had as much hype as some pay per view boxing
match. And I didn’t have to pay some ludicrous amount of $59.99 to watch it. All I had to do
was sit back and enjoy for free. So for the boxing enthusiasts who just love a good fight, this
one’s for you.

HOLIDAY HAVOC

The tree fought out of the red corner wearing the red trunks with green trimming. The Menorah
fought out of the blue corner wearing white trunks with blue trimming. Both items were looking
svelte and up for the challenge.

ROUND 1
They danced around for much of the first round, basically getting a feel of each other. It was a
series of bobbing and weaving by both the items. The tree managed to land one jab out of ten
thrown. It was a graze type punch, but still connected for a point.

ROUND 5
The tree never looked quite right after the low blow. The branches seemed to hang down a bit.
The menorah knew this might be an advantage and leaned in with more intensity. It let go of jabs
and hooks. Despite being weak in the limbs, the tree defended itself nicely. At 1:58 yet another
stoppage would come. The menorah finally got the tree back into a corner. It worked the mid
section non stop. The tree now swung with the right as the menorah timed it perfectly and duck.
In a quick instant it tried to lean in with a right of its own and the two items came together
crashing heads. The menorah stepped back in a daze and fell to a knee. A bulb had broken. The
menorah was looked at by its corner and then cleaned up. As the fight resumed, thirty seconds in,
the tree leaned in once again and broke another bulb. The referee warned the tree for its behavior
and threatened to take a point away. The rest of the round finished without either display doing
much else.

CHAPTER 7
CHOCK FULL O NUTS PART 2: LIFE IS LIKE A SIDESHOW

B.B. THE CLOWN BARKER:

“Step right up, step right up folks it’s the greatest show on the planet. There’s no need for
pushing and shoving, there’s room for everyone here. These acts will amaze you. They will
captivate you. They will leave you breathless and filled with awe. They are without a doubt the
most real and craziest attractions you’ve ever seen. And they are all gathered in one place, and
one building. From the darkest parts of the globe we’ve assembled a band of characters to bring
you one show that will knock your socks off. We have the Wah-Wahs. Their shrieking, ear
piercing screams are enough to even shatter your dreams. If you like we have ear plugs for a
dollar on sale at the booth. There’s also the mysterious Dr. Deadbeat Loveless and her twins. But
be careful as not to get too close. I’ve seen a many men in and out her door, each having been
fully and I do mean fully operated on, if you know what I mean. Ma’am, you may want to buy a
blindfold along with earplugs for your little boy for that attraction. We also have the great fire
starters. That’s right I said it, fire starters not fire eaters. They are the masters of starting arson,
igniting and lighting, turning and burning, flambéing and sautéing.
Last but not least we have Ms. ---------- She is the tragic case of a lonely lady with the fetid
and mephitic, malodorous odor on her that not too many people can get accustomed to. Will you
be the one to survive? I warn you now this show is not for the faint of heart. You may be
terrified, you may be horrified and electrified, but all the same I want you to come along for the
ride. So right now please enter through the curtains and purchase your tickets if you dare,
because the show is about to begin”.

CHAPTER 9
SPARE THE ROD, SPOIL A CHILD. CREATE A MONSTER?

Raising a child is a very big project, especially in this day and age. It takes strength and
fortitude, and a whole mess of patience. I’d say help, but hopefully that’s a given from some
family members. Now in this very important process of rearing a child, the last thing any parent
would want to listen to, is someone else telling them how to go about raising one. Nor do they
want to listen to how one should discipline their kid. It is a very touchy subject for most. I know
this first hand because I have two of my own. Unfortunately, I must tread this line, and very well
go beyond in order to specifically get down to the root of the problem. I firmly believe in the fact
that nowadays, many parents have become soft.

CHAPTER 12
WHITE GLOVED SERVICE…..AH HUH?

“Having a doorman waiting for you when you get home is a feeling of safety for some, for others
it’s a status symbol. To simply know that a gentleman is waiting to open a door for someone,
greet them with a smile; give them their mail, or packages and dry cleaning. Probably have the
doorman run over to help when in need of assistance, possibly talk down to them, or just vent
about an issue that wasn’t taken care of in a belligerent and degrading manner. All of these
examples can really put a huge chip on someone’s shoulder definitely. I speak of these examples
on what I’ve experienced and other stories I’ve been told. I’ve seen firsthand the way some
people act.”

“One of the major selling points to buying an apartment in the city may be that it has doorman
service. It is having that body there in a little space, just waiting. Sticking around to open a door
or hail a cab for someone, which really makes a difference in price. Real estate brokers feed on
this. In any listing it’s posted on their flyer. It may read like this, “So and so apartment, one
bedroom on the Upper East Side. DOORMAN BUILDING, no pets allowed” and then how much
is being asked. I speak of having a doorman as a perk and it pretty much is a big one. In all my
years I have taken my job seriously and have tried to the best of my ability, to be a good
doorperson. I have always been polite and I have always helped in situations with residents and
even the building itself. So why, I ask, would some people still take advantage of that kind of
service? This doesn’t necessarily have to deal with me, it’s a gripe that many doorman have
throughout the city. There are just some residents who make the job a nightmare. Every
doorman knows too well who they are and they’ll converse about them with other residents, or
amongst the staff. These men or women are known as “A__H___, D__K, C__NT, and B_TC_.
And as extreme as the names are, the service given to them may fit right in.”

. “(Warning to any residents in a doorman building) DO NOT fall into this abyss of lack thereof
service. Don’t B an ADC and B, because your treatment becomes A doorman’s MO to put U on
par with being a V.I.P. in the class of PU type service, LOL. Doormen and supers and handymen
are very familiar with the other blue collar working class men and women in the neighborhoods.
They are workers from DHL and FedEx. They are workers from UPS and the mail carriers.
There have been stories of a doorman not accepting a package out of spite, possibly telling the
UPS worker to hold onto a certain package an extra couple of days.”

*THE ASYLUM

“Alright people listen up, these are the rules. They are very strict rules so I suggest you take
heed and stick to them. Off to your right you will empty out your pockets of any items you may
be carrying. They will then be placed in the trays on the table. Said items include any loose
change, your cell phones, beepers, wallets, jewelry, including rings and earrings. If by some
chance you have an extra paper clip that was left over from a stack of whatever you were enrapt
in earlier in the day, and by some happenstance it ended in your pocket, it GOES in the tray. Am
I crystal on all of this? I will let you know right now, these requests are not for the protection of
the patients from you, but for your protection from the patients. If you look down at the floor you
will see a yellow line throughout pretty much the entire building and its floors. This is the line
you will maintain on at all times. The fine line you will be walking on if you will. Am I crystal?
What is this yellow line for? Again it is for your benefit. It is for keeping a safe distance from
you and the rooms to where these patients reside in. I strongly urge you to take heed and fair
warning. You will not for any reason attempt at any time in this tour, to get closer with these
patients. If by any chance you actually believe it in your heart that these individuals can be saved
and talked to, then you are sadly mistaken for one and two a foolish idiot. By no means take
anything for granted and never give in to anything you might hear from the mouths of these
patients. You will only be asking for a world of extreme pain.
Behind these doors and walls are housed the lowest of scum. There are miscreants and
deviants, stone cold killers and evil in its purest form. I’m giving you one last chance to think
about what you are about to embark on. Once behind these doors there will be no turning back. If
all of your life you were raised up into believing in the chipper and wholesome goodness of
sugar coated gum drops and candy lane chutes and ladders really does exist, I suggest you hold
onto those dreams of children and walk away very fast. For if not you will know what hell is. Oh
yeah people it exists. When you hear stories of the boogeyman and things that go bump in the
night, they are merely talking about the fucking formalities of this sick and demented parlor of
everything bleak and cataclysmic. Am I crystal? We will start from the top and work our way
down. Shall we begin? Then let’s enter through these doors”.

“She raised the vial towards my way and said “Here take a hit”. Many things raced through my
head at this moment as I stood there. What if another resident comes home? What if someone got
off the elevator? What if the super was watching all of this in his apartment on the monitor? She
was attempting to hand me a hit of cocaine in plain sight of the lobby camera. I was new to this
job. What a way to begin a brand new career.”