Every Nook and Cranny

The Return

For a long period, the Tower was closed to the public. But on Sept. 15, 1999, after the design and installation of stylish steel bars for safety (some called it a "crown," others a "cage"), the Tower reopened with great celebration including an orchestral concert on the Main Mall and fireworks.

When he heard the news, Bloebaum immediately wanted to go back and visit the observation deck. "I heard that the Tower was going to be reopened and remembered thinking, Wow, the Tower's reopening! They had Tower tours, and you could sign up for them through the Texas Union." But more importantly, it had been made handicap accessible. The younger of his two daughters, Heidi, then 25, has cerebral palsy affecting her legs and required a power chair. (Now 50, she can get around on just a walker or with canes.)

To make it handicapped accessible, UT had installed a false floor to raise the level of the walkway so a chair-bound visitor could get outside.

The excitement of that visit is still palpable more than a quarter century on. "Gosh, having not been there since the mid-'50s - I mean, wow, this is like a dream come true!" he recalls feeling.

Bloebaum says he is fascinated with buildings and their schematics, blueprints and maps. And that's where things got more mysterious. "Anything that's closed off or redone, I wonder, well, why is it like this, and what's behind it? And why is it done that way? On the 29th floor, there was a wooden panel there. Where did it lead?"

Now, with that return trip 26 years past, even those memories have become blurry. He remembers a door with a frosted window he couldn't see through. He remembers one door in particular on the 29th floor and wondering what it led to. "I would give just about anything to go back there," Bloebaum says, but travel is now difficult for him.

Above and Beyond

I want to answer Bloebaum's questions, so I resolve to visit the 29th floor and make a video so he can see behind the doors that had fired such curiosity in him. I myself, in 32 years of reporting on The University of Texas, have never been behind those doors. Kim Barker, the University's historic preservationist, agrees to be my guide.

We ride the Tower elevator to the 27th floor, then climb stairs to the 29th floor just as Alan and David had done so many times. Barker unlocks a north-facing door in the middle of the L-shaped room, revealing a long flight of metal stairs ascending north through a cavernous, attic-like space. It is a mechanical room with brick walls, enormous air handlers, pipes, cables. Slivers of daylight from around the clocks and fluorescent lights guide our steps.

At the top of the stairs, we reach a landing and follow a catwalk to the left. Three stairs up and three stairs down lead us safely over a long shaft that connects the north clock to a central drive that keeps all the clocks in sync. Then we turn to the south and climb another flight passing large air handlers, and then up a final flight back to the north.

Here, we are greeted by three doors: left, right and center. The center doorway is both short and raised, requiring both ducking and a big step over a thick stone threshold. Now we are outside on a tiny balcony. Just overhead and behind us are gigantic bells.

Back inside, Barker navigates her enormous key ring to unlock the east-facing door. This is the carillon room. After being in the cavernous mechanical room, it is oddly homey here, with paneled walls, two guest chairs, a small round coffee table, a lamp, and framed photos. A small window air conditioning unit is not necessary today.

The carillon player itself dominates the trailer-size room, with a high bench that could seat four and rows of levers for feet and hands to play the bells, each lever attached to ropes above. On the long front panel where sheet music would rest sits a portrait of a young Hedwig Thusnelda Kniker, the carillon's namesake, in her 1920s bob, whose estate greatly expanded the number of bells during the 1980s.

On the east wall are the scribbled names of all the official carillonneurs since the position was established in 1950. Out a low window that opens to a balcony on the east - what's this? A cracked egg twice the size of a chicken egg. Now something large and black down and to our left moves. A black vulture sitting on the balcony floor and accustomed to her solitude has detected our visit. And now we see that one of the framed portraits on the coffee table is of her.

Locking the carillon room door behind us, we proceed straight across to the west, and through that door, at the building's northwest corner, we reach a vertical steel ladder of the kind you might see on a naval ship. At the top of that ladder, a square hatch opens to the outdoors, the bell level. Partially disabled from a stroke, I already have pushed my luck by coming this far; this view will not be mine to enjoy. But as it is precisely 3:45, I can see through the hatch above one of the electrically triggered clappers go off, and a startlingly loud Westminster chime - three-fourths of it (as it is three-quarters past the hour) - rings out just above me as we share a laugh.