At a specific second, being a high-rise window washer is both the best and worst job in the world for Pat O'Malley (pictured above). It's when the dreadlocked, pierced-eared 19-year-old hooks a safety rope to a metal clip on his harness, wraps another rope through a metal device called a descender and steps from the roof of a building into nothingness. As he leans away from the building, his backside resting on a solid seat tethered to his harness, he is floating 140 feet above a downtown Omaha sidewalk. His adrenaline flows. His heart rate quickens. He tries to ignore the fear. O'Malley is still surprised he has the job because he's scared of heights. Standing atop a tall ladder is his idea of a nightmare. Looking over a steep ledge makes his stomach flip. But the safety ropes and harnesses make it bearable. He's positive he won't die while making sure a parking garage's windows are spotless. Still, if he thinks about it a little too long, the fear creeps in. So O'Malley often tries to stare straight ahead at the window, repeating a rote cycle of scrub, squeegee, wipe. Like many in the trade, O'Malley didn't plan to become a high-rise window washer, to spend 40 hours a week hanging from tall buildings like a working-class Spider-Man. His buddy Jake Morris, who helped him score the job, didn't either. Even his boss, Jerry Kraus, didn't. Kraus (pictured bottom), who owns Kraus Building Services, got his start as a thrill-seeker. While not managing a beef plant in south Omaha, he'd spend his winters volunteering for the ski patrol at Iowa's Mount Crescent ski area. That led him to take up climbing during the warm-weather months. That led him to think about scaling tall buildings and washing their windows for a living. So Kraus and a buddy started a window-cleaning business about 15 years ago. As downtown Omaha added more buildings prominently featuring glass — the Union Pacific headquarters, the First National Bank Building, the Qwest Center Omaha, the Holland Center for Performing Arts and various parking garages — Kraus split away and started his own business.He eventually hired Morris, who was looking for a steady paycheck and has grown to enjoy the business. Morris suggested that his buddy O'Malley join them. O'Malley grudgingly agreed. Kraus started him on easier, smaller jobs to help him build up a tolerance for towering heights. For the most part, it has worked. But when the job calls for teetering on a ladder instead of dangling from a building, O'Malley still is uncomfortable. Aside from his aversion to heights, O'Malley fits the window-washer mold. He's tall and lanky - a skinny 6 foot 4 - which helps him reach the tucked-away windows that architects seem to love to stick in plans these days. At 6 foot 7, Morris is an ideal fit, too. Both buddies look the part of thrill-seekers, sporting tattoos and plugs - earrings embedded in the lobe.
Only O'Malley isn't going to be a lifer like Morris probably will. O'Malley is cleaning windows with a clear goal, one that lies 4,000 miles away. About a year ago, his friend Ned Sariscsany died in a car accident. Sariscsany had recently taken a tour of Europe and detailed it in a journal. O'Malley has the journal now and intends to use his window-washing cash to fund his own European journey to honor his fallen friend. O'Malley wears a large tattoo on his right leg featuring things Sariscsany enjoyed - the Boston Red Sox and airplanes. Above the tattoo is written "Slainte," the Gaelic word for cheers. O'Malley plans to begin his journey abroad in Dublin. He has already purchased a one-way ticket, departing shortly after the first of the year. Before he can start that trip, though, O'Malley has another journey ahead of him. One that drops eight stories from the top of the Omaha Park 7 building near 15th and Dodge Streets. Hanging from his seat and ropes, he dips a shaggy scrub brush in a bucket of water and cleaning solution. Droplets fall to the sidewalk, plopping in an area cordoned off by orange cones. He rubs away pigeon droppings, layers of dust and other gunk. He then scrapes a squeegee across the window with a squeak. He swipes the top of the glass pane, down one side, down the other, then down the middle. A few quick swipes with a blue rag in each corner leave the window clear as air. O'Malley swings a bit to the left and does the whole thing again on another window. When he's done with a level, he unwraps his main rope from the descender - basically a looping piece of metal through which rope is threaded and wound. When he releases the tension, the rope swishes through the descender, slowing lowering him. Once he hits his desired height, he tightens the rope and wraps it around knobs on the descender, stopping his fall. If that system ever failed, he'd fall a few feet before his safety rope would grab him. Kraus, Morris and O'Malley have never seen that happen. O'Malley repeats his simple procedure, stopping only to chat with Morris, who is almost always hanging nearby. Kraus tries to pair up washers whenever possible, so they can help each other if ropes get stuck or something else happens. O'Malley and Morris usually chat about whatever high jinks they kicked up the night before. They often laugh their way through the job. It's pretty easy on a breezeless fall day, when the friends toil in the shade, high above the city streets. It's then - literally hanging out with his good friend - that being a window washer is the best job for O'Malley. It fits him far better than sitting in a cubicle inside the buildings he cleans. But the friendly chitchat fills another purpose. It helps O'Malley forget he's dangling from a building. Back at work, their shoes squeak against the glass panes as they lower themselves closer and closer to the ground - a sort of instinctual act that adds a bit of control to the rappelling process.Below them, a pack of preschoolers, hands locked together and led by two adults, pad the sidewalk. Two towheaded boys peer up the side of the building."Whoa! Cool!" one of them says."Hi, hi," a couple of others yell. O'Malley hears them and would like to acknowledge. But looking down is risky. It could make the fear creep into his stomach again. He sticks to looking straight forward and hitting the windows with scrubbers, squeegees and washcloths. He cleans them in a matter of minutes, rappelling closer to the sidewalk. After washing the last window he can reach, he tiptoes over a ledge and lowers into a crouching position on the ground.Relief.He unhooks his harness and grabs his bucket. Looking up and squinting, he sees half a day's worth of dirty windows needing his attention. Still, he's one row of windows closer to finishing. One row closer to totally taming his fear of heights. One row closer to Dublin.
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