

For the past year, Oliver has been a high-rise window washer for West Coast Window Cleaning, the company with contracts to clean the majority of the high-rise windows in Spokane. Their clients include the Bank of America, the Spokane Arena, Spokane International Airport and Providence Sacred Heart Medical Center. Cleaning those buildings — the Bank of America building is 20 stories tall — means looking down, down, down, and making the choice to step off the roof. “I think the smaller buildings scare me more,” Oliver says. “The ground is so close.” Fall off the B of A building, and splat, you’re dead. But fall three stories and — if you’re unlucky — you’ll survive.
Oliver’s final test to be hired was a simple one. “He told me to jump off the side of a building,” Oliver says. Do that, and he’d have the job. He had a harness on, of course. But many guys balk, says fellow high rise-washer Michael Katzer. They take one look over the precipice and freeze up. The job is more “frightening” than “dangerous.” If the harnesses are hooked up properly, window washers are safe. Even if the main line gets stuck, they can use the second rope to tie a knot around their carabiners and slide down the rope. For larger buildings, the motorized “swing stage” — a hanging scaffold platform that can lift a truck — is even safer. But it can be a startling job. The rope may slip slightly if it’s not tied or if, Oliver suggests, the other guys feel like playing tricks on you.
If they aren’t careful, and the window is too old, they could come crashing through the glass with their feet. (It’s happened.) If they forget to let the rope down all the way to the ground while lowering themselves, they could — whoops! — free-fall the final six feet. The suction cups they use to pull themselves further to the left or right could pop off, sending them swinging back and forth. It can be an interesting job. While cleaning at Sacred Heart, one window washer caught a glimpse of an open-chest surgery before the surgeons shut the blinds. Sometimes, the office workers on the other side of the glass they’re cleaning will press notes against the glass: “HEY THANKS FOR WASHING THE WINDOW. IT LOOKS GOOD.”
It can be an annoying job, too. Some of the skylights sag heavy with pigeon poop — sometimes nine inches deep. There are the summer days, when the glass heats up so hot steam hisses off the window. There are the winter days, when ice scrapers join the squeegees and sponges and when windshield wiper fluid is added to the bucket to prevent the mix from freezing as soon as it hits the glass. There are the blustery days, when a 25-mph gust can swing window washers across the face of a building — compelling them to scramble for a foothold to avoid being blown around the corner. (They call it quits when the wind, rain or thunder gets too bad.) But for all that, Oliver loves the work. “You don’t have to deal with anybody [up there in the air],” Oliver says. “It’s a unique job.” It makes for a great conversation topic. It provides an unmatched setting for contemplation. And you can’t beat the views.




Thomas Magill (pictured), 22,



"The only way to survive is to not land on your head," said Dr. John Boockvar, who operated on window washer Alcides Moreno after he survived a 47-story accidental fall from an East Side skyscraper in 2007. "You want to land feetfirst, or maybe on your side, which would spare your head and major organs," said Boockvar, a neurosurgeon at New York Presbyterian Hospital/Weill Cornell Medical Center. "You also need something to cushion the force of the impact - in this case, even the backseat would help." "The key for [Magill] will be tosurvive the next two weeks, and get through any complications from the orthopedic injuries, like infections, embolisms, pneumonias," Boockvar added. "He gets through that - he has a real chance to make it."

Magill, who grew up on Staten Island and attended LaGuardia High School of Music and Art before majoring in English at Fordham, recently starred in an Off-Off Broadway production of "Into the Woods." Though hoping for a career in theater, Magill was working as a salesman at Club Monaco, friends said. "I spent time with him this past weekend, and he was his usual happy, fun-loving self," said a friend who asked that her name not be used. "All of this is just really out of character for him." Detectives are not certain what prompted Magill's desperate leap and did not find a suicide note, police said. The owner of the $14,000 Charger turned down his insurance company's suggestion that he sue Magill for totaling his car. "That's the last thing I need to tell this kid, that 'I'm suing you,'" said Guy McCormack, a construction worker. "You look at it, but you can't believe the guy went through the roof of the car," added McCormack, who wants to meet Magill. "It's out of a movie."

Moreno can carry out

Alcides Moreno and his brother, Edgar, were working on a scaffold attached to a building on E. 66th St. when the platform collapsed on Dec.7, 2007. The pair fell to the ground - about the same distance that Magill plunged from an upper West Side building Tuesday. Edgar Moreno struck a fence, and his body was cut in half. He died on impact. Alcides Moreno wasn't expected to live either and was in a coma for several weeks after the terrifying fall. He needed 24 units of blood, had a catheter inserted in his brain and underwent at least 14 operations in the first month. Eventually, he started talking and even walking. Still, his wife insists that real recovery is a long way off.
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