For the past week, I've held the equivalent of skybox tickets for a demolition project one block away. Better than a Nik Wallenda tightrope walk, these high-act daredevils are disassembling a water tower said to be a century old.
The tricky part is the water tower juts up into a dense residential neighborhood. Trickier yet, the thing is more than one hundred feet tall, so you can't just stick an explosive at the base of the tower and let it crumble.
The demolition crew is using two massive telescoping cranes, the largest of their type I've ever seen. One photo I snapped shows a red cloud of century old dust wafting into the wind as one of the wooden planks is yanked out Another shot, from the ground looking up, shows the frightening height at which these workers are wielding hammers, welding torches and crowbars—with no apparent safety rope.
Some observations about this feat of destructive daring. First, removing the tower has taken courage. At one point, the workers stood on ancient metal joists—no walls, no net.
Second, removing the tower has taken time. They've been at it for more than a week.
Third, removing the tower has taken skilled workers—otherwise they'd be dead.
Watching this aerial act outside my office window, I’m reminded the water tower performed a vital function at one time. We needed what it had to offer. But for decades, it's merely been occupying space—and over time, grown ugly.
I suppose we've all got defunct water towers like that in our lives: old habits, old hobbies, old philosophies. Maybe it's time they were taken down. But don't underestimate the task.
The same Jesus who counseled those who would build a tower to “first sit down and calculate the cost” would no doubt be realistic enough to remind us that taking down a tower has a price tag of its own.