There was a short story in my career that could have had two endings. If it weren't for a very colorful mechanic, Kelly, it would have ended in the worst of the two possible scenarios. Kelly and I were realigning the targets for the counterweight rails at the end of travel on the 30th floor. We had a bridge plank across the hoistway. I stepped off the steel onto the plank to move the counterweight target, missed my mark and fell through the space alongside the plank. We had the skip tied off two floors below and that was it. There was nothing but air on all sides. I hit the beam in the back of the hoistway one floor below. I managed to grab that beam on the way down and landed on my right side. I was hanging on for life and drifting in and out of unconsciousness from the pain. Kelly slid down a main guide rail to where I was hanging on, grabbed me in a bear hug and held me up against the beam and told me a couple of jokes until I regained consciousness laughing. Kelly saved my life. There was nothing between �me and my maker� except Kelly.
