Suicide at a Hotel

As the group’s meeting planner I was the first to arrive and the last one to leave the hotel. I had lived on the 42nd floor of the Marquis for the last nine days. The first four days was just finalizing details and managing deliveries and confirming set-ups and menus. Then the convention would start and it was a long one with nearly 2,000 attendees, 14 food functions, 50 seminars, trade show with 300 exhibitors and three general sessions with high profile, and high priced, speakers.

Then the convention would abruptly end and in the course of one morning, all before noon, all the attendees are gone and the banquet rooms are back to bear. On this occasion there was not another group coming in for a couple of days, so the property had a moment to catch its breath, but still hustle through its regular duties. By late morning my own post convention duties were over. I met with the association staff, thanked them all for a great event that seemed to meet all our goals, then I met with the hotel’s sales staff to review the master account.

I called Tim and asked if he wanted to take a walk and get something to eat. He was the only attendee who had remained after the convention, not because of business, but because he was taking a couple days vacation in upstate, but that did not start until tomorrow. He’d stay one more night at the Marquis.

We met at the elevator on my floor and waited what seemed to be a very long time. Since the hotel was near empty, the long wait seemed odd, but the ride down was rapid and thrilling as ever.

The Marquis atrium is 45 stories high; the hotel is a hollow tube with all the rooms facing the outside of the building. The look up, or down, is a bit exhilarating. The glass elevators running the height of the atrium only hold six or eight people. Their zipping up and down are reminiscent of the pneumatic tubes used by cashiers at the Woolworth’s on Main Street when I was a kid.

The ground floor lobby is a small entrance hall with only the elevators and a big service desk for valet parking, luggage handling, taxis, and general information. The small area was crowded with police who stood still at the hotel’s outer doors and behind crime scene tape in front of the other bank of elevators which all stood open. There were also rescue personnel moving quickly in and out of the motor entrance where their trucks were parked.

As we walked down Broadway, I called Jody, the hotel’s convention services manager, the person I had worked with side-by-side for the last week. He would only say there had been an incident and that everything was under control, adding that we’d talk later.