Striving for Upward Mobility

At 6 a.m. one day last week a pleasant young man with a neatly trimmed brown beard approached the twin 110-story towers of the World Trade Center in lower Manhattan. He was wearing heavy hiking boots, and on his back was a burnt-orange pack containing a long coil of bright blue nylon rope. A curious window washer asked the stranger what he was planning to do. "I'm taking a walk," he said casually. And then he proceeded to: straight up.

Averaging about two minutes a floor, George Willig, 27, climbed steadily up the northeast corner of the great south tower. He moved with a touch of eclat and a forthright manner that clearly indicated he knew what he was doing. An experienced mountain climber, Willig had been planning his adventure for a year. He had punctiliously taken a day of leave from his job as a designer for the Ideal Toy Corp., and was utterly confident that he would make it to the top of his own private Everest.

To carry him up the building, Willig had designed two special T-shaped metal blocks that locked into a track used to guide the heavy scaffolding that carries window washers up and down the outside of the giant structure. He was roped to the blocks, and each of his boots rested in a strap that acted like a kind of stirrup. To go up a foot or so, Willig used a pulley system. He would move one block as high as he could reach and hoist himself up. Then he would unhitch the lower block, attach it above his head and repeat the whole procedure.

Spring Happening. By the time he had climbed about ten floors, Willig had created a cheerful springtime happening. Down below, spectators were flocking to cheer him on. Television crews arrived. And so did the cops, but they too became caught up in the spirit of the climb. A couple of cops mounted a window washers' scaffold and rode along with Willig for half the way--close enough to be of help if he wanted any. He didn't.

At 10:05, with the aid of some policemen who acted as Sherpas, Willig scaled the final difficult passage to the roof. The jubilant cheers of thousands of spectators and a triumphant cacophony of horns rose faintly to his ears from 1,350 feet below, and he saluted his admirers with a wave. Then Willig turned and fell into the burly arms of the law. He was fingerprinted and questioned, then booked on charges of criminal trespass, reckless endangerment and disorderly conduct. The city threatened to sue him for $250,000 in damages--citing the cost of mobilizing the police force, the trouble caused by the traffic jams, the price of a police helicopter that had hovered fretfully overhead.

Why had he made the ascent? "It was a personal challenge," he said, "a challenge to my ingenuity." The trade building, Willig said, "was very appealing. Very vertical." Confronted by his talent, temperament and instant popularity, New York City soon surrendered and canceled the $250,000 suit. Instead, said Mayor Abraham Beame, the city would settle for a fine of $1.10--a penny for every floor.

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