The machine stopped. And suddenly in Manhattan's lofty apartment buildings, 200,000 dwellers, some of whom are lords of a sizable part of creation during business hours, seemed as flustered and helpless as unshelled hermit crabs. Local 32-6 of A.F.L.'s Building Service Employes was on strike. Elevators stopped running, coal furnaces went out, and matrons were forced to open taxi doors themselves.
All along Fifth and Park avenues, proud doormen shucked off their uniforms and donned picketing signs; their shoulders drooped perceptibly. Out of uniform many turned out to be shabby, nondescript men.
Businessmen labored up 20 flights of...
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