When snow was forecast at Lincoln Center, it felt like hearing an air raid siren during the London Blitz. The operations team would scramble into action, gathering in the conference room for a logistics meeting. Quantities of calcium chloride were checked, gas runs for the fleet of snow vehicles were designated, and petty cash was distributed for incidentals. A driving roster was drawn up, shifts were assigned, and calls were made to staff to confirm availability—all while monitoring the storm’s progress. Engineers were instructed to raise the temperature of the Reflecting Pool on the north plaza, where the cleared snow would be dumped to melt away. Rooms at the Empire Hotel were booked for team members that wouldn’t make it home.

The key message was: The Show Must Go On!

Staff without proper gear were given shovels, gloves, snow jackets, pants, and boots. The conference room transformed into a makeshift break room, with the onsite caterer keeping coffee urns piping hot. Lunch for 50 people was pre-ordered but with snowstorms snarling deliveries, we had to pick it up ourselves. Three of us loaded the truck to haul forty bags of food—a task I’d done myself, and it wasn’t fun. Navigating snow mounds, we hauled hot bags of food from the restaurant to the truck, stuffing them into garbage liners and covering them with plastic tarps to keep them dry.

After twelve hours in the elements, the team favored a hot meal from La Caridad 78 on Broadway. A steaming plate of yellow rice, red beans, ropa vieja, with sides of chicharrones and plantains, always got a thumbs up before they headed back into the storm.

Harry, AKA Captain Bligh

Harry began as a porter at the David Koch Theater before moving to Lincoln Center in 2000, eventually becoming Director of Facilities and Maintenance. A proud Moroccan from Tangier and father of two daughters, he had a fierce love of football—we’ve watched many World Cup and Champions League games together. While he still passionately supports Spain and Morocco, I root for England. He’s a die-hard Real Madrid fan; I favor Barcelona, which leads to fun banter.

Before I worked at Lincoln Center, snow in New York was a bone-chilling, wet ordeal for me. Harry noticed my lack of proper gear and took it upon himself to order me a Helly Hansen suit—waterproof pants and a double-insulated jacket with a removable lining. It was a revelation, as were the double-stitched, fur-lined waterproof boots he provided. From that point on, I was never cold or wet again during a snowstorm.

When it snowed, Harry became Captain Bligh on the HMS Bounty, striding across the plaza in his yellow sou'wester and barking commands like he was rounding Cape Horn. He was relentless. After particularly tough phone calls, he'd glance at me over his glasses and ask:

“Roger, tell me something. Am I the crazy one?”

NOTE: One of the most crucial tools was the humble bucket opener. With dozens of pails needing to be opened to supply salt to the spreaders, I often found the team struggling to pry off the stubborn plastic rims with their bare hands, as if trying to crack a safe in the middle of a blizzard. When I asked why they weren’t using a proper opener, they shrugged and said they couldn’t find one. Determined to solve the problem, I bought a box of pail openers, tagged them like prized possessions, and only handed them out only on snow days, keeping a log. Yet during the next storm, I still found team members stubbornly battling the pails with their bare hands, as if the openers were some kind of forbidden technology.

Matthew

Matthew would stand nodding slowly under swirling snowflakes, absorbing the work orders I read out, his brow furrowed in concentration. You could almost hear his brain whirring, processing the information while his eyes remained fixed on the ground.

As plaza supervisor of the day crew at Lincoln Center, Matthew had a challenging role. The snow-covered plaza required his keen oversight of daily routines and special tasks. He tirelessly pursued team members who vanished on unofficial breaks, keeping operations running smoothly amid the winter chaos. Though he scowled when the workload grew heavy, Matthew consistently stepped in, embodying the resilience and leadership needed to maintain order on the plaza.

Santos

Santos was a stout, lively Dominican porter with a purposeful stride. Known for his sharp execution and confident handling of any task, he commanded respect. His bashful smile often surfaced while searching for the right English words—a charming contrast to his determined demeanor.

Behind the wheel of the Kubota snow pusher, Santos was a force of nature, maneuvering through the plaza with choreographed chaos. When the snow melted, he zipped around campus in his Cushman cart, delivering everything from barricades to planters.

Santos loved his homeland and frequently vacationed in Santo Domingo to reconnect with his roots. Whether moving snow or delivering chairs, he brought spirited dedication to every task—a true testament to his work ethic and pride.

Orlando

Orlando, a Puerto Rican from the Bronx, was the day supervisor of the Rose Building, known for his loud and clear communication style that instantly created a strong rapport with his crew. With a commanding presence, he oversaw the cleaning and janitorial requests for the prestigious School of American Ballet and the Juilliard School dorms—spanning the 14th to 29th floors—along with all six floors serving esteemed constituents like the New York City Ballet, Chamber Music, Film Society, Metropolitan Opera, and the bustling ninth-floor offices of Lincoln Center.

When winter blanketed the campus, Orlando took the wheel of the snowplow and tirelessly kept the plaza accessible for his team. He earned a well-deserved promotion to the Facilities Management Department, a testament to his impressive growth and expanding responsibilities.

Saunders AKA “DMX”

The crew affectionately dubbed Saunders "DMX" because of his resemblance to the famed rapper. On snowy days, when Lincoln Center transformed into a winter wonderland, Saunders undertook the formidable task of clearing the Grand Stairs—a monumental challenge consisting of seven broad steps, each five feet wide and stretching nearly the length of a city block. This seemingly never-ending effort required not only physical strength but also a stoic resilience.

As showtime approached on those frigid days, the plaza became a scene of beauty and chaos. Patrons in evening attire slid and stumbled past the Revson fountain, eager to secure their coveted seats. Amid this whirlwind, Saunders remained a steadfast figure, ensuring the Grand Stairs were as safe as possible, all while maintaining a light-hearted spirit.

During the harsh blizzard of 2016, a frail octogenarian bundled in elegant winter attire emerged from a limousine at the foot of the steps. Recognizing that the snow was too treacherous for him, a team member sprang into action, rallying porters, including Saunders. With care, they carried the gentleman across the plaza, impressing the crowds, and set him down at the Metropolitan Opera entrance.

"I didn't want to miss the show," the grateful man said.

As he entered the opera house, he waved his thanks while the team shared a proud moment of camaraderie over their act of kindness.

SNOW!

Harry, AKA Captain Bligh

Matthew

Santos

Orlando

Saunders AKA “DMX”