On November 21st, 2008 the staff at Michael Garman Galleries was making final preparations for the autograph sessions scheduled to begin the following morning as part of the official announcement of Michael Garman's retirement. Michael, as was his habit, sat on the corner of a desk down in the basement of his 30-year studio, where he bantered with his staff of artists while making sure that each sculpted detail - each mustache, each squint, each gun holster - was exactly right.
Suddenly, a roar from the street echoed through the gallery. Then a reddish dust cloud wafted through the open doors. Customers screamed. Staff members checked to see who was hurt.
"Evacuate! We need to evacuate," the lead sales associate said. "Call 911." People covered their mouths with shirttails and hands as they squinted through the dust to find the exit doors.
"What happened?" someone asked. "Is anyone hurt?"
"Where's Michael?"
Sirens wailed down Colorado Avenue. As individuals made their way outside, they saw what had happened and shook their heads in wonder. Two tons of elaborate brick facade which had been laid over a century earlier had chosen that moment to come crashing to the earth.
"Where's Michael?" The question kept repeating as crowds of holiday shoppers, merchants, and passersby filled the sidewalks, surging forward and back to make way for fire trucks, police cars, and emergency vehicles.
Then, out of the dust that billowed like smoke through the doorways of the gallery, Michael Garman emerged smiling like a kid. "What the hell happened here?" He asked as he
led his art team out of the building. For the rest of the afternoon, Michael lingered near his home and sculpture studio, hugging strangers, assuring them he was all right, really he was, as fire crews and building personnel inspected the damage.
As the dust settled, the pile of bricks littering Colorado Avenue and blocking the front doors of his gallery brought to mind another question, "What would happen tomorrow?"
