Mall's demise frighteningly mesmerizing for audience

I don't quite know how to break this to the editor, but today's column is not coming together. I've shot past the soft deadline, the semi-soft deadline, the semi-hard deadline and now I'm staring in the gaped-tooth jaw of the hard-as-Ditka deadline and ... nothing.

The problem is literally right outside my window. My office sits directly across the street from the ZCMI Center, or at least what was the ZCMI Center. About a month ago they closed most of it down, in the name of progress and good taste — was there an uglier mall in all of America? — and then they brought in huge machines that eat buildings and started tearing it down.

It is amazing how mesmerizing destruction can be.

About a week ago, I raised the blinds on my window and turned a chair outward, surrendering to the spectacle.

I have a fourth-story ringside seat to devastation. I'm like at loge level.

My very own demolition derby.

I cannot get enough. I'm like Jimmy Stewart in "Rear Window."

Metaphorically, it's like watching the Cubs try for the pennant. Like watching the Bush administration govern. You know what's going to happen, you know it's not going to be pretty, you know it's going to end badly.

But who can turn away?

I'm not sure why. When you stop and think about it, what's so great about wrack and ruin?

But I'm not alone. Daily, crowds gather four stories below on the sidewalk and watch. At lunchtime, it's hard to find a place to sit on the planter boxes.

Earlier today, I ventured down to talk to some of my fellow destruction enthusiasts.

"I find it compelling to watch the way they separate the steel from the concrete, it's all very precise," observed Ron Smith, who works at a CPA firm in the nearby McIntyre Building.

Then he added with a maniacal sort of grin, "I think we all like to see a little destruction."

Gregg Littlefield, who works for a retirement savings firm, has been spending his lunches on the planter box, gazing at the giant orange machine with its 60-foot arm that pulverizes offices like Godzilla.

"It's like a big mouth," he said.

Yeah, he seemed a bit touched. I reflexively moved away a few steps.

But then, who am I to talk?

I found myself asking Gregg, a total stranger, "Want to see the view from my office? It's even better." I didn't have to ask twice.

"You're right," said Gregg. "This is fantastic."

I'm thinking of selling tickets. It could be a source of income after I lose my writing job.

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Lee Benson's column runs Sunday, Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Please send e-mail to benson@desnews.com and faxes to 801-237-2527.