The bridge inside the Empire State Building.

New York, May 13, 2009 — He’s 5,603 miles from his last job — a bridge between a Wonder of the Ancient World and a Wonder of the Modern World.

In a faded, but still mostly maroon uniform, with black-trimmed pants, Ramez hovers in the lobby near elevators that send passengers up to 1,000ft per minute in the Empire State Building. He paces back and forth not quickly, not slowly; methodically. His eyes sweep flatly over the rich speckled European marble shined to a dark gloss.

He looks like a bellboy, except for the tinge of authority. His friendly eyes are framed in a Star Trek inspired pair of chrome glasses that wrap around his temples. A matching maroon chauffeur hat with a black visor sits straight on his head.

The word, “Security” is embroidered in silver threading on his hat with a slightly whimsical font, as though softening the statement. A cheap ear piece, like an airline disposable, strays from his ear down the front of his shirt, disappearing under his lapel. Ramez has been a security guard for a year here. As tenants nudge through the turnstiles coming inside, he lights up, “Welcome to the Empire State Building.” To co-workers he adds a salute with a touch to his visor and abbreviates to, “Welcome,” with a head tip-up greeting, “Whasup?”

Over four years ago, in Egypt, Ramez’s arabic “welcome” was, “marhaban.” He speaks German, “Sie sind wolkommen” and Russian, “Da-bro pa-zha-la-vat” as well. Ramez was a tour guide in the pyramids of Giza for 3 years, using all three languages. He compares the ESB to the pyramids, “It’s like the Pyramids, a cultural icon that people identify with and look up to.” When he begins to describe the feeling of visiting the Empire State Building, Ramez begins, “It’s sacred,” stops abruptly correcting himself, “I mean it’s cultural.”

He revels in that sense of reverence, it seems. When his thoughts transport him back to hometown Luxor, he thinks of his Coptic Church. “I miss my church the most.” Ramez struggles to explain further, and his eyes drift up seemingly searching the art-deco details in the double-height marble walls and ceilings for answers. Then his eyes wander down to his black spit-shined ESB-issue shoes which he shines every day. Finally, “The smell. Like Heaven. Fresh, clean from evil, you can’t find that here. Not even New Jersey,” where his Coptic church home is now.

Still, he believes visitors need to recognize where they are and respect the dignity of the buildings. When he sees someone spit on the marble floors, Ramez disdainfully says, “Don’t do that here.” He confides, “It’s about respect, like at the Pyramids, we make people take shoes off.” He acts it out, “And they have to put on things like socks.”

Nearby a gentle “ding” of the elevator announces the opening elevator. A couple emerges pushing a stroller. The man is wearing a black Jewish yarmulke. Ramez stops mid-reenactment, and strides quickly over to the wider gate, allowing the couple with their child through, “Thank you for visiting the Empire State Building.”

In his soft Arabic accent, Ramez says affectionately, “I love working here.” Ramez is a bridge connecting many paths.