By Andrea Sachs

It’s known as the “graveyard shift,” the “lobster shift,” or, simply, the “night shift.” Most doormen avoid it at all cost — although it sometimes includes a salary sweetener — or they move out of it as soon as they have enough seniority. But in 1994, when Craig Davis applied for a job as a doorman in my building on the Upper West Side that was his shift of choice, and it has remained so for 31 years.

Being a night doorman five days a week from 11 p.m. to 7 a.m. is a lifestyle and a discipline. Davis keeps distinct hours even when he’s off. “At noon or 1 p.m. I go to sleep until 7:45 or 8 p.m.” Davis remarks that he only knows half of the people in the building because of his hours, though he routinely sees the night owls.

Just as many New Yorkers suspect, doormen learn the secrets of the people who live in the building, some of which are nothing short of scandalous. Has Davis seen some wild behavior in his time manning the front door? “I plead the Fifth,” he answers, laughing heartily. Predictably, this interview was held after midnight. “I’ve seen some stuff,” he adds, but like other discreet doormen, his motto is: “See Something, Say Nothing.”

Good thing, because Davis knows some of my secrets. In 2020, at the very beginning of the pandemic, back in the days when we were washing down our groceries in fear and staying behind closed doors, Davis would get calls sometimes in the middle of the night from a longtime resident of the building (okay, me) who was having trouble sleeping because of her worries about the mysterious virus sweeping the city. It was less about the content of our conversations than hearing his reassuring, warm voice. I was panicked about Covid, and wasn’t going outside at all. During those fraught months, Davis (Craig to me and my neighbors) was a lifeline to the world; he never stopped working during the pandemic, and I was fortunate to be a member of his home-away-from-home UWS family.

His real family was the reason he chose the night shift. “I took care of my sons during the day,” he explains. ”I brought them to school and helped them with their homework.” His wife Sandra, whom he met a year after high school, was an analyst for Blue Cross Blue Shield. Although Davis was offered the daytime shift in the building over the years, he continued to say no: “I thought I might as well finish what I started.” At 64 years old, that’s still his calling. Davis has been married to Sandra for 43 years; the couple has three sons and five grandchildren, whom Davis sees often and refers to as “the grands.”

Davis is imposing at six feet, not a bad attribute for a doorman when he is trying to convince someone that they really don’t want to enter the lobby. Height and athleticism run in his family. Each of Davis’ three sons is even taller than he is (as the above family photo shows). Davis’ father, born in Birmingham, Alabama., was a gifted baseball player who was bound for the Negro League before being detoured by the draft. Davis’ oldest son, Craig Jr., was the Most Valuable Player on the SUNY Purchase basketball team two years in a row, and was offered the opportunity to play overseas. 

Ironically, for someone who has decades of work on the UWS, Davis rarely gets to enjoy the neighborhood. He dashes in and out, arriving in the dark and leaving at the break of dawn. Retirement is on the horizon. Sunshine will likely be a challenge for this consummate night worker. Predicts Davis, “I’ll have to adjust myself.”

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