What began as an unfortunate decision to stand nearest the elevator control panel in the Hancock Whitney Center (formerly One Shell Square) quickly evolved into what one downtown office worker described as “the greatest privilege of my professional career.”
Within seconds of the Poydras Street doors closing Monday morning, 34-year-old accounting analyst Kevin Whitmore was unanimously entrusted with operating the elevator buttons for the remaining passengers.
“Twelve.”
“You got it.“
“Sixteen.”
“Absolutely.“
“Nineteen.”
“My honor.”
Witnesses say Whitmore accepted each floor assignment with increasing confidence, nodding solemnly as if being briefed by military officials.
“He had this reassuring presence,” said fellow passenger Andrea LeBlanc, who was commuting to her desk overlooking Lafayette Square. “When I told him I was going to 15, he looked me dead in the eye and said, ‘We’ll get you there.'”
While the high-pressure situation might have rattled an untrained operator, Whitmore was quick to point out that he was no stranger to public trust.
“People have always looked to me in moments that require steady direction,” Whitmore explained. “Back in ’96, I was named Line Leader for a full week in my kindergarten class at St. Philip Neri. I guided eighteen kids to the playground without losing a single soul. You don’t lose that kind of natural instincts.”
By the eighth floor, Whitmore reportedly began anticipating requests before passengers spoke, scanning the crowd with the calm focus of an air traffic controller.
“He wasn’t just pressing buttons anymore,” LeBlanc said. “He was serving.”
Passengers say Whitmore soon developed an unmistakable command over elevator operations, announcing each stop with subtle authority and quietly ensuring no destination was overlooked.
At one point, a late-arriving passenger reached over and pressed the button for the 11th floor without consulting him.
Sources described the mood inside the elevator as “visibly tense.”
“I wasn’t upset,” Whitmore later insisted over a cold brew from the lobby coffee shop. “I just wish he’d trusted the process.”
Despite never having formally applied for the position, Whitmore admitted the role carried enormous responsibility.
“People put their faith in you,” he said. “For those three minutes, their lives are literally in your hands.”
Experts say the phenomenon occurs thousands of times each day across the Central Business District, where proximity to the control panel instantly transforms otherwise ordinary citizens into temporary public servants.
“It isn’t a job anyone seeks,” Whitmore reflected. “The job chooses you.”
The illusion of authority came to an abrupt end on the 27th floor when most passengers exited, leaving Whitmore standing awkwardly adrift while another rider stepped in front of the control panel and seamlessly assumed command of elevator operations.
Whitmore reportedly spent the remainder of the ride staring quietly at the illuminated buttons, later admitting he “wasn’t prepared for how quickly the public moves on.”