(Part one of Memories and old bridges was published last week in the December 5, 2018 edition.)

I remember jumping from bridges into the shallow water below. Foolish now, but, brave back then. And sitting, bare feet dangling over the side of a wooden bridge, holding a fishing pole, dreaming of other places and other times and tomorrow. Occasionally I’d be interrupted when a car would come driving along my wooden bridge, making the entire structure rumble with rolling vibrations. The bridge would shake and rattle and growl, moving up and down, but it never came apart. At least, I don’t know if it ever did.

To me and to many of my friends, Pennsylvania bridges were always old, always worn but always there.

When we were sixteen, my friend and I found a four-leaf clover under a bridge. It was not my first four-leaf clover, but my friend was my first special boyfriend.

We washed cars under bridges and kept “bootleg shine” and other refreshments cool in the slow moving water. We decorated city bridges with ribbons and flags so they would look festive as the holiday parades passed by. We dreamed, holding hands looking over the bridge rails, sometimes tossing pennies and wishes into the water below.

I’ve traveled over bridges in many parts of this country, by car, train, bus, bike and skates. On horseback, hay wagons and wedding carriage. I’ve looked down on bridges from planes and even a helicopter once. At times, I have floated under bridges on rafts, boats of various sizes and styles, and quite often I simply floated on my back in the murky streams watching clouds and trees and birds and bridges all pass by into a special place within my memory.

And so it was when I arrived in Ft. Myers, Florida, the first thing I really saw and really wanted to see again was the Old Edison Bridge. It was new to me. It was different. It was made of concrete. And this bridge spanned the Caloosahatchee River. Now, to my way of thinking, any bridge that can extend over a river with a name like Caloosahatchee, has got to be special. And it is. But, it has one flaw.

When one drives on this old Edison Bridge, one cannot, as one surely expects, view the water beneath or beyond. Because of the side structure of this Edison Bridge, the view is non-existent! Who could have made such a great mistake when designing this bridge? Was there a person with no apparent memory or idea of what a bridge is used for? Did he, indeed, earn his livelihood by building connecting roads over water from one land mass to another with no thought to view? Why, he should have been booted out of bridge design school!

But then, perhaps this bridge engineer had more than sentimental ideas when he designed the Edison Bridge. Perhaps he was thinking of structure and stability and durability and strength. He probably never intended children to dangle their feet from its edges, or jump into the moving river below. Maybe this engineer belonged to the upper crust of the social world where parents don’t allow spitting between bridge planks, and kids never became proficient in that art form. So maybe he is to be pitied, this man who designed a bridge in Fort Myers, and allows us to only cross the river without getting our feet wet. Maybe, while preparing for his future in bridge designing, this important, intelligent person did not have the luxuries I had. He only built bridges. I built memories.