The good, the bad and the gone forever
This then begs the question as to why and how some of these monsters become such an integral part of their environment, in a human sense, for good or for bad. Even when speaking of the dark and sinister side of these structures, one cannot ignore the beneficial aspects of their existence. I would be remiss if I didn’t at least acknowledge that. Every dark night is followed by the bright glow of day, and likewise, every metal monster, even the blood stained ones, serves a vital purpose in its locale. What I find most curious are those monsters that are afforded celebrations, perhaps upon their completion and sometimes on the anniversary of such dates. One extreme paradox that I’ve mentioned many times before is the New River Gorge Bridge. That monster officially saw its first vehicular traffic on October the 23rd, 1977. And it wasn’t too many years after that when someone decided that the deck of that bridge would be an excellent place to jump off of and parachute down to the river bank. Parachuting off of most bridges was – and still is – illegal, although that didn’t stop others from doing just that at the New River Gorge. Not long afterwards, the state finally decided to allow such daredevils to legally have their fun on the third Saturday of every October. And thus the rather generically named “Bridge Day” came into being. A mighty metal monster that, for one day each year, becomes a makeshift amusement device and the center point for a festival that draws thousands from near and far. And there is also the walking tour that I took across the understructure of the bridge. That is an ongoing attraction that draws thrill seekers and those who want a very close look at the workings of a huge steel bridge. It is said that some come to try and conquer a fear of heights. And there are people like me, who had a myriad of reasons for doing that walk. This bridge, more so than most others, truly does have a mixture of light and darkness, mirth and misery and thrill and horror. Which side one sees in it all depends upon how it is approached, and by whom. It can be a thrilling machine, or a killing machine. And then there is another aspect of what has been enabled by the building of that rusty metal monster. If not for the bridge that bears its name, the New River Gorge likely never would have become the recreational area it is today. It probably would have never become a national park. That whole area would still be a distant, difficult to access wilderness with practically no economic impact, known only to locals. The making of the monster truly made the area what it is today. It seems to have done for that part of West Virginia what Disney World did for the swamp lands of Orlando. A thing to which people owe their livelihoods. They built it and the people came…. What is death for some is a rebirth for others. The same can be said for San Francisco’s orange steel monster. What would that area be without it? There might still be tourists, though not nearly as many since the Golden Gate bridge came into being. A bridge that isn’t just a way to get across the bay, but rather a tourist attraction in and of itself. This despite the fact that the locals finally became fed up with its appetite for the lives of depressed souls. And even my local neighborhood monsters, the Chesapeake Bay Bridge and Key Bridge, have ever since their existence fundamentally altered the landscape around them. Ocean City would not be what it is today if not for the steel serpent of the bay. Nor would the eastern shore. The port of Baltimore would not be nearly what it is today if not for the Key Bridge. That fact has now become painfully obvious since that monster was slain over four months ago, with increased traffic, congestion and longer commutes. The old saying about not knowing what you have until it is gone most certainly applies here. The Key Bridge wasn’t really celebrated, at least not in the sense of some better known iconic bridges. It was mostly a workhorse, a utilitarian fixture of its locale that people were used to seeing, crossing and boating beneath. Perhaps for many it means a whole lot more now that it is gone. Taken for granted, even, until the day it no longer existed, at least not in a functional form.