When I saw the picture in the paper with the caption “The Bridge is out” it made me sad. Another of my childhood memories gone from the face of the earth, joining every school building I attended – Washington, Grant, Lincoln Jr. High and ACHS, class of 1962. If that bridge could talk – WOW! It was a stupid dangerous childhood test of courage. Those of us brave enough would walk on the short concrete wall that separated the sidewalk from the street. Extra points if there was traffic. Then the really brave south-end boys would walk across the thin wrought iron rail that separated the sidewalk from the tracks below. Extra merit if a train was coming. Yes, they really did! I saw them. I never did do the outside rail but I sure did the inside. Sorry, Mom. I know I said I wouldn’t. We were also forbidden to go under the bridge, so, of course, we did. Down, across the forbidden tracks and up the other side. Nothing under there but mud and cigarette butts, and a sense of accomplishment. I promise you, almost every time I walked the rail or went under the bridge, one of my dad’s friends saw me; he knew everyone and boy was I in trouble when I got home. Looking back, it’s a wonder we all made it.
Sandy Scott Clark
Albia
