Come on Over....Cross that Bridge!

The Arrigoni Bridge, or the Portland Bridge as most people refer to it is 75 years old this year.  The Portland Historical Society is holding a celebratory program at the Portland Library on August 27th.
Everybody has a bridge story.  Whenever they undertake any maintenance, routine or otherwise, the grumbling starts. I always say I'd rather be slowed down a bit than be the first driver off the deck when the bridge collapses because maintenance was put off so as not to inconvenience people.  I remember a teacher at St. Mary's school back in the 1960s who refused to drive over the bridge, which even as a kid seemed to me to be awfully limiting.  As an adolescent it was a rite of passage to be allowed to walk over the bridge to the 5 and 10.  I never found the walk across the bridge as intimidating as dodging the greenhorns who hung out in the North End of Middletown acting as though they were still in Italy where commenting on the female form is a national sport. My senior year of high school some friends and I undertook to ride our bikes to school at Mercy for field day.  When we woke up that morning we decided not to let a little rain deter us, but by the time we got to the bridge, there were occasional flashes of lightning.  More than a few commuters wondered who those crazy kids on the bridge were.  The last time I was on the bridge was to watch the 4th of July fireworks a few years ago, but I cross it just about every day in my car for some reason or another.
The Connecticut River may separate us from the towns west of the river, but the bridge spans the gap.  It is a beautiful bridge, overburdened by too much traffic to be sure, but it serves its purpose nobly.  
The next time you're stuck in traffic on the bridge take a close look at the American ingenuity that built that bridge and take a moment to remember the men and women who shared their talents in some capacity (including my great uncle Frank Flood).  Say a little prayer for the unhappy folks who saw that bridge and the cold water below as another form of deliverance.
Too many kids in small towns like Portland can't wait to get out of town and a trip across the bridge to I-91 will help them make their getaway, but anyone who has been away for long has to heave a sigh of relief as they approach the bridge, knowing they are almost home again.
I spent four months in Virginia once on a mission of mercy.  When I finally headed back to Connecticut for Christmas, I thrilled to the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, admired the Delaware Memorial Bridge and marveled at the George Washington Bridge, but it wasn't until I got to the Arrigoni that I cried.  The sign said "Come on Over" and I couldn't wait to do just that.