The Bridge

The Bridge

         The summer of 1966 was a volatile period of time in our country. My life was wedged between needing to become more grown up and just wanting to have fun. I was oblivious to politics, the civil rights movement and the war in Vietnam. My world, confined to suburban Kansas City, Mo., tuned out all that trivial, adult stuff, so I could concentrate on important matters. I was nearly fifteen and summer was already half over. I had to make my bike look cool; and I desperately needed to get up the courage to kiss Becky. Today my best buddies and I planned to ride our bikes to the Blue Ridge Mall, to spend our allowance money.
         Steve and Bob Schump lived two blocks beyond my backyard and were opposites, despite their physical similarities. Steve was my age but a head taller and twenty pounds heavier, with a sullen attitude. He excelled at all sports, bragged about his experience with girls, and had friends that drove cars. He seemed to get grounded every other week, for reasons that only he believed to be unfair. Bob was one year younger and the same height as his brother, but ten pounds heavier. He was an honor roll student who spoke softly. He was still a boy scout and occasionally, plagued with clumsiness. He cherished the model cars he meticulously constructed. They were shelved in display cases on his bedroom wall. We were supposed to meet on the 67th St. Bridge at nine o’clock, with Eddie Mayda.
         Eddie lived on the corner one block away from the Schump brothers. He was my size with a crew cut and never had a quiet moment. Eddie was the daredevil, the thrill seeker. He always rode the fastest and climbed the highest; he talked the talk and walked the walk. He was so loud, obnoxious and irritating, that girls would leave whenever he arrived. Eddie’s mom kept a close eye on him; and we endlessly harassed him about being a mamma’s boy.
         My parents left for work before eight o‘clock, so I did my chores and rode my bike to the bridge just past the corner of Bristol Street. That bridge once covered a wooded valley and rock cliffs that stretched downhill in both directions as far as the eye could see. 67th Street wound upward through the natural beauty of Swope Park and connected our community with highway 50, two miles farther east. The construction of the new highway leveled that valley. It was now a dirt and sand riverbed that would soon be covered with pavement and traffic.
         I fired up a half smoked, non-filter cigarette I had removed from the kitchen ashtray and could see Morrie stretching awake on her back porch. She was in Bob’s class at school and Becky was her best friend. Her morning stretch in that thin white T-shirt and those short shorts that exposed her tummy as she arched backward, seemed to proudly display her newly blossomed chest. I inhaled deeply.
         Screeching rubber and spraying gravel in a gray cloud, revealed the elder Schump brother. When the dust cleared I could see Bob pedaling toward us in the distance. I could hear Eddie jabbering before he came into view. I turned back to catch one more lustful look at Morrie, but she was gone. When you only have cigarette butts to smoke, you tend to smoke them down to the very end, the cherry nearly burning your fingertips to get that last puff.
         “Hey man, I got a fresh pack of Lucky’s here. You look un-cool doing that,” Steve said. With that final suck of smoke still in my lungs, a plain black sedan pulled next to us at the foot of the bridge. I had to hold the smoke in or risk getting caught.
         Twirling his handcuffs on his pointed index finger, Steve and Bob’s father warned, ”Don’t get into any trouble today boys.” Mr. Schump was a detective for the Raytown Police and Steve intended to follow in his footsteps. After Mr. Schump drove away I released the inhaled smoke and coughed the smoker’s cough.
         “What a twit Becker. You almost got us busted,” commented Eddie.
         “Hey guys. There’s something I want to do,” began Steve.
We almost always did what Steve wanted to do.
         “Joe Tavener told me that he and some other guys climbed the 63rd St. railroad bridge, all the way to the top.”
         “No way man. No way!” shouted Eddie as he hopped off his bike. His shuffling footsteps produced small gray clouds, as he circled around us on the gravel shoulder. “That’s three-hundred feet straight up man. Steel beams, no way man.”
         “Shut up Eddie. Tav’ doesn’t lie,” said Steve as he smacked the pack of Lucky Strikes on his knee. Steve was cool. Eddie kicked a rock that clanged against the guardrail and disappeared over the side of the bridge. Then he scrambled full blast to the bridge wall, trying to watch it fall.
         “It’s nearer two-hundred feet; and they had to hang on while a train crossed over it. They said the vibration nearly made them fall. I made a bet,” he said.
         “I want to buy a banana seat for my bike,” said Bob. “I thought we were going to Western Auto. I thought we were going to Dairy Queen. We’ll get in trouble! Dad will kick our ass,” he added.
         “They are meeting us at the 63rd Street Drive-In at ten o’clock. Go buy your baby seat if you want but I’m going there,” Steve retorted as he pointed toward 63rd Street.
         I looked where he pointed but stopped to focus on Morrie’s back porch. She was back now and waving at us, or maybe just waving at Steve. He leaned forward and lowered an elbow onto the concrete bridge wall. He never lost eye contact with her as he smoothly placed his chin in his upturned palm and leaned hard against the concrete. A lock of black hair flicked over one eye, and she grinned from ear to ear. She was taken by the attention and rocked up on her toes, then back on her heels, waving intensely with both hands. I thought I saw her quiver and blush. I wish I had that effect on Becky. He torched the far end of a Lucky Strike; French inhaled and said ”Yummy. She wants you man.” His face twisted in his hand toward me as he said, “I see it in her eyes.”
         “That’s a long way to see her eyes, but she is definitely looking yummy,” I responded.
         Steve and I sometimes had short conversations like that; or made profound, often revealing statements, which bound our trust. We both knew it was him that Morrie wanted. I can’t even gather the courage to kiss Becky, but he doesn’t know that. He straightened up and spun on one foot turning his back to her, then leaned his jeans against the bridge wall. I watched her smile fade and her fists press against her hips.
         “She told me last night that Becky really likes you. You better show her your best side quick before someone else steals her,” he advised. He stood up straight and flicked his cigarette on the gravel. “Let’s go climb a bridge guys,” he announced to the group.
         After some minor whimpering from Bob and Eddie we directed our bicycles east on 67th St. toward Hwy.50. There was a period of silence as we pedaled, each of us thinking in our own little world. I felt that my climbing skills were superior to most and I would not have a problem. I noticed a slight lack of confidence on Steve’s face though. His eyes were fixed on the road as it disappeared under his front wheel. I felt that he was worried about climbing the bridge. Bob produced a transistor radio from his pocket, but was unable to maintain the pedaling pace as he attempted to tune it to a station. I often felt that I was the sensible one in our group, the wise one. The one that keeps us out of trouble; but I wanted to be the bad one, the “cool” one.
         Eddie sped ahead, pedaling with a fury, then slammed on his brakes to a screeching halt. Then popped a wheelie, pedaling hard, twisting and turning in alternate semi-circles that consumed the width of the lane. He sped ahead again with a wheelie but a gust of wind tossed his Kansas City Athletics baseball cap behind him on the road. He slammed on his brakes and spun his rear wheel around facing us.
         “Come on girls,” he shouted. “This was your idea. Let’s go!”
Steve steered toward the hat and ran over it with both tires.
         “No! Oh no! Oh man. Man oh man. You are such a-!” Eddie exclaimed, but he cut his comment one word short of danger. Steve and I coasted to a stop and turned back to look at him.
         “You gonna cry now, cry to mommy, mamma’s boy,“ Steve taunted. Bob had worked up a sweat in an effort to catch up to us, but stopped to pick up Eddie‘s cap. He reshaped it with a fist into the head hole.
         “Your brother is such a jerk sometimes. We should just go to the mall without them, man,” Eddie remarked quietly.
When Steve turned forward, Eddie shoved a fisted bird at him. Bob smiled as he began pedaling, then plopped the cap over Eddie’s middle finger.
         “I need to get in shape for football anyway,” he said to Eddie as he rolled toward us.
         “It’s all downhill from here!” I shouted above the volume of Bob’s radio, as we all approached James A. Reed Road together.
         That was “A Hard Day’s Night” by the Fab’ Four and you are tuned to W.H.B. radio supplying top 40 music to the greater Kansas City Metropolitan area. This is rowdy radio Ron rocking you all day long. I’ve got some Paul Revere and the Raiders, some Buckinghams, some Van Morrison and a new song from The Monkees heading your way, along with some showers later on today. So stay tuned to W.H.B. radio. Now, an update from Wayne the weatherman and a word from our sponsor.
The radio faded to silence as we turned north toward 63rd Street.
         James A. Reed Road twisted through a wooded, rocky hillside with a steep downhill grade and deep, bilateral creeks notorious for flash flooding. There was big talk about going all the way down with no hands and no brakes. Our tough words turned to silence, as gravity had us grasping our handlebars with white knuckles. I envisioned how gruesome and painful flesh scraping the concrete and gravel at this speed could be, if we lost control, or met a vehicle around the next curve. I breathed a sigh of relief when the shaded road spilled out into the open sunshine surrounding 63rd Street. We stopped to wait for Bob to catch up.
         “That was bitchin,” I said, as the adrenalin slowly subsided and Bob coasted to a smooth stop beside me.
         “There it is,” Eddie said, pointing to the western horizon.
         In the distance, beyond the drive-in-theater screen, on the horizon connecting clusters of trees, loomed the bridge. The shiny green metal structure hovered between clouds and the slope of the hills on both sides of the expressway. I couldn’t stop looking at it as we rode quietly to the theater entrance.
         “No way man,” Eddie said, shaking his head from side to side.
         “I’m hungry and thirsty”, Bob whined. “There’s a Chuck A Burger and a Five and Dime, right around the corner.”
         “Then go. Just go boy. This is for men anyway and take that mama’s boy with you!” snapped Steve as he kicked Bob’s bicycle.
         “I will,” Bob snapped back! ”I’m telling Dad where you are too. You’re a fool,” he said angrily as he rode away with Eddie.
         “Well, are you still with me?” Steve asked."They are such a drag sometimes."
         “I don’t give up that easily,” I responded.
         We rode west on the shoulder of 63rd Street; and as we got closer, the structure seemed to grow taller. The bridge supports were pairs of large steel beams submerged in huge cement blocks. The inside support beams formed several large X’s to the top of each leg. The horizontal railroad bridge resembled the hull of a ship, the length of three football fields connecting two steep, wooded hills. The support beams rose up on either side of the road and straddled a creek in a large open field. The steel beams were fastened with many large bolts connecting the X designs and cross members. The entire bridge was painted bright green. We stared up in awe and I heard myself swallow the lump in my throat.
         We rode down a small grass terrace toward the concrete support beams and dropped our bicycles. Steve lit a Lucky Strike and handed me one. We smoked as we crossed the creek and stood next to one of the concrete blocks. It was slightly taller than me and as large as my garage floor. Steve gave me a boost, then he pulled himself up.
         “If we fall, we are dead,” he said, seriously.
         “We won’t fall,” I said confidently.
         I was scared but he didn’t know that. We each shimmied an upright steel beam using the large bolts as footholds and rested at the top of the first “X” formed by the angled support beams.
         While we rested I asked, “What was the bet you made with Joe Tavener?”
         “I lied, there was no bet. I thought it would help make you want to come with me. I didn’t want to do this alone,” he said with a devilish grin.
         A strange noise caught my ears; a flapping sound followed by Eddie’s obnoxious babbling. Bob and Eddie were riding down the grass terrace from the road toward us. Fastened to Eddie’s bike frame with clothespins, were several baseball cards flapping through the wheel spokes.
         “Wait for us,” shouted Eddie.
         “I guess he didn’t tell my dad,” Steve said to me; then yelled down to Bob, “I thought you were hungry.”
         “I got some baseball cards,” Eddie interrupted while pointing to his bicycle. “The gum is the best part.”
Bob waited until he climbed up the concrete support foot and was directly below us, before he spoke.
         “I bought a snack to eat while I watch you fall,” he said. He waved a bag of chips and a candy bar at us with a devilish grin. We resumed our upward journey with Eddie just below us.
         The view near the top was beautiful. In the distance, rock cliffs were embedded into rolling hills of green trees. The drive-in theater screen cast its shadow on rows of gravel mounds. Shadows of clouds were replacing sunshine below me as the wind intensified. I knew I would never be here again. I was working toward the center of the top X crossing when my right shoe slipped from a bolt in the steel beam. I straddled the angled beam and rode it down to the horizontal crossbeam. I heard myself making a loud whimpering sound as my butt plopped down hard and metal scraped my left forearm. Eddie was a few feet across from me and quickly began questioning my health.          Steve was near the top of the angled X beam and asked if I was all right. Their concern was genuine but I could not answer. I had been racked and I felt like my heart was going to pound out of my chest. I had to hug the steel tight for a few moments before I could speak. Eddie stood up, walked across a twelve-inch beam and was standing by my side within a few seconds. Then he realized what he had done and was as scared as me.
         “You girls better get down before you fall. You’re scaring me,” Steve said, smiling.
         “I’ll catch you,” Bob yelled up in a faint voice.
Steve let a wad of spit run out of his mouth and pushed it outward with a flip of his head, to aim it at Bob.
         “Catch that,” he hollered downward, laughing out loud.
The spit scattered harmlessly in the wind. After I told Eddie I was fine he maneuvered past me.
         “I’m going down,” he said in a shaky voice.
Steve was sitting on the top horizontal beam and patted the bottom of the bridge hull.
         “We did it guys,” Steve said proudly.
He pulled a magic marker out of his pocket and wrote his initials as large as he could on the under-belly of the green bridge.
         I climbed up the remaining distance and touched the written letters on the bridge. Steve asked again if I was O.K. He cupped a match flame in his hands to light the Lucky Strike he gave me. We smoked that one in silence high above trees. We had overcome insurmountable odds. I had been bad and it felt cool. While we climbed down the steel monster, I planned my move on Becky. I would just have to stand up on my toes, to make up the height difference and look deep in her eyes. That same eye contact Steve had with Morrie earlier today. Then touch her lips to mine. Now, height seemed to be just another bridge to cross.
         Later that evening, Becky and I talked for a long time on her front porch. I told her about climbing the bridge and she rocked up on her toes then back on her heels. I made my move as the sun was setting. I looked in her eyes and as I moved inward and upward to kiss her, she leaned down to be eye-to-eye, our lips touching warmly.
         I will always remember the events of that day and the closeness we shared as friends. There was a bond that linked us together, like brothers, one always looking out for the other. I felt we had won a challenge. We defeated an intimidating foe that was larger than life. Yes, it was dangerous and childish, when I look back through wiser eyes. I still look back to that day, when I need to muster a little courage.

Stephen Becker