Gold Medal Park, August 3rd, 2007, blue light from the Guthrie, and the old Gold Medal sign, a few blocks from the I-35 bridge, Minneapolis, Minnesota, photo © 2007 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
I ended up in downtown Minneapolis Friday night, by the I-35 bridge. I didn’t plan to walk down by the river. But that’s what ended up happening. Liz and I took her Mom into Minneapolis to pick her brother up at the Hilton. The four of us went to Harry’s by the old Milwaukee train station for dinner. Liz had seen a write-up in City Pages.
The chocolate banana cream pie was sizzling and creamy, the Robert Cray a little too loud, the beer bottle chandelier campy, the energy electric. The fresh shrimp appetizer stared back at me from a clean, white plate with beady, black eyes and centipede feet. I had to work too hard to snag the meaty centers. But the butterbeans and ginger dipping sauce were delectable. And we had a good time.
After dinner, Liz decided to try to drive over the 10th Street Bridge. It was blocked off. So we went over by the University of Minnesota to see what was happening. Things were buzzing: summer students, slow-moving SUVs, curious tourists, and everyday people like us. People who live here and want to steal a fleeting glimpse of what’s happened to their city.
We couldn’t see much. But we did pass by the blue and yellow media tents precariously perched on the edge of the University Bridge. There was a lot of neck-craning navigation through slow-moving traffic. People seemed unusually eager to let us in. Kind. Polite.
Later, we dropped Liz’s family off at the door of the downtown Hilton. We were tired and knew we wanted to get home. But we were so close. So Liz took a chance. “Wanna go down by the river to the parkway?” she asked. “Yeah, let’s try,” I said. Liz has amazing luck with parking. She found a spot under the gangly shadow of the Ceresota sign, right across from the old Whitney hotel. We grabbed our cameras and started walking down to the Mississippi.
It had taken me a few days, watching endless loops of media coverage, to figure out that my favorite part of West River Parkway was no more. The closest we could get was a short span of road under the Gold Medal Flour sign, next to the Mill City Museum and the Guthrie Theater. There were groups of people gathered on a little outcrop across from the Stone Arch Bridge. They stood two by two, talking one on one, quietly discussing what they were seeing.
There was pointing and head bowing and quiet honor. Shared solitude. Silent prayers, inner mourning, deeper understanding. Solidarity. The I-35 bridge over the Mississippi had caved into the river. And yet we were still here. All that was left were the bright lights, twisted beams, and green vertical V’s of mangled metal. Everything else was under the river.
The 10th Street Bridge was standing behind the collapsed bridge. The illusion was that it stood in front of it. We walked past the Guthrie, down to within a block of the Red Cross building. A twenty-something policeman with a green flashlight, blue cooler, and yellow tape, roped us off from going further. It would be a long time before I drove the Rebel on that stretch of road again.
From the last barrier, we could see the section of the bridge that had smashed into the parkway. It stood brightly lit through the dark foliage that covers the river banks. I’ll never forget the woman on the news who had gone under the bridge on the parkway seconds before it collapsed. Her account of the deafening noise, immediate silence, confusion, horror, disbelief, and helplessness, will stick with me always.
–Ceresota, August 3rd, 2007, on a walk to see the I-35 bridge, Minneapolis, Minnesota, photo © 2007 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
Liz and I walked silently back to the car. We took a few photographs, and checked in with each other when one of us would stop to stare at the river. My camera battery died. I wasn’t much in the mood anyway. I was taking it all in. And trying to hold the enormity of it. I’m not there yet. But the cover of night offered solace. By the time we were ready to leave, there were only a few people milling around near the Stone Arch Bridge.
We slowly walked up the hill by the old mill ruins. Liz snapped a few hundred ghostly orbs. We didn’t realize until we looked at our photographs this morning that bright blips of ghostly light were peppered throughout her photographs. The Spirits of the old mills are restless.
Perhaps they are shaken up by what they have seen. Or are surfacing to offer comfort to the living. There have been countless accidents and fires on that stretch of the Mississippi. Minneapolis grew up on her banks; she’s suffered a new scar. Loved ones have been lost. They are holding up the sky.
While we were driving home through the city that night, I realized how much I love it here. I was not born and raised in Minnesota. And it took me a long time to feel like I fit in. But after 23 years, this is my home. I love the Midwest. And Minnesota. I love Minneapolis.
I was surprised to feel the tears well up in my eyes this morning when I looked at the night shots of our town. I felt a strange sense of pride.
The pride has always been there, a hidden undercurrent. But Friday night, when I stared at the swollen Mississippi, quietly holding the severed, crumpled aorta of our city, the root was unearthed. I tapped into a vein of strength: a deep layer of connection and community; a place I know I belong.
Saturday, August 4th, 2007
–Bridge To Nowhere – The Great Connector posted on red Ravine, Sunday, August 5th, 2007
-related posts: Fear Of Bridges, Minneapolis At Night, Natural Wonders: A Pentagram
Beautiful photographs of the city lights.
I think when we see the loss of even a part of our lives, we cherish what remains. Now that my oldest son is a senior in high school, I value his presence in my life even more.
Your story is touching, because you celebrate your city, and life, while also feeling the tragedy of your loss.
LikeLike
I appreciate you writing about this, QM. I sense how hard it must be, but you’ve done your town well.
I don’t know if Liz is willing to share some of her photos, too, but let her know that I’d love to see them if she’s open to it. (Or, if she posts on Flickr, maybe you can put a link to that in Comments.)
LikeLike
QM,
You emphasized something in your write that I have thought, too, but haven’t been able to put into words. These sorts of experiences solidify the deep love and loyalty to home. Several years ago when the Red River flooded Grand Forks, North Dakota, I wondered why people didn’t just pack up and move someplace else. Start over. Then I joined a volunteer group who went up there for a day to help seniors bleach down everything in their flooded basements. Once I got there, and saw the people, I didn’t ask that question again. It was their home and life. Moving was of no interest.
I’m glad you’ve declared this your home now. Minnesota’s gain. 🙂
LikeLike
QM: Skillfully you have woven a deep sense of family, of place and of pride into this piece. Those are all traits that spring from the fertile soil of the midwest and are part of its true nature. Beautiful write.
I live on the dry high plains in Wyoming. People are friendlier here than a lot of places. I think that it’s a consequence of having fewer of them and a lot of wide open space between one town and another. There is both a fierce independent spirit as well as a history and heritage of helping out another in need.
I love living here, but today, after reading your piece, my heart is pining for its homeland in Illinois & Wisconsin.
LikeLike
I feel the tears and torn heart under your words. This morning I received an e-mail with pictures of the disaster. Even though my total Minneapolis experience has been confined to the air and Northwest terminals, I felt a strong link. Those pictures were a stunning mixture of chaos and compassion. I could not look at them without a huge lump in my throat and tears spilling down my cheeks.
Please believe that all Pittsburghers feel the strongest sense of urgency about your catastrophe. Pittsburgh has more bridges than any city in the world, including Venice, and many are in dire need of maintenance. If anything good comes of this, it may be speeding the release of funds for preventing something similar from happening here.
I send prayers of peace and comfort to all in Minneapolis.
LikeLike
Hey, QM, I’m with you. Felt your love for the place and its wounds. (Also some good foodwriting). All will heal and they say after the wound scars over, the wounded place is stronger (I’m sure somebody said this better). Love to you.
LikeLike
It seems a shame we need tragedy to unite, but often we do. All of us can imagine being on that bridge, but to see it and to know it was your city, and your fellow-citizens, that’s something you know. Thank you for sharing this experience and the photos. We need reminding every once in a while—we are part of a place, part of a people, part of everything.
LikeLike
I’m so moved by all these comments. I can feel the strength and compassion in them. An amazing thing about blogging is the healing that can take place from connecting to people all over the world.
Thanks, friends, for your support.
Below are some things that stuck out for me in your comments, a kind of composite, community Recall. Such wise commentary from you all. Thanks again for stopping by.
Amen.
LikeLike
[…] – related post: Bridge To Nowhere – The Great Connector […]
LikeLike
[…] so I walk slower. This one act is real. My connection to life. -related posts: Bridge to Nowhere – The Great Connector, Fear Of Bridges, Minneapolis At Night, Natural Wonders: A Pentagram, The World According to Mr. […]
LikeLike
[…] we walked for hours around the Stone Arch Festival of Arts on the Mississippi River across from the famous Gold Medal sign. All in all, a good weekend to kick off the beginning of Summer. Happy Father’s Day to Jim […]
LikeLike
[…] Related to posts: 40 Days, 8 Flags, and 1 Mennonite Choir, Memorial — Day & Night, Bridge To Nowhere — The Great Connector, Fear Of Bridges, Thornton Wilder & Bridges, Minneapolis At Night, The Name Game […]
LikeLike