Many things in my life have concerned the recently collapsed Forbes Avenue bridge. I used to cross that bridge to go to church. I crossed it in a streetcar and in a bus. I walked across it coming home from high school. I walked out to the middle of it one day and dropped a model airplane off and then hiked down into the hollow to retrieve it.
When I picture a parent telling a child “And I suppose if your friend jumped off a bridge, you’d do it, too!” the Forbes Avenue bridge is the very bridge I picture for that.
My grandfather built the first house on Celeron Street just two blocks away. Once in fifth grade, I headed for school without my $3 for my violin lesson. I crossed Forbes just as a streetcar was coming. I looked down in the slot on the streetcar track and saw some money. I had time to scoot back and pick up the bills. When I unfolded them, I found that there were three dollar bills. Just the amount I needed.
For the past three decades in West Virginia, I have taught my history students about that same corner, when we learned about Gen. Edward Braddock and Gen. John Forbes marching to attack Fort Duquesne.
It seems I cannot get away from Forbes and Braddock, and the bridge. It is a lifetime part of all of us who grew up near Frick Park. One of the last times I crossed that bridge was following my brother’s casket to the cemetery.
Dan Manka
Fairmont, W.Va.