Bridge To Nowhere

In 1931, the George Washington Bridge was completed. It provided a vital connection between New York City and New Jersey over the Hudson River. With two levels, and a long stretch, it became the 4th largest suspension bridge in the United States. Of course, it was named in honor of our first president, who held down British forces (somewhat unsuccessfully this time as the UK forces actually took the city) at Fort Washington on the NYC side. The NJ side connects to Fort Lee. In a sense, you could call this a fake military bridge. Revised: In a sense, you could call this a fake military bridge gone totally awry. 

My grandmother has lived on the NJ side right off the onramp for decades. While Fort Lee is an odd town, it's also certainly symptomatic of a uniquely American vision of the burnt out city. Let's get there.

You take the A train to 175th street, cross a longish corridor where there will be at least one decent saxophonist with his case open begging for a dollar or two, then walk into a brisk breeze. It's always breezy here because of the river. Temperature drops a few degrees and it's significantly windier. Then you board these little rickety transportation vans that are cluttered with commuters, visitors and people that just need to make it to the other side for some reason. Often, the driver watches TV while he waits for the passengers to board. Other times, he watches TV intermittently while he drives. I use "he," because I've never seen a female drive one of these death traps. They probably know better.

Then you pull into the onramp, which is often jammed with cars. You crawl. You pick up a little speed as the lanes open up and then everything becomes temporarily picturesque as you see the curves of Manhattan's body and some odd forest motifs as you enter Fort Lee. But then you get to Fort Lee proper. There's a bank or two, a diner or two, a McDonalds, Walgreens, a few Korean restaurants and dusty-looking supermarket. There are towering industrial buildings that always seem to stand erect with their lights dimmed. You can't imagine there are a ton of employment opportunities around these parts.

You've left the New York City side, which is also rundown, impoverished and maintains that sort of dicey element that many people miss about the City of yesteryear. What began on both ends with that classic, bold American potential has slowed down to that same crawl the rickety van takes over the bridge. Fort Washington is known as Washington Heights. Fort Lee maintains itself. But they are both shells of a promise that was broken. As is often the case with our bridges (albeit moreso on the Robert Moses projects), the actual architecture of the project is majestic and beautiful. Then you get to the projects on both sides and it's sort of disappointing. I often wonder if there will be a point in our history where we start to value rebuilding neighborhoods rather than the ways we get to them via automobiles. The difference breaks down to this: one way the city gets a toll, the other way they have to pay for the upkeep of something that brings money to our citizens but not them. I guess once again the cost-effective option rubs me the wrong way.