Recipe for avoiding those risky bridges

"The Current Occupant came to view the wreckage and to express, in that intense and aimless way of his, his hopes for a better life for us. And then, having raised our hopes, he did not resign from office after all."

Garrison Keillor
Chicago Tribune

When the bridge collapsed in Minneapolis, several people called me to see if I was OK, and I was in New York, standing in line at H&H Bagels at 80th and Broadway, which came as a disappointment to my friends, calling to commiserate about a tragedy, hoping for a good story ("I crossed that bridge 45 seconds before it went down, I felt it wobble."), but H&H is where I was, me and my St. Paul cell phone, waiting for cream cheese with scallions and three poppy-seed bagels. "I thought you were here," they said. "No, I'm in New York," I replied.

The bridge collapse was front-page news in New York, though, and for three days running. Bridges are not supposed to fall down unless there is an earthquake. A person is supposed to be able to drive home on a summer evening and cross a river on a steel truss bridge and not find himself plunging headlong into the abyss.

Especially not in Minnesota. We are a state of Germans and Scandinavians, people who make up in common sense for what we lack in sheer charisma, and a shabby piece of engineering is an embarrassment to us. Minnesota isn't Uzbekistan.

The way to get money to fix a bridge is for it to collapse and kill people, and so Congress promptly awarded Minnesota $250 million for the fallen I-35W span. The usual suspects held news conferences to express shock and concern, pledge support, etc. The governor called for a time of healing and he proclaimed confidence in his commissioner of transportation, a large ebullient woman in a bright red blouse. There were prayer services. The Current Occupant came to view the wreckage and to express, in that intense and aimless way of his, his hopes for a better life for us. And then, having raised our hopes, he did not resign from office after all.

Through this stately ballet, the Good People of Minnesota continued to wonder: Why did this bridge suddenly pancake on an August evening and who (if anyone) in authority had an inkling of its poor rating when last inspected?

(Continued here.)