Brooklyn Bridge


An absolutely atrociously awful five restless hours of sleep was followed by a good, late breakfast, at a place across the corner from the Hilton. The rest of the day was spent, until about an hour ago—hoofing and taking the subway.  We took the blue line down to the Brooklyn Bridge—which I believe America’s foremost architectural wonder.  Screw Frank Loyd Wright and his artsy-fartsy ilk.  The man build homes people could live in—that had leaky roofs and fireplaces that wouldn’t draw.  Give me a break.  Enough with the l’art pour l’art BS.  Roebling and his crew built a bridge that worked and still works.  Roebling studied with Hegel; I think the bridge imbued with the spirit of Transcendental Idealism and Speculative Reason.




Many died building the bridge.  The pilings were sunk so deep into and under the river that workers would get the “bends” when they came to the surface.  But they didn’t know what the bends were in those days.



I cannot believe it has been 20 years since Carol and I spent 6 weeks here up by Teacher’s College.  The town has been absolutely scrubbed since then.  The poor have been forced out of the area, as the town gentrified and I hear that Major shipped the homeless to New Jersey.

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