Everybody, it seems, loves the elegant St. Johns Bridge. The pictures you can find of it online are so gorgeous and sensual as to be almost pornographic--they put my little snapshots to shame. Its soaring Gothic spires (possibly the most overused phrase ever attached to this particular landmark) are moody in the nighttime and fog and rain, and resplendent in the sun. Aesthetically, there's little not to like.
It was built in 1931 as a replacement for the last ferry in Portland, which ran between St. Johns and Linnton, the two anchor points for the bridge today, and was originated by the man whose name is given to the neighborhood and bridge both. David Steinman was the designer--emphatically NOT the designer of the Golden Gate, several sources assure me, contrary to popular myth. Steinman did, however, publicly say that the St. Johns was his favorite of over 400 bridges he designed--and that's got to count for something, right? In any case, his tastes are shared by many. The quote heading this post is attributed to Steinman, by the way.
Here is a terrific 1930 shot of the bridge under construction, sans road platform. At the time of its construction, it was the longest suspension bridge west of Detroit (I've seen "west of the Mississippi" stated several places, but this is The Historic American Engineering Record's take, and besides being less of a cliche, it gives us several hundred extra miles of superiority). Also, they say that pier 10 was the largest reinforced concrete pier of its time.
An attentive Google search reveals two major roles of Cathedral Park, under the east end of the bridge and where these photos were taken, in the Portland consciousness: as a favorite site for engagement photos, and as a place haunted by the ghost of a 15 yr old girl. I'm not sure if the groups of people who find value in the park in these respective ways are aware of each other--or, well, maybe they are. It is Portland, after all.
The ghost is said to be that of Thelma Taylor, a Roosevelt High student who was abducted while walking to her friend's house in North Portland, where she was to be picked up for a day of berry picking. Her abductor was one Leland Morris, a 22 yr. old who had abducted and raped women before. This time, he took Taylor to a remote area under the bridge--now the much more welcoming Cathedral Park-- where he held her captive and brutalized her over a series of days. A longer, speculative version of the story can be found here. While I don't want to vouch for that account, and could actually write a pretty extensive response to the details and tone and purpose of that telling in a different forum, the basics are true. And Cathedral Park has thus become a favorite haunted spot of Portland ghost hunters, seeking the mysterious screams that were said to call out in the area for years after Taylor's brutal attack and death.
Well, that's a heck of a note on which to end an entry on Portland's fairy tale bridge. And everyone lived happily...ever...etc., etc.
