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The bridge to everywhere

Memories of home

By CHRISTOPHER FREY

Recently a New York Times piece on The Society for Industrial Archeology caught my eye because I have two friends who are card-carrying members of this obscure group of folks who venerate and celebrate little known public and private structures. The article followed these knowledgeable nerds on a tour of a legendary steam plant in Brooklyn and captured the excitement and enthusiasm that these “rivetheads” can generate when they get their inside looks at another example of the dwindling number of older technology sites in America.

Let me confess; there are still a few common ordinary works of man that can raise a frisson of excitement in me too—and I don’t even own a plastic pocket protector. One of these structures is the soon-to-be-replaced Barryville-Shohola Bridge, and there is no way we can let that span be reduced to scrap metal relics without paying homage to its place in our hearts.

Okay, so it’s not the Sphinx and it’s not the Great Wall of China. In fact, as Delaware River spans go, it is not even half as important historically as the Roebling Aqueduct, just a few miles upstream. But wait just a New York minute—this is my bridge, damn it. And it’s Bryon’s bridge and Joey’s bridge, Rolf’s bridge and Jimmy’s bridge. It’s Pete Nelson’s bridge and Fred Reber’s bridge.

You see, we were the Boys of Barryville and there was a time when we owned that bridge.