The bridge we love to hate

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You drive south on Route 18 in New Bedford, looking nervously at the clock.

Your destination is Fairhaven, or points east of it, and if you’re from here you know there’s only one way to get there on four wheels or two feet — a bridge.

Well, not just a bridge. The bridge. Or, more frequently, “the stupid bridge,” or quite possibly “the (insert your favorite curse word) bridge.”

As a motorist, you’ve learned the hard way that the bridge, for over 120 years now, has been a source of predictable inconvenience, and an evolving set of angry adjectives.

Once an hour during the day, all travels onto Route 6 will come to a mandatory halt as the bridge does its thing, opening slowly and mysteriously, just as it’s done tens of thousands of times since the days of horse and buggy. 

And you, a mere landlubber, will be stuck there for at least 10 minutes, maybe 15, maybe longer if the thing decides not to open at all.

The good news, you think, as you look on the dashboard to see the hour just about to turn … is that you just … might …be able to get over it in time!!

You take a soft right from 18 onto the Route 6 East on-ramp, a little faster than you should, then bend left around a blind curve and wait to see what awaits you on the straightaway. 

A green light means you’re in the clear and your day can proceed as planned. 

But if you’re greeted by the sound of bells, the lowering of red-striped crossing arms, the glow of brake lights, a line of cars idling, you let out a familiar sigh: The bridge is closed, and will be for the next 10-20 minutes.

Stupid bridge.

But wait! Does the worst feature of this historic marvel really define it? What about its remarkable longevity? What about its unique place in current American life? What about the role it plays in our thriving working waterfront? What about the way it frames the seaside beauty of a summer day, whether it takes 15 seconds to cross or 15 minutes?

The bridge is all of those things, too. 

Your reaction upon arriving at this rusty steel crossroads is based largely on two things: timing, and mood. 

And your mood probably comes down to where you fit in five distinct archetypes.

The Local

If you’ve lived and driven here any amount of time, you’ve come to terms with the bridge. You know the rules about when it closes (opens?) and how you want to handle it.

Some people make it very easy — they don’t go that way, like ever, opting for the slower but predictable highway option and feeling very good about their decision. Too much stress in life to add one more. 

Others play the game, because with risk comes reward, and the reward is a trip from Point A directly to Point B. They know the times it’s supposed to be closed (the top of every hour from 6 a.m. to 10 a.m., then 15 past from 11 a.m. to 6 p.m). They also know that the bridge might be closed even when it’s supposed to be open, either by special request during off hours, or because of malfunction (a common theme of late).

They know that the yellow signs warning you the bridge is closed in red LED lettering usually work but sometimes don’t, and that the absence of the CLOSED notation does not necessarily mean that you won’t find it closed. 

They know that if you’re approaching from New Bedford, you at least have the opportunity to take a U-turn and reroute back on to Route 18 for an alternate approach. But from the Fairhaven side, it takes a lot longer and involves a whole lot more backtracking — so when in doubt, don’t even try it.

If it’s enough after the designated opening time, it’s probably worth getting in line and waiting the last couple of minutes — and there are few better feelings than turning on to that fateful straightaway to see the bridge clicking back into place, the stop arms rising to the sky, and the light turning that beautiful shade of green.

Sometimes, inevitably, you will get stuck, and then it’s up to you how you’re going to deal with it. Some, when stuck, fume at their lot in life, tapping impatiently on the steering wheel and rethinking their imminent schedule. 

But more, you’d assume, when they have no choice but to sit and wait, surely take the opportunity to look around, take a deep breath and smell the sea salt, which gives them honorary status as …

The Tourist

Wow! This is so cool. 

Some visitors to the area may have read up about it beforehand, some might be live-Googling “what is this bridge in new bedford all about” but there’s little doubt that for an unfamiliar traveler this bridge is more feature than flaw.

Watching it use its ancient swing technology and sturdy truss frame to swivel on its giant mechanical axis is a bit miraculous to behold — and practical, allowing boats to pass in and out of the New Bedford Harbor.

No matter which side of the bridge you’re on, there are a thousand small sea scenes to take in at every angle. A curious tourist might notice things regulars miss, or glaze over. 

The man at the edge of the bridge sidewalk in the yellow reflector coat shouting directions skyward to the little outlook house at the top of the bridge, where the mechanism is controlled. 

A small docked pleasure boat dwarfed by the commercial vessels, where a couple is grilling what appear to be head-on prawns. 

The birds flying overhead, catching a breeze and coasting on an angle, in groups or alone, doing that thing they do. 

And of course, the fishing vessels, huge, colorful, some in motion, some at rest, all with stories to tell — which you wonder about as they pass and the bridge swings back shut to return you to the exploration of a new land.

The Mariner

Drivers think that they are the main characters in this bridge saga, but the men and women working on the boats below know the truth: This movie is about us. 

The rules of opening, for example, aren’t posted on land — they appear on both sides of the bridge for the boats to see, printed in white type on a bold blue background. And each day, motorists wait upwards of two total hours for the boats to migrate past.

It’s fitting that they are given special attention, considering the economic impact and flavor they bring to the city, something that the other former mill cities in Massachusetts can only dream of.

Usually during the day there are a few boats coming and going each hour; the bridge’s rotation leaves two berths for one way traffic each way. 

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Scenes from The Bridge

Credit: Jonathan Comey / The New Bedford Light

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The commercial vessels (frequently bearing the two-word names of women for some reason) start lining up on both sides, and proceed through when the bridge has fully swung open. The boats are several feet below the cars above, but the tips of the masts extend up into the vacated area as they pass, reminding you of why the bridge opening is needed. 

For commercial fishermen, the trip into the harbor is for getting ice, unloading goods, docking for rest or repair, etc. The work on the sea comes with enormous pressure and important deadlines, so when boats are coming in there is a sense of calm between storms.

The calm doesn’t last long, because when you miss the bridge opening at sea level, it’s not a 15-minute delay, it’s an hour delay, so if you’re on land getting a pack of smokes or a pair of fishing gloves you’d best not stray too far. When the captain texts you — get back here ASAP!!! we’ve gotta go if we’re going to hit the bridge — you know the boat might be leaving without you. 

But with (hopefully) everyone on board, the outgoing boats proceed in an ambling row through the bridge’s opening, having made the hourly deadline, and now advance toward Buzzards Bay.

From land you can watch these boats steam out to the sea, and imagine their adventures. A memorial sign at the bridge’s entrance reminds you that the romantic life on the ocean has a dark side: In Memory of All Living and Deceased Merchant Mariners.

The Traditionalist

Part of living on the southern coast of Massachusetts means appreciating what has come before — after all, the whole America thing started right here. 

In these parts we pay respect to the old, and we’re not always in a real hurry to embrace the new. 

Would a new bridge be faster? Sure. But what’s wrong with keeping it the same way we’ve done since 1902? Isn’t it wonderful to imagine actual horse-drawn carriages waiting to clip-clop their way across it as the miracle of modern technology progressed? 

Perhaps we should take pride in this bridge which is one of only a very few that are still active, most of which open infrequently and very few of which serve an active highway location. 

Considering the multiple daily openings that continue all 365 days of the year, by all indications this ancient relic is the busiest swing bridge in America — just as the port it serves is the most lucrative in America.

There’s a beautiful symmetry in that. This bridge, those boats and the people who surround it, a perfect triad. 

In a state and city that consistently show their love of history, there’s more than a fringe argument to be made to protect the traditions of the past.

But then again….

The Futurist 

There’s little debate that our offbeat, old-school bridge is no longer the best practical solution. It’s a bit like owning a beloved old car that is paid off but about to reach its limit — it’s expensive and annoying to get a new one, so you go as long as you can. 

But how do you feel when you get that smooth new ride on the road? You’re not really missing the sputtering engine of the old one, let’s put it that way.

And so, plans are in the works by the state (it’s not a city road) to give us their version of a new car smell. 

Proposed to begin as early as 2027, the Department of Transportation’s plan is to build a new bridge that will “eliminate a number of deficiencies,” — namely delays, narrow bike and walkways, deteriorating structures and dangerous crossings. 

While it’s possible that the chosen design would retain the swing technology, it’s more likely to be a vertical lift style — the clearance that boats need being achieved by a speedily ascending middle section that would be complete minutes before the swing version.

For the countless drivers (and walkers, and bikers) who’ve been inconvenienced by the thousands over the years, it’s a pretty obvious call. 

So it is for businesses on and around Pope’s Island who have railed for years against the inconvenience of what they see as an outmoded and financially damaging structure. 

Whether the project begins in 2027 or later, all indications do point pretty strongly to a replacement sooner than later. 

It’s inevitable, as with all things man-made, that no matter how cutting edge it was at first, it will eventually be replaced by something newer, and smarter. 

For a while it’ll be “the new bridge,” but as the years go on, fewer and fewer people will never even know there was something other than their present experience. It will just be “the bridge” again.

But when we consider those future folks who do remember how it used to be, you can imagine how it might play out. 

In their silent, driverless cars, they’ll approach the familiar span and behold the evolved bridge, shiny and efficient. They’ll remember the malfunctioning signs and the man in the yellow reflector coat, and the whir of the mechanism and the never-ending delays — and they’ll smile a bit.

“You know what?” one of them will ask rhetorically, as they pass smoothly over the harbor and to the other side. “It’s funny, it always drove me crazy, but I don’t know … I kind of miss the old bridge!”

Stupid bridge.

Jonathan Comey is a decorated newspaper editor and columnist and a contributor to The New Bedford Light. Please send emails to him at jcomey@newbedfordlight.org.