BLACK BRIDGE
A place that still holds many of my fondest memories is the black railroad bridge south of town. Going out their as kid with the older boys was always an adventure.
I remember the first time that I ever crossed the bridge. The older boys started across the bridge without missing a step. I hesitated; I wanted to see the trails and horseshoe shaped ponds that lay on the other side. I had heard all the stories about how the trail south and east of the bridge went for miles and was probably used by Indians at one time. About all of the horseshoes shaped ponds from where the creek had changed it flow over the years. To a seven year old it seem a long way across, what if I fell trough the ties, what if a train was coming? I stated across because the bigger kids were a quarter of the way across and was not waiting for me. I looked both ways to be sure a train wasn�t coming and stepped out on the bridge. Although I was scared and was shaking I continued across the bridge. I was looking down at the ground thru the ties and thinking it was not that far down and that I could do this. But as I walked out on the bridge the ground was father away. I made it out to the point where I was over the water. I was getting a little braver each step of the way. The other kids had crossed the bridge by this time. One of the kids yelled back that I had better hurry up or they would leave me behind. Someone else said it�s about time for the train. I ran the rest of way across the bridge. I had made it across; I would never have to fear the bridge after that. The older kids just laughed and started down the trail. I looked back at the bridge and said to my self that its doesn�t look so big from this side of the creek. I had passed a test of bravery.
Another test of bravery was the gas pipe west of the bridge that crossed the creek on the old pillars that were left over from the interurban lines. There were 3 of these pillars, one on each side of the creek and one out in the middle of the creek. A gas pipe still crossed on the pillars when I was a kid. With the aid of the trees on the south side of the creek we were able to get on top of the first pillar. It was about 12 feet tall.
One day that comes to memory, there was 4 of us kids on the first pillar, me, my brother Joe, Jerry Dell and Little Donnie Carter, Joe straddle the pipe and started for the middle. I was right behind him. Jerry Dell was behind me but instead of going forward, he chose to go backwards. Looked kind of funny to the rest of us, but it worked for him. Donnie followed out on the pipe. It was kind of scary, but not as bad as the first time that I crossed black bridge.
We reached the middle after a few minutes and were enjoying the moment. There was a great view from the center pillar. Logs were lodged on the front of the pillar and made a small island of sorts. There usually were snakes on the island, sunning them self. At this point it�s was about 15 feet to the water.
After a few minutes we decided to continue on across the pipe, thee of us going forward, and one going backwards. When we reached the other side, we found out the trees were not as tall as the trees on the north side of the creek. The trees didn�t reach to the top of the pillars and would be no help getting down. Someone suggested we slide down the pipe, but that didn�t seem like a good idea. We would have to go back the way we had just come. Then Donnie suggested that we might dive for the tree and grab hold of a branch and just ride the tree down. Then without saying another word, Donnie dove for the closes branch with the idea that he would ride it down. I am not sure what happen next, but the tree just bent over like it was a twig and Donnie headed for the ground without the tree slowing his decent. He landed on his back and you could tell that it had knocked the wind out of him. He just lay there with a surprise look on his face. Joe yelled to him to ask if he was hurt. He replied in a voice that was barely audible, a little bit but not much. After a while Donnie got up and shook off the pain. He was going to be all right. The rest of us had to go back the way that we had come. Once again, only Little Donnie Carter had made it all the way across the creek.
By
Garry W. Tidler
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