"Like 27 bad dates"

While drinking my second $1.50 long island iced tea at the Ground Round last night, a waitress wandered over and asked me by name if I was old enough to drink. Katie, an old babysitter. She admitted she had a hard time picturing me beyond 8 years old. Turns out she fled the Twin Cities after finishing her acting degree. She was laid off from a job when the economy flopped earlier this year and struggled through 27 job interviews before throwing in the towel. She likened it to "27 bad dates." North Dakota promised a brighter employment horizon, a fact that had never occurred to me before. Bismarck's population has swelled from 48,000 to a little over 60,000 in four years. Developments springing up on the northern, southern and eastern fringes. Explains the rash of box stores and the twin Super WalMarts that pitched camp here while I was away at college. With Mandan boasting a population of 30,000 and rising just across the river, the Missouri River Valley is experiencing some serious economic growth in spite of the nation's woes. Doesn't mean Katie's necessarily all that happy fetching drinks for former babysitting clients at Ground Round, but beats the Hell out of countless bad dates in Minneapolis/St. Paul. And there are much worse places to live.

In broader news, I hope others are following stories on the developments in India and Thailand as closely as I am. Hostages in the Taj Mahal Palace and Oberoi hotels, Thai police and military prepping to force an end to protests at both Bangkok's airports. Condolences to the family of the chief of Mumbai's anti-terrorist unit and the loved ones of over 100 people killed in the streets and transit stations of the city, British and Indian nationals alike. It's terrible that agressors in Mumbai are targeting American and UK nationals, but those don't account for the bulk of casualties.

Going home ... again

About two months back, I received a fairly cryptic e-mail from a friend of my dad's, coincidentally also the father of one of my roommates. Attached were a series of photos of a steel trestle bridge blowing up over the Missouri River. Now, any Bismarck native will tell you just how much of a cornerstone Memorial Bridge was. Completed in mid-September, 1922, the bridge was dedicated to veterans of the first World War. Since then it's entered the lives of countless thousands of locals. For me, Memorial Bridge always held memories of driving around in Dan Bauer's '88 hatchback Honda Civic, ducking heads out windows at 85 mph in -15 degree weather till our eyes froze shut. Nostalgia sat waiting for me on the Bismarck side of the bridge every time I drove home from Missoula. I can still see the sandbars of the Missouri zipping by through those trestles, Bismarck State College perched on the hill to the north, the Missouri bluffs and Fort Lincoln a few miles south.

I despise cliches, but all good things come to an end. During construction on the bridge four or five years ago, some idiot with the city didn't factor in seasonal expansion when pouring concrete. The bearings froze, the bridge's life was reduced to less than ten years, and the city got what it wanted: the opportunity to build a new four-lane replacement. I was home this summer when hundreds of local residents took an early lunch to drive over Memorial Bridge for the last time. I took photos, said goodbye to an old friend. Then I left town for the fall.

Driving into town last night, I took the I-94 bridge (Grant Marsh) over the Missouri, turned off at the Divide Street exit and drove past the YMCA on Washington. A speedier way to my house, yes, but it felt wrong. What trace is left of Memorial Bridge lies on the sandy bottom of the Missouri River. I finally realized what I've talked about with so many friends lately. There's a point when the changes stack up, tip the scale and push a familiar place beyond recognition. I can drive 800 miles to my parent's house for Thanksgiving, but I can never go home again.



http://www.memorialbridge.info/