Letter to the Editor: Crossing the Arroyo, Memories of the Colorado Bridge

[Editor’s Note: We received this email on Tuesday from former Pasadena resident Kathleen Clary Miller. At Pasadena’s Public Safety Committee today, designs for suicide mitigation fencing and barriers will be considered.]

When I read that Pasadena’s Department of Public Works will present an update on the vertical design concepts for the suicide mitigation project on the Colorado Street bridge, I trust that whichever design is chosen will be in keeping with the span I have cherished since childhood.

Prevention of such tragic death is most important, naturally; I do know that. I welcome the barrier to ensure that second thought before taking one’s life, and the selfish side of me hopes that it will be an attractive addition to the already historic landmark.

You see, the bridge and I share a past.

When I was growing up in the 1950’s I asked my mother why the Colorado Bridge was called “suicide bridge”, and she told me, “Some people jumped off during the Great Depression because they felt they had nothing left.”

I would roll down the station wagon window, fingering the black rubber slit wherein it disappeared while I leaned as far forward as I dared to look from the back seat down into that canyon, far below. I worried about the people who had perished there. With the innocent mind of a small child, I tried as hard as I could to imagine the utter desolation that could drive someone over its side, when I only knew the bridge to be thrilling flight across open air that took us to church on Sunday, to Vroman’s for schoolbooks and to Robinson’s department store for a new pair of red tennis shoes.

From our house on South San Rafael Avenue, it was that early morning walk to the Rose Parade, and after the freeway came along, although my mother hopped on to get to town, with my driver’s license tucked securely in my wallet, this incurable romantic still took the Colorado bridge to Canterbury Records to ogle the latest Beatle album cover. It and its little sister bridge, the La Loma, took me anywhere I needed to go, and faithfully brought me back.

In 2016 when the movie “La La Land” hit the screen and I was no longer living in Pasadena, I watched Emma Stone and Ryan Gosling dance across my beloved expanse and smiled so big that my daughter sitting next to me thought I’d won the lottery, tears streaming down my face (told you I’m a hopeless romantic!).

These days, whenever I am in my hometown, the first thing I do is park the car in front of the house that was once home, and I walk. I cross the La Loma Bridge, head up California Street to Grand Avenue, and come back on the Colorado Bridge. I noticed the temporary fencing and determined it must be suicide prevention—a good thing. I still shudder for the souls who lie in the canyon and applaud those enlightened enough to prevent further tragedy with a permanent barrier. While recognizing as an adult that for some, unfortunately, the bridge was a crossing of a far different kind, it will always be, for me, the road home.

Got something to say, email Managing Editor André Coleman, at andrec@pasadenanowmagazine.com