W26 and West Side Highway - The Dockworkers (Part 2)

Three workers climb down to the river level ten feet below onto a raft tied to the dock. This "raft" was really a single plank of old growth wood maybe 3 feet wide, 12 feet long and 9 inches thick. It had to be at least 50 years old and, just like the workers themselves, had taken a beating from the elements and dangers of working between this threshold of land and water. It still serves its purpose flawlessly despite being deeply scarred and worn.

The three workers walk randomly up and down the raft to inspect the steel brackets they had installed the day before. Each dockworker's step causes the raft and his coworkers to bounce precariously up and down though each continues their inspection as if they were on solid ground, a skill undoubtedly gained through decades of experience. "Everyone falls in at some point," the foreman said. "It sucks." The orange life vests do serve a purpose.

"How's it look?" the foreman yells down. A voice emanating from somewhere under the dock replies, "This will last a hundred years." The foreman orders everyone back on the dock and radios the crane operator to prepare the bridge for installation. The crane's engine roars to life and the damp river air is infused with the industrial musk of exhaust, oil and metal.

Within a few minutes, the ton of steel that is our bridge hovers above the gap between us and our boats. It starts to pour rain. The bridge amplifies the sound of drops hitting its metal structure seemingly announcing to all of us that it will soon come to be.


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The time is 6:45AM. The City continues to glow in an orange mist. The bridge is in place softly clanging as it rises and falls in rhythm with the waves of the river. The floodlights are off and the boathouse is once again shrouded in darkness. The men are back on the barge quietly preparing to undock. The distant sounds of trailer trucks downshifting along the West Side Highway start to increase as the land dwellers wake with the rising sun.