‘Collapsed: A Survivor’s Climb From the Wreckage of the 35W Bridge’

Introduction

Very few in the Twin Cities—or all of Minnesota, for that matter—had heard of the Interstate 35W Bridge prior to its collapse on August 1, 2007. To the average Minnesotan, it didn’t have a name; it was simply a stretch of elevated asphalt that shuttled commuters in and out of downtown Minneapolis. In Minnesota Department of Transportation (MnDOT) nomenclature,

it was known as Bridge 9340.

When hundreds of 911 emergency calls flooded the seven dispatchers on duty inside Minneapolis City Hall shortly after 6:05 p.m. on that Wednesday evening, callers had difficulty explaining not only what had just happened, but where it happened. Some tried to describe the location using landmarks, such as the Gold Medal Flour sign atop the Mill City Museum.

According to a Minneapolis Star Tribune article, when confused dispatchers asked for a location—even a cross street—the answers were all over the map. Downtown. In the river. By the University of Minnesota. Near the Metrodome. East Bank. West Bank. Where does a dispatcher send an ambulance, let alone fifty of them?

Without warning, smack-dab in the middle of rush hour, the bridge snapped, tumbling cars into the river and onto embankments. In about ten seconds, it scattered steel, concrete, and chaos. A place of ambiguity suddenly became the tragic epicenter of the world, hissing smoke and flames.

National and international media swept in to describe the carnage and dispense blame. Politicians from both liberal and conservative persuasions, including President George W. Bush, walked alongside the rubble, offering condolences, promising to find the cause, and shaking hands in front of cameras.

Not quite forgotten in the whirlwind were the survivors and the families of the deceased. Members of the media, pumped with the adrenaline of covering the biggest infrastructure tragedy in Minnesota history, fought to scoop the competition. The headlines were along the lines of:

Extra! Extra! Read All about It!

Children Escape School Bus near Flames

Doctors Induce Pregnant Woman Plucked from Debris

Most likely, editors in newsrooms across the nation were shouting, “Get me that story!” In Minnesota, the bridge collapse wasn’t just the top story of the day, it was the biggest story in several years.

After a few days, the national media dispersed to sink its talons into the next big crisis. Search-and-rescue missions became recovery missions. The hundreds of spectators on the neighboring Tenth Avenue Bridge, who had gazed avidly at the aftermath of the collapse, dissipated into handfuls of curiosity seekers armed with digital cameras. The bodies were recovered, the wreckage hauled away.

When the concrete dust had settled, thirteen people had lost their lives and roughly 145 were forced to begin second ones. Survivors and family members of those who had perished found themselves faced with new, life-altering realities: permanent injuries, the loss of wage earners, the emotional and psychological traumas of witnessing horror. While others could walk away from it, they were walking with it.

In the months and years following the collapse, the public discussion turned largely political, focusing on too-thin gusset plates and the possible negligence of MnDOT, the bridge-inspection firm, and the construction company. But there is another side to the story that deserves to be told: the human element. Of all that fell that day in August, only one segment, the survivors, were expected ever to stand again. This book chronicles how they’re doing it.

The site of the 35W Bridge collapse is a scar on a metropolitan landscape. Each August 1, the state government orders flags flown at half-staff, and Minnesotans are asked to pause for a moment to reflect on the significance of that day. Most ponder, then move on. But some don’t.

Some can’t. And some are trying.