editorials

Where were you a year ago today, at 6:05 p.m.? If you live anywhere in Minnesota, chances are you remember. The collapse of the Interstate 35W bridge across the Mississippi River took 13 lives and changed countless others. For people all across the state and beyond, the event and the site occupy a special place in the geography of grief and meaning.

The pain is worst, of course, for the families of those who were killed. And among the scores of injured are some who have yet to recover, whether physically or emotionally. But 140,000 cars crossed the bridge every day. Its failure was a shock to a community much larger than those who were on it when it fell. Nor did the shock emanate only from the failure of the bridge alone, but also from other failures that we still are struggling to understand: Was it a failure of design, of spending, of inspection, of maintenance? Was the collapse triggered by heat, or vibrations, or the weight of construction equipment? Whatever the cause or combination of causes, the obvious result was a failure to keep the public safe. A close observer of city life remarked this week, "It could have been anybody."

It would be a mistake, though, to think that failure and grief are the only legacies of the bridge collapse. The past year has seen amazing examples of skill, competence and heroism. In the minutes and hours immediately after the disaster, first responders worked bravely and tirelessly to save those they could and to comfort those they could not. Ordinary people rushed to help. A city bureaucracy that had trained and drilled for catastrophe joined with other agencies up and down the line, from neighboring municipalities to state and federal governments, to organize and deliver assistance. And though the initial flush of bipartisanship turned out to be short-lived, the state's leaders did prove themselves able to move smartly into the process of restoring a vital corridor into downtown Minneapolis. The state might have selected a design with more style -- and we wish it had -- but the speed at which the new bridge is being built is remarkable.

For all of these reasons, the failure and restoration of the 35W bridge is a chapter of our common life that demands attention and respect. We need a proper memorial.

The idea of a memorial has been discussed almost since the beginning of the design process, but no plans have materialized, at least publicly. Officials have deferred so far to a group of bridge survivors, who reportedly have expressed their hope that any memorial be "peaceful, quiet and positive" -- and not on, or too close to, the bridge itself. "There are some people who don't feel they can return to that site," said Margaret McAbee, director of Survivor Resources, an organization that works with people affected by this and other accidents or crimes.

We agree that the bridge itself is not likely to be a place that inspires contemplation. But too great a distance would rob any memorial of something important. Consider the plaza dedicated to the three black circus workers who were lynched in Duluth in 1920; part of its power is that it tells the viewer about something that happened at that spot. The same will be true, someday, when a memorial is in place at Ground Zero in Manhattan.

Our preference for a 35W memorial would be a small park with a view of the bridge -- perhaps on the land along University Avenue, between the new span and the 10th Avenue bridge. It's a good spot for some green space. A plaque could commemorate the loss of the bridge and the victims. Instead of a sculpture, a few of the twisted girders from the old bridge, now lying on the ground in the Bohemian Flats park, could serve as a powerful testament to the calamity that took place last Aug. 1.

In a sense, though, the new bridge itself will be a memorial. For a long time, those who cross it will remember what happened there; later, as memories fade, they should be reminded. For that reason we'd like to propose that the new span be given a name:

The 35W Memorial Bridge.