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the abbreviated reign of “neon” leon spinks

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OOPS 52<br />

much a part <strong>of</strong> design and architecture in machine age America <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong><br />

1920s and 1930s. In that new era <strong>of</strong> streamlined airplanes, cars, and massproduced<br />

everything, <strong>the</strong> nation dreamed <strong>of</strong> greatness and wanted its<br />

structures to reflect that vision. “Even after <strong>the</strong> stock market crash <strong>of</strong> 1929<br />

and <strong>the</strong> hard times <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> Great Depression that followed, <strong>the</strong> dream <strong>of</strong><br />

greatness persisted,” wrote Hobbs in his comprehensive narrative <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong><br />

Tacoma Narrows Bridge on a Washington State Department <strong>of</strong> Transportation<br />

Web site. “Skyscrapers came to symbolize <strong>the</strong> strengths <strong>of</strong> American<br />

civilization. The soaring towers represented America’s vision <strong>of</strong><br />

greatness, efficiency, elegance, power, courage, and even rebirth.” The<br />

phrase “frozen fountain” was bestowed upon those high-rising structures<br />

that celebrated what architect Louis H. Sullivan in 1896 had described as<br />

“<strong>the</strong> force and power <strong>of</strong> altitude.”<br />

In that era, building a utilitarian train trestle or a merely functional<br />

passenger-car bridge across a spot as magnificent as <strong>the</strong> Tacoma Narrows<br />

would have seemed like putting yard gnomes on <strong>the</strong> White House lawn.<br />

The site—a divide that featured picturesque bluffs topped by tall<br />

evergreens—was a blank canvas in need <strong>of</strong> an artist.<br />

As luck had it, Moisseiff’s design aes<strong>the</strong>tic meshed perfectly with<br />

<strong>the</strong> times for several reasons. Bridges, he believed, needed to be “safe,<br />

convenient, economical in cost and maintenance, and at <strong>the</strong> same time<br />

satisfy <strong>the</strong> sense <strong>of</strong> beauty <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> average man <strong>of</strong> our time.” Engineers<br />

should strive for “<strong>the</strong> pleasure <strong>of</strong> good form,” and continuously “search<br />

for <strong>the</strong> graceful and elegant.” As luck also had it, “graceful and elegant”<br />

usually meant thinner and lighter, which also meant cheaper—an appealing<br />

notion to taxpayers and government accountants during <strong>the</strong> scarcemoney<br />

years after <strong>the</strong> 1929 crash.<br />

When <strong>the</strong> state <strong>of</strong> Washington applied to <strong>the</strong> federal Public Works<br />

Administration for money to build <strong>the</strong> Tacoma Narrows Bridge, <strong>the</strong> feds<br />

decided that <strong>the</strong> safe and practical preliminary design by state bridge engineer<br />

Clark Eldridge was, at $11 million, too expensive. The precise rea-

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