The Bridge in Brooklyn

I am currently reading The Great Bridge, the story of the building of the Brooklyn Bridge. It was penned by David McCullough as a follow up to his book about the devastating Johnstown flood. He wanted a happier subject as he didn't want to be filed away as the disaster writer. I get that.
What caused me to read this particular book is multi-faceted. I loved McCullough's biographies of Harry Truman and John Adams as well as his fictionalized account of the first year of American independence, appropriately title 1776. Too, having walked the Brooklyn Bridge itself just last summer, I was impressed with its grandeur and, I suppose, awed that such a thing could have been made in the ancient 1870s; no doubt a little modern arrogance at work there. But more than anything, I was piqued at an attempt to make a tale of bridge building interesting. How is that possible?
It's possible if you have a talent like McCullough's. The thing that makes it work is his ability to talk about the people, and the people of course made the bridge. I had a bit of a duh moment when that occurred to me. McCullough wrote about the people. As such, I have great respect for, for example, the father/son duo of John and Washington Roebling, the engineers behind the project. The past comes alive, it comes into the present, when we learn about the people from back then.
To be sure, McCullough spends some considerable time on the engineering aspects. He does well with his explanations: I *think* I understand how the caissons are used and the dangers involved, so well were his words woven. Plus there's other historical aspects behind the Bridge which are well explained too. But the bottom line is, make it about the people and you can make yourself a good book. Or in my case here, a good read.