David McCullough

Of the many books I've read in recent years The Great Bridge, the story of the building of the Brooklyn Bridge, is perhaps the one I most expected not to like yet made myself read anyway. 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 titled 1776. Too, having walked the Brooklyn Bridge itself, 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 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 who were intimately involved in such projects.

To be sure, McCullough as ought to be expected 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 does he describe the craft. Plus there's other historical aspects behind the Bridge which are well examined. But the bottom line is, make it about the people and you can make a good book. That of course will make a good read.