Crossing the Golden Gate Bridge, June 9, 1968

I was surprised to learn back then that it cost 10 cents to cross the Golden Gate Bridge in those days.  You had to pop a dime in the slot before you could pass through the turnstile.  No problem.  We may have been rather poor, earning perhaps $1.50 per hour for our respective employers--Mike at a sock warehouse in downtown LA and me at the wallpaper warehouse not quite as far into downtown LA; but we could easily afford a dime to cross.

Of course, with my warped sense of humor, I thought of all of those lost souls who ventured out to the Golden Gate Bridge to end it all and discovered that they had neglected to bring a dime.  Would they simply glance around, see that no one was watching, and climb over the turnstile to reach the bridge?  And then I also thought that these desperate souls were not even crossing the entire length of the bridge as we were that day.  Couldn't they just pay a nickle, only intending to cross about half-way?  And how much money had the city of San Francisco earned over the years from all of those who had ended it all on the bridge?

Apologies to those who have lost friends or relatives on the bridge over the decades, but that was just the way my mind worked back then.  With the Vietnam War on the nightly news, and assassinations and gruesome murders also populating the decade, as well, it was difficult not to maintain a dark perspective about something like requiring a dime to have access to the Golden Gate Bridge, just so one could jump off of it.  Having been back to the bridge in the decades after this, I noticed that the turnstile and the slot are long gone.  Those who want to cross, or still only cross part way, can do so for free.

Unfortunately, I have an intense fear of heights.  While the two pictures of me above, one flashing the peace sign, make me appear entirely calm and fearless, I was scared.  I wore blue canvas Converse low top sneakers in those days.  My feet kept trying to grip the concrete walkway through my shoes as we crossed, one scary step at a time.  I tried not to look down or around much.  With the wind blowing, I had continuous visions of myself being blown off the bridge to my own untimely end.  I am not sure Mike had it much easier than I. 

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