Great Bridge Losing Its Character(s)! As a little girl growing up out in Blackwater, it was a big deal to ride into Great Bridge with my mom and brother. Dont look at them and dont talk to them!, my mother would warn us as we were getting out of the car at Safeway, Smith and Welton, or Roses cafeteria. Horace, the Great Bridge Bum, seldomly spoke, but his eyes said it all as he stood by, uncomfortably close, as we ordered our large soft serve cones from Gwens. I loved how Horace would lie in the sun in the most obvious, imposing spots in GB. I remember feeling so scared and embarrassed for him when his cloths and skin all seemed to have turned black. My big brother told me hed been tarred and feathered. Big brother talk or the truth? As we stepped out of Cookes Hardware, Ricky Retardo would zoom by on his moped. In 2014, I hesitate to even type that word, but in the 1970s, thats just how he was referred to. Now, unlike Horace, Ricky would turn that moped around and talk to us about ANYTHING! The weather, a GB football game, local gossip, etc.! He too was a constant presence in GB and my brother and I always looked for him and would exclaim his name within the safety and confines of my Moms 1970 Ford LTD. Whenever we had to go to Great Bridge Pharmacy, right by the bridge, we always kept our eyes peeled for TJ Cowboy Carawan who would either be campaigning for city council or waving his flag as he sat in the back of his pick up truck in a rocking chair on the south side of the GB bridge, serving as a welcome wagon to our lovely little town. Ill never forget an exchange between Mr. Carawan and my Dad at GB Exxon, the real one owned by Dave Schloff, in 1981. My Dad had just returned from being held hostage in Iran for 444 days and Mr. Carawan thanked him profusely as he shook his hand vigorously with tears streaming down his face. That gentleman loved his country! I miss them all and I miss our little town. I dont like going into GB anymore. I cant believe there are pawn shops where we used to eat tasty fried chicken at Golden Skillet and exotic Chinese food at Ho Ho. The BBT bank is a poignant reminder of an utter disregard for the historical, hallowed ground where one of the towns first churchs once stood. Im truly aggravated by the northern accents I hear complaining about our little town as they simultaneously clarify for each other which exit of the NJ turnpike theyre from. I much prefer hearing the gentile lilts of our senior citizens at community gatherings in Hickory or Wallaceton and I remember the days when everybody sounded like that. The demolition of the original Great Bridge school a few weeks ago was somewhat symbolic. That little town full of character(s) is gone. Margaret Mitchell prefaces her novel on the Old South, Look for it only in storybooks, for it is a civilization gone with the wind. Great Bridge is still a burrough in Chesapeake, but its not the one I remember so fondly. I find myself looking for that same character as I opt for Moyock over Great Bridge when I take my little boy to run our weekly errands, and I find that same small town feeling, but its still not the same. I miss the old Great Bridge and all of its character(s).
Posted on: Sun, 26 Oct 2014 14:45:08 +0000