(508 words)
With an eeriness I doubt I’ll ever shake, I’d been obsessed with the Simon & Garfunkel 1970 classic “Bridge Over Troubled Water” since at least five days before a Baltimore bridge became fatally troubled by what was happening upon waters it was built to bridge.
I’ve tried in vain to find a way to cajole the song — maybe the most flawlessly recorded pop song ever — into a hymn to ease the hurt of those who are weary, feeling small.
The ones who have tears in their eyes, who need one of us to dry them off, to assure them we’re on their side when times get rough and friends just can’t be found.
Sing it with me: “Like A Bridge Over Troubled Water, I will lay me down!”
It’s estimated 15,000 men and women earn their living from the boats that daily come and go through that port.
How many graduation parties just got canceled? How many weddings postponed? How many vacations denied because the rainy day fund all of a sudden needs to be used on umbrellas.
The disruption. The chaos. The lives thrown into tumult.
When you’re down-’n’-out
When you’re on the street
When evening falls so hard, I will comfort you
I’ll take your part, oh, when darkness comes
And pain is all around
Like a bridge over troubled water …
As I said, the song has been on my mind for more than a week. I can’t remember what precipitated the infatuation. I know I was in the car and wanted to play one song really, really loud. I saw “BOTW” on a playlist and thought, “Perfect.”
It wasn’t until I’d played it full blast that I realized the song itself is, indeed, perfect.
It is without flaw. Contributing to its production should be the highlight of the contributor’s entire lives. Each obituary should read for all involved: “Paul Simon, composer of the world’s most perfect song, ‘BOTW, died …”
“Art Garfunkel, who delivered the most flawless vocal performance in history on ‘BOTW,’ died …
An accomplished woman, say, could have lived a life of achievement in math or science, but if she tinged! the triangle for one note 54 years ago, it should be the first mention in her obit.
I played the song loud, so often, that staff in the Tin Lizzy began to complain.
“Why does it have to be so loud?” a waiter asked.
I told him I wanted the whole building to hear it because it’s a perfect song.
I said the song shares no metaphorical kinship with the Key bridge tragedy, but that doesn’t mean it still can’t. Because we will now begin to hear stories of hope and heroism.
We’re going to read about neighbors helping neighbors, of experts wowing us with their insight, and about families overcoming struggles.
We’re going to hear stories of everyday men and women building a new bridge over once-troubled waters.
And on that day I’ll open the windows and turn it up as loud as it can go.
I want the whole world to hear it.
YouTube: “Bridge Over Troubled Waters”
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