After the sixth bridge spanning the connecting East Falls to West Fairmount Park collapsed in 1893, the city’s chief engineer and surveyor, George S. Webster designed a pin-connected Petit thru truss — a durable subdesign of the Pratt Truss — to hopefully span the Schuylkill for the last time.   As you can see from Webster and James Windrim’s (more on his son, John coming soon) sketch, the bridge that was built was very different, especially the approaches.  The Falls Bridge is anchored by two masonry piers and was constructed by the Filbert, Porter and Company who completed the span at a cost of $261,744.37 – $38,255.62 under budget!   The bridge is 556′ in length and 40′ wide.  Click here for a discussion on the wide world of trusses. 

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When the pall of the Great Depression settled on Philadelphia, the predominantly Republican Quaker City mobilized its preexisting network of voluntaristic organizations (organizations formed from individuals’ voluntary cooperative efforts as opposed to those orchestrated by some external political force) to remedy the growing poverty in the city. The city placed its hope in its numerous private charitable organizations—staffed by affluent and well meaning Philadelphians, until these organizations were overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of needy.

The loss of homes through foreclosure hurt industrial workers in Philadelphia, many of whom had taken out onerous mortgages in pursuit of that cornerstone of the American dream: home ownership. Homeless encampments caustically referred to as Hoovervilles sprouted up along the Schuylkill. In industrial districts, according to historian Roger D. Simon, “crowds harassed and sometimes chased away constables making evictions.” In May and August 1932, the unemployed marched on City Hall urging an expansion of public relief. But Philadelphia’s stodgy Republican administration, perhaps weaned on the myths of Horatio Alger and his uplifting tales of personal responsibility saw public relief as unmanly, economically deleterious, and not a small bit Socialist.

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On Hill’s 1796 map of Philadelphia, two dotted lines mark the course of future Federal St. (bottom of picture above) A note within the margins of the hypothetical road reads, “Federal Road from Gray’s Ferry to Southwark [authorized] by the Commissioners February 25, 1783.”

Though the mention of the Commissioners seems to suggest that the decision to build the road originated in the districts of Moyamensing and Southwark, Scharff and Wescott’s ponderous History of Philadelphia’s account of the road’s construction complicates this interpretation. It states that in 1794 the state legislature ordered the opening of the “Federal Street” which was “surveyed under the act of 1787.” What was this act of 1787? It is unlikely that Scharff and Wescott are referring to the Federal Ordinance of 1787 which organized settlement in the Northwest Territory. Although it’s more likely that the “act of 1787” refers to a state act, other accounts insinuate that the Federal government did have a hand in the building of Federal St.

Robert Alotta’s Street Names of Philadelphia states that the street was deemed “Federal” “because it led from the early navy yard to the federal arsenal near Gray’s Ferry.” True, some structures at the Schuylkill Arsenal at 2620 Gray’s Ferry Road had existed since 1799 and Brandt and Gummere’s Byways and Boulevards in and about Historic Philadelphia reports that “records at the Arsenal begin with 1781 and include numerous transactions prior to 1800.” It is clear that the arsenal became a Federal facility—the third in the nation—around 1799. Similarly, Joshua Humphreys shipyard, located just south of Gloria Dei was federalized in 1801 becoming the first Philadelphia Navy Yard. Just as these two facilities were coming on line, Pennsylvania ordered Federal St. open.

As Alotta put it: “In 1790, the commissioners of the District of Southwark established Federal Street as a “new street” from the Passyunk Road to the Schuylkill River. Eleven years later (1801), the governor ordered the street opened from Swanson Street to the Schuylkill.”

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Apparently, since all 69,000 Birds fans left the Linc at roughly the same time this glorious Sunday, the dynamic load of their combined girth, moving in step, made for some tricky descents down the facility’s ramps. Some described it as feeling like an “earthquake.” It appeared to be a case of lateral vibration or synchronous lateral excitation and a highly typical case. In classic cases the structure’s movement alters peoples’ walking patterns, exacerbating the erratic movement.

The same thing happened at the opening of London’s Millenium Bridge in 2000. For those Eagles fans who had a major freak-out, the Millenium Bridge has an entire section of their site devoted to explaining the problem under “challenge”. There’s even some video of the sway.

Linc spokesperson Bonnie Grant believes the facility can tolerate these loads but no one should doubt the power of stepping-in-synch. Hence this worst case scenario: “For this reason, armies traditionally “break step” when they march over a bridge. In 1850, the Angers suspension bridge collapsed over the Maine (sic) [Marne] River in Angers, France, as 478 French soldiers marched in step across it, killing 226. Though a storm raged at the time of the accident, experts blame the soldiers’ marching for causing one of the anchoring cables, embedded in concrete, to tear loose.”

Read the whole Village Voice article from which this exerpt comes from — written after momentous loads caused the Brooklyn Bridge to slither in 2003.

L&I has ordered an investigation into the ramps, although the firm who originally designed the Linc, RWDI, tried to minimize movement in the spectator deck.

Nestled between Pine and Lombard and 19th and 20th Streets lies a concealed and curious block cut into quarters by the east-west alleyway Waverly Street and perhaps the best-named thoroughfare in Philadelphia, Uber St. While the boundary streets: Pine, Lombard, 20th and 19th have remained, the names of the internal alleys have changed dramatically.

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Everyone is down on SEPTA but no one has ever considered the difficulty of melding various independent private transit systems into a cohesive whole.  From a “long view” of SEPTA one can truly say they are “Serious About Change.”

This is precisely what I argue in this paper: a history of SEPTA’s bureaucratic formation from roughly 1958 to 1983.   I urge transit buffs, Philadelphia historians, ex-PRR, RDG, and SEPTA officials to comment.