Throughout the enchanted Philadelphia 76ers’ playoff run in the spring of 2001, a fellow lunatic from South Philly kept bugging me to stage another death-defying stunt to spur on the already fervent city. Angelo Borgesi invited me to his workplace to discuss his idea. But he didn’t work in an office; he was talking about a bridge. The Walt Whitman Bridge, specifically, which spans the Delaware River connecting Pennsylvania and New Jersey. At its peak, the Walt Whitman Bridge is 400 feet high. It is a serious span.
“We’ll climb the girders,” Angelo cheerily told me, “and then we’ll hang a humongous banner.” Like 70 feet by 6 feet. In a rare moment of sanity, I declined.
But my buddy Angelo and his mountain-goat cronies wouldn’t let me off so easily. They pestered and persisted, cajoled and kidded. Finally, I gave in. “If we get to the NBA Finals,” I promised, “I’ll climb that bridge and hang a banner that can be seen from three states.”
As luck would have it, the Sixers made it to the NBA Finals and I made my promise come true.
Angelo and his bridge crew know every inch of that bridge. They do the painting. They do the repairs. They are used to working up in that rare air. They could probably walk up and down among the cables and girders in their sleep. So while I had decided to place my absolute trust in them, that doesn’t mean I wasn’t nervous. Though I knew these capable men would pilot me through the mission, there still were butterflies the size of 757’s flying around in my guts doing wild barrel rolls and loop-de-loops.
They hooked a safety belt on me, and placed a clip on each hip and up we walked and walked and walked. The climb up went smoothly and – thank you, Lord – without incident.
The large cables upon which you walk are a good foot wide, so there is enough room to put one foot in front of the other instead of having to shimmy. A couple of the bridge crew preceded me to the top, as they said, to make sure that the hawks weren’t in their nest.
“Excuse me,” I said with the city of Philadelphia shrinking below us. “Would you repeat that, please?” Angelo said, “There’s a hawk couple and they’ve made this bridge their home. They’ve built a nest.”
So my unique tour to the top of the Walt Whitman Bridge wasn’t dangerous enough, now I have to dodge a couple of sharp beaked hawks. Luckily, they were not at home. Shopping, maybe…for fresh meat. And their home looked like it could easily accommodate a 6-foot tall human with a goatee and glasses.
At the top of the bridge, we all did our part to drape the banner. It read: GO SIXERS, BEAT L.A.
Though our hopes were as high as the hawks’ nest, the Lakers proved to be too good. The Sixers won the first game, but then lost the next four. L.A. won its second straight NBA championship. But the Sixers, with all their heart and hustle and grit and gristle, still left the city with a warm glow and a sign of our rise to the top. |
