As suggested in proverb, it’s best not to bite the hand that feeds you.
As suggested by the lessons of this day in 1940, it’s also best not to bite the hand that is attempting to rescue you.
Five days earlier at the University of Washington, wind tunnel tests on a 54-foot long scale model of the Tacoma Narrows Bridge had offered possible solutions to the seemingly minor – if disquieting – design flaws that had been evident since the world’s third longest suspension bridge opened to traffic on July 1 of that year. Conceived by renowned engineer Leon Moisseif, the bridge was expected to withstand winds up to 120 mph – but it was quickly apparent that even light winds could cause waves in the roadway.
As recounted in the Washington State Department of Transportation’s history of the bridge, “Thrill-seekers drove to the Narrows from miles around when the ripples started.”
Some motorists became "seasick" and avoided using the bridge. But, for adventurous spirits the bridge became an amusement ride. Drivers crossing the span at times saw a car in front of them suddenly disappear into the trough of a wave. Moments later it reappeared as the roadway rose. According to one report, a couple of times drivers experienced waves 10 feet high.
It wasn’t long before the undulating bridge earned the nickname “Galloping Gertie,” but not even the wind tunnel tests led by Professor F.B. Farquharson predicted what was to come. Shortly before 10:00 a.m. on November 7, the bridge was closed to traffic, as 40 mph winds were causing more frequent oscillations than usual. Still, the bridge had survived stronger winds before. While driving conditions may have been unsafe, there was little reason to expect the dramatic twisting that would lead to the bridge’s stunning collapse.
Quoted in Richard Scott’s In the Wake of Tacoma,
While checking the frequency from a position on the roadway to the north of the toll plaza a few minutes later, a violent change in motion was noted. This change appeared to take place without any intermediate stages, and with such extreme violence that the span appeared to be about to roll completely over. The most startling condition arose out of the fact that from a line of sight very nearly parallel to the bridge the upper side of the roadway was visible while what appeared to be a nearly perpendicular view of the bottom of the roadway was offered on the Tacoma side. The motion, which a moment before had involved a number of waves (nine or ten), had shifted almost instantly to two.
“Moments earlier,” it is noted in Matthys Levy and Mario Salvadori’s book Why Buildings Fall Down
As the bridge pitched violently, the car careened across the pavement, and Coatsworth, jumping out of it, was thrown to the pavement. He tried to get up and run back off the bridge but was forced to crawl on all fours, while struggling not to fall over the edge because of the wild gyrations of the deck. Suddenly Coatsworth remembered leaving his daughter’s cocker spaniel in the car and tried to go back, but by that time the motion was so violent that he couldn’t. When he finally reached the shore, his hands and knees were bruised and bloody. Arthur Hagen and Rudy Jacox had also just driven onto the bridge when it began to sway. They jumped out of their truck and crawled to one of the towers, where they were helped to safety by the workmen as (in the words of Professor Farquharson) the bridge crumbled beneath them “with huge chunks of concrete flying into the air like popcorn.”
At is at this point that the old axiom could use some updating. Out of compassion or compulsion, the good professor made a daring run for Coatsworth’s car in an effort to rescue what Scott less forgivingly refers to as “a recalcitrant dog.” By varying accounts, Farquharson was unable to reach the car, or not only reached the car but briefly attempted to drive it to safety. By his own account, he merely opened the car door and tried to rescue the dog. Sadly, the recalcitrant – or more likely petrified – three-legged pooch, Tubby snapped at the hand of his emancipator.
Forced to abandon his efforts, Farquharson scurried to safety as cables snapped and the roadway rapidly fell and rose again beneath his feet. The professor narrowly escaped the bridge’s capitulation to the forces of nature. Three-legged Tubby was not so lucky; though his bones were never recovered from the wreckage, he most certainly plummeted to his death as the bridge disintegrated into the Puget Sound.
Or did he?
Holding out hope for a miraculous getaway (or at least a painless release from his earthly existence) for poor Tubby, we turn to Flying Dog’s Old Scratch Amber Lager. As a ghostly off-white head melts into rich copper shades, its inviting butterscotch and toffee undertones lure its patrons to the safety of a dry finish. Riding a wave of carbonation, the spiciness of Perle hops and a faint, citric sourness break through Old Scratch’s initial sweetness before fading gently into oblivion. To drink from Old Scratch’s dish is surely better than to bite the hand that would rescue you.
