The opening day

From the ant's-eye view, standing on the road some 300 feet below the top of the pillar, the Bill Emerson Memorial Bridge is more powerful than pretty, more prominent than poetic.

From miles away, it may appear that each white cable was carefully painted on Cape Girardeau's skyline. From up close, the canvas turns into a working man's masterpiece, a staggering sculpture of concrete and steel, the end result of thousands of ideas, decisions, calculations and drops of sweat.

Cape Girardeau's newest and most imposing structure was the star of the show Saturday as thousands of people spilled onto its deck, each person peering at the architecture while claiming his or her moment in history.

Rep. Jo Ann Emerson, R-Mo., cuts the ceremonial cable to officially open the Bill Emerson Memorial Bridge in Cape Girardeau. Mo., Saturday, Dec. 13, 2003.

But there were times Saturday when Cape Girardeau's new bridge was upstaged by something perhaps even more secure than the span itself -- the memory of the late Bill Emerson.

Saturday morning, 60 feet above the Mississippi River in windy and sub-freezing weather, thousands gathered in the middle of the span to dedicate the bridge in Emerson's name.

The new bridge is 19-plus years in the making and Emerson, a former Congressman, played a big role to secure funding for the bridge. In March 1994, Emerson told federal transportation officials that the bridge needed to be a top priority. Later that year, a contract was awarded for Highway 74 and two years later, the first $1 million was released to launch the bridge's construction. Emerson died on June 22, 1996.

More than seven years after he died, Emerson's presence Saturday was as strong as his handshake. His daughters, his widow, his friends and co-workers were there.

The same college student who used to fetch Emerson's breakfast -- hard-boiled eggs, peach yogurt and toast with no butter -- was there. Jason Crowell, once Emerson's summer intern, is now a state representative and is moving up the ladder in state politics.

The same man who was Emerson's first campaign manager was there too. Peter Kinder is now the leader of the state Senate.

Emerson's friend, Marlys Smith, sang his favorite song, "Amazing Grace." Emerson's pastor, the Rev. Paul Kabo, gave the invocation. From U.S. Sen. Kit Bond -- who spearheaded the legislation to name the bridge after Emerson -- to U.S. Sen. Jim Talent, all the politicians had a kind word or story to say about their friend.

A man from Kennett named Rodger Dale Pritchett, who met Emerson once, won a song-writing contest. He sang "A strong handshake," which made the musical connection of Emerson's firm grip to the bridge that now connects Missouri and Illinois.

Jo Ann Emerson, Emerson's widow, made a heart-felt speech. Hundreds responded with a standing ovation, the applause muffled by gloves and mittens.

"My late husband, Bill Emerson, built bridges of a different kind," she said. "He connected good ideas with the people who could make them work. He inspired his constituents and colleagues. He put Americans in touch with the inner resources they needed to fulfill their potential."

Emerson's daughters describe their late father as a warm and gentle family man who treated everyone with respect.

If that's the case, then Emerson would have enjoyed Saturday morning.

People of all ages and backgrounds gathered on the bridge. The marching band tunes, the Budweiser Clydesdales, the old model cars provided a festive atmosphere. Vendors sold commemorative shirts, books and pins. Strangers initiated conversation with one another. Grandfathers brought their grandchildren. Mothers carried their bundled infants in their arms.

And for perhaps the one and only time in history, pedestrians crowded the Bill Emerson Memorial Bridge.

Among the walkers, amateur photographers and videographers were people who had walked across the old bridge once before. They were members of the Diamond Club.

Robert Hartle, 85, is a member of the club, but his wife, Adell, was just as excited as he was to walk across.

"I just can't believe it," she said. "Just to be a part of this ... It could have been pouring rain, a cyclone could have been coming through, but I wouldn't have missed this. It's just a great moment."

Twenty-four hours earlier, weather threatened to keep the pedestrians off the bridge. Forecasters had called for up to 4 inches of snow, and backup plans were made to have the ceremonies inside a tent. Flurries fell, but no snow accumulated, and the ceremonies -- including the bicycle and running races -- went on as planned.

Mike McCrite, of Olive Branch, Ill., said a little bit of snow wouldn't have bothered him. McCrite developed polio when he was a child and walks with a severe limp, but he enjoyed walking a mile across the bridge and back with his wife and adult son.

While the bridge is an important means of commerce and transportation to Cape Girardeau, it's a lifeline for McCrite and others who live across the river, but work and shop in Cape Girardeau. The old bridge, which closed forever around 2 p.m. Saturday, was narrow and bumpy. McCrite, a school board member, said crossing the old bridge is part of the driving test at Egyptian High School. He recalled one girl who got scared and stopped in the middle of the bridge.

McCrite watched the progress of the bridge every day for years. The buildup made Saturday all the more exciting.

"This is something else," he said as he looked up to the towering piers. "To think how much thought went into it before a drop of concrete was even poured."

When Emerson's daughters, Katherine Emerson, Tori Emerson Barnes, Liz Leger and Abby Gilhooley, look at those towering piers from now on, they'll think of that, too. And they'll one day tell their children about "Grandpa Bill," the man who helped bring the two states together.

In the afternoon following the ceremony, the Emerson girls were awestruck and emotional about the day that had finally come. It's not every day a bridge is dedicated in your dad's honor.

"To actually see it, to step foot on it, it puts everything into a place where we can have some closure and know that his name will go on forever," Tori said.

bmiller@semissourian.com

243-6635