postcard courtesy lauderdale library
The Frisco Bridge, as it looked in the early 1900s, when it was the only span across the Mississippi River at Memphis — and, in fact, the only bridge across the river between St. Louis and the Gulf of Mexico.
Editor’s Note: Drivers don't care about bridges until they can no longer use them. While work is presently under way to repair the damaged — and temporarily closed — Hernando DeSoto Bridge, and civic leaders ponder building a replacement, we searched our archives for a story that would remind readers that stretching a bridge across the mighty Mississippi could be a tremendous challenge. This article originally appeared in our November 1990 issue.
Memphians rarely pay much attention to the old Frisco Bridge, still standing and carrying railroad traffic for more than a century now. The “Big M” Hernando DeSoto Bridge, which opened in 1973, is in the news lately because a broken support beam has closed it to Interstate 40 traffic crossing high over the Mississippi River. As a result, the Memphis-Arkansas Bridge, which opened to the south in 1949, has become (for now) the main traffic artery, now lined almost bumper to bumper with cars and trucks. And the old Harahan Bridge, built in 1916 and still carrying two railroad tracks, has become a popular tourist attraction, with its Big River Crossing for pedestrians and bikers, and its ever-changing lightshow.
But long ago, in 1892, more than 50,000 Memphians jammed the riverfront to celebrate the opening of this area’s oldest bridge with a two-day festival of fireworks, pageantry, parades, and what was billed as “the best oratorical talent in the United States.” Here’s a look back to those days in May 1892, when Memphis spanned the Mississippi with the longest bridge in North America.
By the end of the nineteenth century, the Mississippi River had become a problem for Memphis. Before the days of the railroads, Old Man River was one of this country’s most vital transportation arteries. But the steamboating days were over, and America now began to head west on rails of steel. The nearest bridge, however, crossed the river at St. Louis (the Eads Bridge opened there in 1874), and for every town south of that city, all the way to the Gulf of Mexico, the river was a wide barrier to growth and commerce.
The only way to cross the river at Memphis was by ferry, and that was time-consuming and costly. In the late 1800s, ferries here routinely charged $1 (quite a lot in those days) to carry a horse and rider across the currents, 25 cents for each head of cattle, and as much as $5 for stagecoaches.
Railroads heading east or west were forced to unhook all their cars at the river’s edge, load them onto steam-driven ferries, then hitch them to a waiting locomotive on the other side — a crossing that could take hours.
There was only one solution: We had to bridge the mighty Mississippi. The problem, however, was that here the river was not only considerably wider than it was further north, but the banks on the western side were low, marshy, and prone to flooding. A bridge here would not only have to span the Mississippi but extend a great distance over the Arkansas shore.
But it had to be done, and the Kansas City, Fort Scott, and Memphis Railroads formed a search committee to find an engineer who could build such a structure. They finally settled on George S. Morison of Chicago, who had gained some fame by building an iron bridge at Erie, Pennsylvania, to replace a wooden bridge that had burned. He had also constructed steel bridges at six locations along the Missouri River, as well as the great steel bridge spanning the Mississippi upstream at Cairo, Illinois. The Memphis bridge, however, would be his greatest challenge.
photograph courtesy benjamin l. hooks central library
An early view of the Frisco Bridge, looking east from the Arkansas side of the river.
Morison and his crew came to Memphis in 1885 to select the best location for the new bridge. He eventually chose the high bluffs at the southern edge of the city as the most stable foundation for the new structure. Two years later, Congress authorized its construction and chartered the Kansas City & Memphis Railroad Bridge Company.
Construction began November 7, 1888. The design of the new bridge involved “a unique scheme of such intricacy as to defy decription,” according to The Appeal-Avalanche, the local newspaper. Obviously, the Mississippi River here was too wide to bridge with a single span. Morison decided to employ a cantilever-type structure, involving a row of five stone piers extending across the water, with the huge weight of the bridge partially carried by the intricate steel framework.
But building on dry land was considerably easier than building across a river, especially such a shifting and unstable body of water as the Mississippi. It wasn’t just a simple matter of dropping concrete piers into the water at selected locations. The piers had to be sunk down through the muddy river bottom until they reached a firm foundation.
It was incredibly dangerous work. The diggers on the first pier were working as far as 130 feet below the surface, and the slightest disruption in the air pressure would send the water instantly rushing in on them.
To do this, Morison employed a pneumatic caisson system, considered quite innovative at the time. The bottom portions of the piers, or caissons, were constructed of stone and lumber on the shore, then floated out one at a time to their locations and lowered in place until they reached bottom. Each pier had a series of hollow shafts running vertically through it. Pressurized air was pumped down into these shafts to form a huge bubble at the bottom.
Construction workers would then climb down through the pier to the bottom, and actually stand on the wet river bottom, protected from the water rushing around them only by the high air pressure within their bubble. They would then excavate the bottom, and as they dug, the pier would slowly settle, lower and lower, until it finally reached a solid foundation. The earth and mud the diggers removed was pumped up out of the pier and dumped back into the river.
It was incredibly dangerous work. The diggers on the first pier were working as far as 130 feet below the surface, and the slightest disruption in the air pressure would send the water instantly rushing in on them. What’s more, working at such depths required a pressure of more than 47 pounds per square inch — more than three times greater than normal — and workers could toil for only 45 minutes at a time if they wanted to avoid the deadly “caisson disease,” known today as the “bends.” Before the bridge was finished, four workers were to die working within the caissons.
The last pier was set in place on June 6, 1891. After that, masonry teams attached facings of granite and limestone quarried from Georgia and Indiana — the same stonework visible today.
The Woman’s Exchange sold these aluminum medals to commemorate the opening of the “Memphis Bridge” as it was called at the time. This one, with its pink ribbon still attached, is part of the Lauderdale Collection.
The next step was the steelwork, much of which came from mills in Pennsylvania. The newspapers of the day were apparently fascinated by this stage of the construction — after all, their reporters could actually see what was happening — and regularly pointed out to their readers such impressive details as: “Many of the pieces weigh 10, 12, and 16 tons” and “The main pin of the cantilever truss is 14 inches in diameter and weighs 2,200 pounds.”
Readers of The Appeal-Avalanche also learned that the entire superstructure weighed 9,500 tons and used more than 100,000 steel rivets. Still not impressed? Then consider that the steel frame resting on the first pier was the largest steel plate ever manufactured in the United States.
What had been for months a row of huge stone stumps protruding above the water’s surface slowly began to take on a bridge shape, as steelworkers scrambled to lace the bridge together. Because of the length of some of the spans, allowances had to be made for the expansion of the beams under changing temperatures. Instead of being bolted tightly together, some portions of the steelwork were fitted with grooves to allow movement, so much so that the bridge actually glides on massive rollers on top of pier two.
An eyewitness reported: “From the sea of 50,000 faces lining the shores arose a great cheer as weeping women kissed their husbands and sweethearts goodbye, all positive the bridge would collapse with their loved ones who had volunteered for the test.”
All the sections were finally linked into a single span over the river on April 6, 1892. And what a bridge it was: five spans soaring 2,597 feet across the mighty Mississippi. That didn’t even include the 2,500-foot viaduct extending over the muddy lowland of the Arkansas shore. It was the longest bridge in North America, and the third longest in the world. Only the Firth of Firth Bridge in Scotland and the Lansdowne Bridge in India were longer at the time.
A bank cashier named James Smith had asked the bridge engineers to be the first to walk across, and they agreed — but before the span was fully completed! That meant he would have to step over a large gap between sections, spanned only by narrow planks of wood.
Hearing that, he changed his mind. Smith told his escorts, “I don’t think I’ll cross. It hurts my feet to walk so far, and beside, I might disturb the workmen.” Later, he told reporters the truth: “I glanced down and saw the river. It seemed to be 3,000 or 4,000 miles down to the water, and those planks looked very narrow and very frail.”
In honor of the completion, Memphis organized a celebration “excelling in elaborate magnificence and splendid grandeur anything of the sort ever before witnessed on the American continent.” That’s that the newspaper said, anyway. The two-day gala would include a dramatic test of the new bridge, two parades through Downtown Memphis, fireworks over the riverfront, a formal banquet at the Gayoso Hotel, and a gathering “of more state and local dignitaries than probably ever before existed outside the national capital.”
The Great Bridge Celebration kicked off on May 12, 1892, exactly four years after construction began. Twenty-five members of the mounted police force lead a parade down Main Street. Later, more than 50,000 people crowded the riverfront to witness the actual testing of the new bridge. Each of the 18 railroad companies operating out of Memphis provided a gaily decorated locomotive, and these engines were lined up at the Memphis approach to the bridge. Special crews had been hand-picked to take part in the test, and one of the crewman recalled his role years later:
“I was a machinist with the old Memphis & Charleston Railroad at the time,” said Charles Lawson. “One of the engineers who was to drive one of the first engines over the bridge got cold feet, so the master mechanic told me to take it across.”
The engineer wasn’t the only one to be nervous. Plenty of others in the crowd that day doubted such a spindly looking, long bridge could carry the weight of 18 locomotives.
An eyewitness reported: “From the sea of 50,000 faces lining the shores arose a great cheer as weeping women kissed their husbands and sweethearts goodbye, all positive the bridge would collapse with their loved ones who had volunteered for the test.”
The powerful engines built up steam and slowly chugged across. At each span, they paused so the construction engineers could measure how much the bridge actually flexed. At pier two, the bridge sagged four inches, but that was well within “normal” limits, so the engines proceeded cautiously across until they reached the Arkansas side.
Charles Lawson remembered: “Then we got orders to come back at top speed. We opened the throttles and those engines all hooked together made a pretty sight. We were doing about 65 miles an hour when we crossed, with the flags on the front of the engines standing straight out. The Concord [a federal gunboat visiting Memphis for the occasion] fired 21 cannon, and everyone in the boats and along the riverbanks either shot off a gun or a firecracker. It was the most deafening and most glorious din I have ever heard.”
Image courtesy lauderdale library
Postcard companies aren’t reliable historical resources. Although this old card offers a good view of the Frisco Bridge, and says the location is Memphis, somebody has identified the structure as the Eads Bridge, a much older span at St. Louis.
After the 18 locomotives had cleared the bridge, two engines from either side of the river pulled a flatcar to the middle of the bridge. One carried Governor Buchanan of Tennessee, the other Governor Eagle of Arkansas. After meeting in the middle, Buchanan declared, “In the name of the state of Tennessee, I bring you greetings. May our bonds of friendship always remain as strong as the ties of steel that bind us now.”
Eagle responded, “In the name of the great state of Arkansas, I beg to acknowledge your greetings. As long as this great bridge now stands, may Arkansas and Tennessee be more united than ever before.”
The Appeal-Avalanche, almost incoherent with excitement, decided that the governors’ meeting “was the first time such a feat has been performed in all time, the nearest possible approach to that miraculous accomplishment being recorded in the Holy Writ, wherein it is related that the Son of God walked upon the water.”
The ceremonies ended with a lengthy oration by Indiana Senator Daniel W. Voorhies, advertised as “The Tall Sycamore of the Wabash.” Voorhies had been engaged as the star attraction that afternoon — an odd choice since Indiana doesn’t touch the Mississippi River. Addressing the crowds from a platform erected at the bridge entrance, he spoke for more than an hour on such topics as the entire history of America and the links between the ancient Memphis of Egypt and the modern Memphis of Tennessee.
Pain put on a fantastic show, beginning with “nests of hissing serpents” and something called “the aerial acre of variegated gems.” The show concluded with “an exact facsimile of the new bridge, accurately and artistically rendered in jets of fire, covering a space of 1,500 feet.”
That evening, Memphis put on a second, more elaborate parade with more than 30 “allegorical” floats constructed and decorated to represent the history, progress, and future of Memphis. As the floats moved through Downtown Memphis (“which is well-known to be the most brilliantly illuminated at night of any city throughout the United States,” according to the newspaper), visitors were also treated to “a flambeau display of 500 torches and beautifully decorated fire engines.”
The next evening, the bridge celebrations officially ended with a bang: a fireworks display over the river put on by the Pain Company of New York, then one of the country’s premier pyrotechnic specialists. Derelict houses were torn down along the riverbanks to make room for spectators, and special stands were erected. — one to hold people willing to pay 50 cents for a good view, the other for the city’s orphans.
It we can believe contemporary accounts, Pain put on a fantastic show, beginning with “nests of hissing serpents” and something called “the aerial acre of variegated gems.” The show concluded with “an exact facsimile of the new bridge, accurately and artistically rendered in jets of fire, covering a space of 1,500 feet.”
After that, the Great Bridge Celebration was over. Memphis had never seen anything like it.
To help remember the event, the Woman’s Exchange sold medallions of the new bridge, coined from aluminum, “the beautiful new metal” (shown above). Newspaper editors predicted that the new structure “would bring Memphis to the first rank of all the railroad centers of the continent.” When that happened, the newspaper reminded its readers, the citizens of Memphis owed a certain publication a hearty thank-you for getting the whole thing started: “The Appeal-Avalanche, ever in the lead in matters pertaining to the welfare of the city, published a brief, but pithy and strong article calling attention to the matter and advising that immediate steps be taken toward the end in view.”
The new structure was simply called the Memphis Bridge for several years. When the St. Louis and San Francisco Railway (the Frisco) bought it a few years later, it became known as the Frisco Bridge, the name it still carries today.
Over the years, the Frisco Bridge has had its share of accidents, fires, suicides, and other unfortunate events. One of the strangest took place on the night of February 7, 1912. Bandits lurking on the bridge leapt aboard the Rock Island #43 when it slowed down to cross the river. As soon as the train reached the Arkansas side, they made their way to the engineer, stopped the train, then attempted to blow open the safe inside the mail car with dynamite.
Using a dozen sticks of dynamite only wrecked part of the car, so they piled on more than 20 pieces of dynamite on top of the safe and set them off. Remember that similar scene from Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid? The result shook windows all the way across the river. The explosion not only blew the railcar into a thousand pieces and set it afire, it destroyed the safe and everything inside. Police at the scene the next day reported “bills had been blown into treetops and hung on limbs like snowflakes.” The bandits, no doubt red-faced, got away empty-handed.
photograph by vance lauderdale
A recent view of the Frisco Bridge. The Memphis-Arkansas Bridge is barely visible to the left. Out of view to the right would be the Harahan Bridge and the Big River Crossing.
The Frisco Bridge was a unique landmark in Memphis for 24 years. But almost as soon as it opened, Memphians complained that it wasn’t enough. A railroad bridge designed to carry only one set of train tracks didn’t alleviate the needs of passenger traffic across the river. Planks were laid down between the rails, and for a while buggies and carts could creep across the bridge — only if no trains were headed their way. What’s more, the approach on the Arkansas side was so steep that many horses couldn’t pull a cart or buggy up the incline anyway.
By the early 1900s, Memphians were clamoring for a second bridge across the river. As a result, the Harahan Bridge was constructed just a few dozen yards north of the Frisco Bridge in 1916. To meet the increased demands of automobile traffic, flimsy-looking wooden roadways were suspended on the outside of the Harahan Bridge. Anyone afraid of heights simply didn’t cross the river by car, cart, or buggy until the four-lane Memphis-Arkansas Bridge opened in 1949. The fourth span across the river, the M-shaped Hernando DeSoto Bridge carrying I-40, opened farther north in 1973.
