Since its completion in 1937, the graceful, red-towered Golden Gate Bridge has borne a grisly charm for Californians bent on sure self-destruction. At first, they could also be sure of headlines as well as death. But by the time the score had reached 46 lives, San Francisco dailies gave them no more than routine paragraphs.
One morning last week two bridge painters saw something new. A hundred yards from where they were working, a little girl with straw-blond curls stood on a girder outside the safety railing. While they gaped in astonishment, she plunged into space. Then a man...
To continue reading:
or
Log-In
