Even if Pittsburgh possessed an ordinary cityscape – something that belied the grand slopes and hillsides that crowded my childhood, something that was more flat than fizz – its bridges would still be the sinews that hold everything together: the culture.
Bridges are a connecting point. They tie us together. The bridges, photos of which you’ll often find on postcards from their positions in various locations around the city, are made from hard steel and are the conduits to destinations and discoveries that natives and tourists alike find exciting.
But the City of Bridges is incredibly inconsistent with naming and nomenclature. If Pittsburgh’s bridges are so important — so heralded that they are named after the greatest Pittsburghers ever — why then are there no bridges named after a Black Pittsburgher?…