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Dr. Panagis Galiatsatos can’t help but point out his father’s pride.
His father, Jerry, came to Baltimore from Greece in 1970, started growing his family and working, including construction on the Francis Scott Key Bridge.
Galiatsatos said his father, now 83, even swallowed his fear of heights to do the work, which provided for his family and led to other opportunities to put Galiatsatos on the path to become the physician he is today.
“A bridge like that, it’s not pride that he built it, it’s pride as a reminder that through that work he was able to live the American dream,” Galiatsatos said.
No one could predict that a few days after the 47th anniversary of the bridge opening it’d collapse after being struck by a cargo ship and the lives of six construction workers would go down with it.
The loss of the Francis Scott Key Bridge resonates differently depending on who one talks to. Many drove on it or were used to seeing it daily in the skyline. Several can remember when they worked on it or when it first opened in 1977. To them, the bridge was more than a roadway to get from one destination to the next.
Construction on the bridge began in 1972 with Baltimore-based J.E. Greiner Co. as the primary engineering consultant, according to Preservation Maryland. Originally, the State Roads Commission, the predecessor of the Maryland Transportation Authority, thought to add a second tunnel, in addition to Harbor Tunnel, to help with traffic congestion, but a four-lane bridge was thought to be less expensive. The bridge was named after Francis Scott Key, whose poem was the basis of “The Star-Spangled Banner.”
The bridge opened on March 23, 1977 as a final piece of Interstate 695, connecting Hawkins Point to Sollers Point, but also the many people who played a part in building it.
After joining the Army and returning from Vietnam, Chuck Mettille was on the hunt for work.
His father, an ironworker in Maryland and part of a union, set him up with an apprenticeship. One of his last jobs before heading to Bethlehem Steel was connecting the steel on the Francis Scott Key Bridge in 1975. It was one of the “most enjoyable jobs” that he had.
His days working on the bridge often required seven-day workweeks and long hours. In the morning, he and a crew would take a boat to the pier and then make their way to a scaffold to climb steps up to the bridge. If whitecaps were seen on the water, it meant it was too windy to work. Mettille enjoyed the views and fresh air working up high. He’d dangle his feet over the edge when he ate his lunch, waved to children in passing boats and could stand up and sometimes see the storms coming in.
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“I thought that bridge would always be there after I was dead and gone and to see something you put your heart and soul into … it just tore out a piece of [me] to see it go down,” said Mettille, who’s 75 and lives in Westminster.
For Stephanie Sennett, the bridge was part of a special moment in her life.
In January 2013, she was on a Carnival Pride cruise with her then-boyfriend, Adam, and friends. The cruise ships usually go underneath the bridge and people go out onto the deck to watch. It was the first time Sennett had ever been that close to the bridge. As she stared out, her boyfriend insisted he needed to ask her a question. A bit agitated, she turned around and he was in position — on one knee with a ring, and asking her to be his wife.
A photo shows the two right under the bridge during the proposal. They originally met at Joppa-Magnolia Volunteer Fire Company, and marked their 10-year anniversary this week. They couple live in Harford County with their two sons and dog, Roxy.
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With her first responder background, Sennett said she couldn’t help but immediately wonder about who was on the bridge, and what injuries they sustained when it was hit by the freighter.
Others had a daily, up close view of the bridge.
Growing up in Dundalk, Valerie Brown, 39, could see the bridge from her bedroom window. Since she was a baby, she and her family took an annual vacation to Ocean City for a week each summer. The bridge was always a symbol of the start of a vacation or a sign of being home. Many times in her 20s, she’d put in a CD and open the windows before cruising across it. More recently, Brown and her own kids have pointed out the bridge on their way back from trips to Sparrows Point. Her kids often mistake a factory on the south side of the bridge as a waterslide into the Potomac.
“The Key Bridge has been in the backdrop of my entire life,” she said.
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Jasmine Vaughn-Hall is a neighborhood and community reporter at the Baltimore Banner, covering the people, challenges, and solutions within West Baltimore. Have a tip about something happening in your community? Taco recommendations? Call or text Jasmine at 443-608-8983.
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