This blog is the best for google chrome.
Download
Website Online Counter

Suicide Bridge – Colorado Street Bridge in Pasadena, California

The majestic 1913 Colorado Street Bridge in Pasadena, California not only wowed early travelers crossing the causeway but soon took on a more sinister note when people began to leap from the 150-foot bridge to their death. Within a decade of its construction, locals had begun to call it the “Suicide Bridge,” and as you can imagine, legends began to abound that the bridge was haunted be those unfortunate souls.

The beautiful concrete bridge spans 1,467 feet across the Arroyo Seco, a deeply cut canyon linking the San Gabriel Mountains to the Los Angeles River, and containing the intermittent Arroyo Seco Stream for which it is named. The bridge is often incorrectly referred to as the “Arroyo Seco Bridge.”

In Pasadena’s early days, before the historic Colorado Street Bridge was built, crossing the Arroyo Seco was an extremely difficult task. Horses and wagons descended the steep eastern slope, crossed the stream over a smaller bridge, and then climbed up the west bank through Eagle Rock Pass.

The bridge was designed and built by the J.A.L. Waddell firm of Kansas City, Missouri and named for Colorado Street (now called Colorado Boulevard,) which was the major east-west thoroughfare through Pasadena. Known for its Beaux-Arts arches, ornate lamp posts and railings, the initial design proved difficult due to finding solid footing in the Arroyo bed. However, when engineer John Drake Mercereau conceived the idea of curving the bridge, he created a work of art.


Colorado Street Bridge, Pasadena, California

The first tragedy on the bridge occurred before construction was even complete. Allegedly, when one of the bridge workers toppled over the side and plunged headfirst into a vat of wet concrete, his co-workers assumed he could not be saved in time and left his body in the quick-drying cement. His is only one of the many souls said to haunt the “Suicide Bridge.”

The first suicide occurred on November 16, 1919, and was followed by a number of others, especially during the Great Depression. Over the years, it is estimated that more than 100 people took their lives leaping the 150 feet into the arroyo below. One of the more notable suicides was when a despondent mother threw her baby girl over the railing on May 1, 1937. She then followed her into the depths of the canyon. Though the mother died, her child miraculously survived. Evidently, her mother had inadvertently tossed her into some nearby trees, and she was later recovered from the thick branches.

By the 1980s the historic bridge had fallen into great disrepair as chunks of concrete began to fall from its ornate railings and arches. After the Loma Prieta earthquake near Oakland in 1989, the bridge was closed as a precautionary measure. Eventually federal, state and local funds provided some $27 million dollars in renovation costs and the bridge was reopened in 1993, complete with its original detail, plus a suicide prevention rail. Though the number of suicides throughout the years has decreased, the bridge continues to retain its nickname and its ghostly legends.

According to the tales, a number of spirits are said to wander the bridge itself as well as the arroyo below. Others have heard unexplained cries coming from the canyon. One report tells of a spectral man that is often seen wandering the bridge who wears wire-rimmed glasses. Other people have claimed to see a woman in a long flowing robe, who stands atop one of the parapets, before vanishing as she throws herself off the side.

In the arroyo below, phantom forms have been seen walking the river bed, a number of unexplainable sounds are often heard, and the atmosphere is often described as “thick.”

The Colorado Street Bridge was part of Route 66 until 1940 when the Arroyo Seco Parkway opened. Today, the bridge has received a Civil Engineering Landmark designation and is listed on the National Register of Historic Places.


Colorado Street Bridge in Pasadena, California by Jim Hinkley.

The Mother Road Icon was the center of tragic news again in late October of 2015 when noted Actor, Model, and Musician Sam Sarpong took his own life by jumping off the bridge.
Read more >>

'There's no Reason to be Afraid'

When my sister Betsy and I were kids, our family lived for awhile in a charming old farmhouse. We loved exploring its dusty corners and climbing the apple tree in the backyard. But our favorite thing was the ghost.We called her Mother, because she seemed so kind and nurturing. Some mornings Betsy and I would wake up, and on each of our nightstands, we'd find a cup that hadn't been there the night before. Mother had left them there, worried that we'd get thirsty during the night. She just wanted to take care of us.Among the house's original furnishings was an antique wooden chair, which we kept against the back wall of the living room. Whenever we were preoccupied, watching TV or playing a game, Mother would inch that chair forward, across the room, toward us. Sometimes she'd manage to move it all the way to the center of the room. We always felt sad putting it back against the wall. Mother just wanted to be near us.Years later, long after we'd moved out, I found an old newspaper article about the farmhouse's original occupant, a widow. She'd murdered her two children by giving them each a cup of poisoned milk before bed. Then she'd hanged herself.The article included a photo of the farmhouse's living room, with a woman's body hanging from a beam. Beneath her, knocked over, was that old wooden chair, placed exactly in the center of the room.

by whoeverfightsmonster

Read more >>

'They got the definition wrong'

It has been said that the definition of insanity is "doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results". I understand the sentiment behind the saying, but it's wrong.I entered the building on a bet. I was strapped for cash and didn't buy into the old legends of the hotel to begin with, so fifty bucks was more than enough to get me do it. It was simple. Just reach the top floor, the 45th floor, shine my flashlight from a window.The hotel was old and broken, including the elevator, so that meant hiking up the stairs. So up the stairs I went. As I reached each platform, I noted the old brass plaques displaying the floor numbers. 15, 16, 17, 18. I felt a little tired as I crept higher, but so far, no ghosts, no cannibals, no demons. Piece of cake.I can't tell you how happy I was as I entered that last stretch of numbers. I joyfully counted them aloud at each platform. 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 44. I stopped and looked back down the stairs. I must have miscounted, so I continued up. 44. One more flight. 44. And then down ten flights. 44. Fifteen flights. 44.And so it's been for as long as I can remember. So really, insanity isn't doing something repeatedly and expecting different results. It's knowing that the results will never ever change; that each door leads to the same staircase, to the same number. It’s realizing you no longer fall asleep. It's not knowing whether you've been running for days or weeks or years. It's when the sobbing slowly turns into laughter.

by Lloiu

Read more >>

'I hate it when my brother Charlie has to go away'

I hate it when my brother Charlie has to go away. My parents constantly try to explain to me how sick he is. That I am lucky for having a brain where all the chemicals flow properly to their destinations like undammed rivers. When I complain about how bored I am without a little brother to play with, they try to make me feel bad by pointing out that his boredom likely far surpasses mine, considering his confine to a dark room in an institution. I always beg for them to give him one last chance. Of course, they did at first. Charlie has been back home several times, each shorter in duration than the last. Every time without fail, it all starts again. The neighbourhood cats with gouged out eyes showing up in his toy chest, my dad's razors found dropped on the baby slide in the park across the street, mom's vitamins replaced by bits of dishwasher tablets. My parents are hesitant now, using "last chances" sparingly. They say his disorder makes him charming, makes it easy for him to fake normalcy, and to trick the doctors who care for him into thinking he is ready for rehabilitation. That I will just have to put up with my boredom if it means staying safe from him. I hate it when Charlie has to go away. It makes me have to pretend to be good until he is back.

by horrorinpureform

Read more >>
Booking.com