THYME Magazine: The Bridge Builder's Tale

Citizen Journalism with a Better Flavor


Volume XI, Issue XIX

Pontifus, the Bridge Builder's Tale
By Bob Kirchman
Copyright © 2015, The Kirchman Studio, all rights reserved

The Bridge Builder's Tale [click here to read].
Table of Contents [click here to read].

Coming March 1: NOVUS VIA


Volume XI, Issue IX

This Week's Installment [click to read].
(begins March 1).

THYME Magazine: The Bridge Builder's Tale: Table of Contents

Citizen Journalism with a Better Flavor

THYME Magazine: The Bridge Builder's Tale XXIX

Citizen Journalism with a Better Flavor



We'll be Friends Forever, won't we, Pooh?' asked Piglet. Even longer,' Pooh answered.” – A. A. Milne

That is where Kate and Kris had become friends. The two women had balanced childcare and muralling as they worked on Zimmerman's recreation of "The School of Athens." Zimmerman could have hired any famous living artist he'd wanted to but on his frequent visits to the Greene home he was always delighted by Kris' paintings there.

If the truth be known, Zimmerman preferred the strong hand of a trusted colleague over the acclaim of the culture in choosing his partners for any project. Elizabeth and Martin had laid out the Big Diomede campus and designed the modest, but tasteful buildings joined by simple colonnades. The campus was set on the edge of the island, perpetually open to the East and the rising sun. Since no classroom was bigger than a suburban living room, Zimmerman's Swedish friend produced the campus buildings in his Virginia production center.

Kris had even shown Rupert the painting she was 'hiding' as a discreet mural in the parsonage. The tradition of their faith was that they would often move on to a new field of ministry. One of Zimmerman's favorite stories from a childhood book was that of a Methodist minister who always planted a young tree at each parsonage that he would never enjoy the shade of. The purpose was to bless the families that would come after. Generations later children would play in the shade of a stately oak. The Greenes brought that story to life as Kris sought to do that with her murals.


Inside Kris' house on Big Diomede. The college is visible through the window. 
Painting by Lola Dalton (the author's grandmother)

She had initially protested Zimmerman's request that she paint "The School of Athens," but in the end reluctantly agreed. Taking Kate under her wing made the project sweet. As the two women wrestled with the folds of tunics and the contorted coffers, Kate shared the hopes and fears of every young woman. Kris was a wonderful mentor, sharing from her own story to encourage her young apprentice. That Summer flew by... the one Kate had so dreaded. It was a tearful ending as Kate returned to school in the 'lower 48.' She looked forward to her return the following Summer.

One of Kate's most voiced laments was that: "good men were hard to find in the lower 48!" With few meaningful career paths left to them, many lived in a sort of perpetual adolescence... like actors in a beer commercial, they played and sought 'experience,' but few of them sought significance. Encouraged by the Greene's love story, she had been given a larger perspective. Indeed it was the NEXT Summer that Kate had met her husband, one of Greene's seminary students at the new college. Here was a man who indeed quietly planted so that others who followed might reap the bounty... a man of the NEW American frontier!

His name was Joe, just like the name of her beloved grandfather! Joe had had an interesting life. He'd tasted redemption after a troubled youth. He was a serious student of the Bible... but not as a detached interest. He'd seen it as a blueprint for remaking his life! He came to Big Diomede as a supervisor of the installation of the Virginia-built houses. Greene was offering some course that interested him and he ended up as one of the Pastor's favorite students. Naturally, the friendship began around the Greene's dinner table. When Kate returned to school in the 'lower 48,' the letters flowed regularly.

Kris, though she enjoyed new technology, never lost the sense of the flavor of a hand-drawn card or letter. She seemed to carry over the sensibilities of a bye-gone century as she inhabited the 21st. How she enjoyed mentoring Kate in the art of high romance! Indeed, she was an enabler... she had snuck the colored pencils and deckle-edged paper into Kate's grandfather's room as he reconnected with Willa! Now she was at it again.


Stairwell window at the college. Painting by Lola Dalton

(to be continued) [click to read]

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
[click to read ]
Copyright © 2019, The Kirchman Studio, all rights reserved

THYME Magazine: The Bridge Builder's Tale XXVIII

Citizen Journalism with a Better Flavor



From these principles and our labors together emerged one of our country's great airlines and further developed our great heritage of pioneering. In the years ahead young, strong hands will carry them into a future which you and I, with all our dreams, can scarcely visualize” – Captain Eddie Rickenbacker in a letter to Eastern Air Lines employees

Eventually the administration agreed to release Zimmerman upon payment of the so-called 'tax liability.' The airplane and a sizeable number of Petrodollars would secure his freedom! No charges would be levelled against Rupert upon payment of this 'debt' and he would be free to travel in the 48 United States again. Elizabeth wired payment quickly, knowing her father would be furious! She knew he'd rather rot than fund the lower 48's insatiable appetite for money, but in the end all were glad to have the ill feelings of the war behind them.

Rupert had actually been quite grateful to Elizabeth. Prison food was such that vending machine fare was fine dining in comparison. A man like Zimmerman fares poorly in captivity, his mind pacing like a caged tiger even as he seems to be calmly working in the facility's sterile kitchen. Pat made sure he had regular visits but she had to remind herself that he was a stallion fighting being gelded. He did seem to have grown calmer, though he still felt free to share strong emotions with her.

When he walked out of the prison, Pat drove him back to Virginia. He knew his daughter would take good care of things in Wales, so he and Pat stayed a few days in Lexington. Here in Rockbridge County the leaders of Texan Independence had lived before they went West. Taking one of Rupert's old Porsches, the couple drove through the Smoky Mountains of Tennessee and North Carolina. Here was the site of the great Cherokee Nation, part of the heritage of Kris and her husband... now but a memory, but indeed a nation as great as the Yupik, who now shared representation in the Alaska assemblies. The Cherokee had built a modern nation in the midst of the white settlers only to be undone when gold was discovered in Dehlonega, Georgia. Alaska's Yupik had been quietly enfranchised during the war and hopefully would never be removed from their ancestral lands.

Motoring South, the Zimmermans entered the foothills of the Appalachians in South Carolina. Zimmerman wanted to see Abbeville, where the Confederates had drafted their 'Articles of Secession.' He was curious to visit a place where men had sought to control their destiny as a people... and had paid dearly to do so. The Porsche started acting funny, spitting and missing as he pulled into a little town that was mainly a college. There, among the signs for campus buildings, a matching sign directed you to 'Top Notch Auto Repair.' "Do you guys work on Porsches?" Zimmerman had asked. The owner of the shop not only worked on them, but was a fellow enthusiast, proudly pointing to his own. Zimmerman was impressed with this 'Academic Village' where a car repair shop rubbed shoulders with college buildings, even sharing their signpost! Professors frequented the hardware store and the campus seemed amazingly CONNECTED to the town that sustained it!

He found a nice little bed and breakfast and left Pat to 'pretty up' for dinner. It was growing late and Zimmerman noticed that some of the college food service workers were walking home. The college lawn opened onto the street where their simple homes were arranged like an extension of the academic community. He had visited the University of Virginia, but was dismayed to see how Jefferson's Lawn had once opened to the surrounding countryside, but did so no longer. Stanford White, a New York architect had decided to 'improve on' Jefferson's original design by closing off the lawn with his Cabell Hall. That is where Rupert saw a nice rendering of Raphael's 'School of Athens.' It had been painted by George W. Breck, a muralist from New York in 1902. It was the university's second comissioning of a copy of Raphael's famous painting in the Pope's private library in the Vatican. The first, painted in 1853 by French artist Paul Balze was destroyed by a fire in 1895. Breck's copy was scaled four inches different from the Vatican original to avoid violating a Vatican policy prohibiting exact copies.

Cabell hall also contained a more contemporary mural painted as a companion to 'The School of Athens,' which followed the life of a student in the early years of the Twenty-first Century. Its painter, Lincoln Perry, called it "Student's Progress." The most interesting feature of the newer painting was a recreation of the open vista of the original lawn, now obliterated by Cabell Hall! The open lawn, revealing rolling hills and mountain vistas intrigued Zimmerman. He stood in deep contemplation on the Rotunda steps, trying to imagine the scene as originally constructed.


The Lawn of the University of Virginia originally opened to the surrounding community and countryside. Photos and rendering overlay by Bob Kirchman.

There was an inescapable irony in these walls. Historians tell us it is very likely that the author of American liberty had employed slave labor in the building of his university. Any remaining vestiges of this foul institution were nowhere to be seen, but the thought that this might be true troubled Zimmerman greatly. The more he understood his daughter Elizabeth's heart, the more he cherished her work to promote human freedom. Yet Jefferson was the one who had penned, borrowing from Locke, the description of "Certain Inalienable Rights." Years later the work of Abolitionists and later the Freedom Riders had indeed opened the vista of freedom to the children of slaves. Man in his folly needed a vision of himself perfected by lofty ideals as a starting point. Zimmerman was now convinced that the promotion of such ideals was indeed a worthy work. His own sense that he was inadequate for the work was a necessary admission, yet he could not allow it to become an excuse!

He'd once visited Nils Frederick Larson's attempt to recreate Jefferson's Lawn for a university in North Carolina. Larson had initially closed off the Quadrangle, as it was called, on all sides, modeling White more than Jefferson. Jefferson's buildings had colonnades and archways that connected the buildings. You could walk from his Rotunda to the farthest room under cover. Larson's arcades and colonnades did not connect... they were a sort of false promise... sort of like the separation he saw in the tribalism that passed for 'diversity' in the classrooms. Eschewing the notion of high and noble ideals for humanity to aspire to, modern thinkers sought to recreate institutions rather than enlighten the heart. Their notion that 'man was basically good' and that the institutions were the problem did not resonate with a man like Zimmerman, who needed no-one to remind him of the dark places of his own heart.

In the end it was Jefferson's Lawn that had impressed Zimmerman the most. He tried hard to imagine the original layout as conceived by the patriot. The Rotunda occupied a high place and two colonnades framed a view from the Rotunda steps of a manicured lawn flowing freely into the rolling hills of Albemarle County. A noble institution to address the frontier... and indeed a part of it at the beginning. The closing off of the Lawn bothered Zimmerman deeply. Here, however, in the countryside of South Carolina, was a campus that still freely mingled with the world it inhabited. Zimmerman was inspired.

In the center of a large grassy quadrangle. Zimmerman found a statue of one of the college presidents. The man, like Zimmerman, had been wounded in battle during America's Nineteenth Century Civil War. The Statue inscription read: "Citizen, Soldier, Educator, Servant of Christ." Zimmerman strove to be all of these, but felt woefully inadequate for the task if the truth be known.

The next morning, with his car repaired, Zimmerman continued his journey but the seeds of his next project were now firmly planted in his mind. When he returned to the Autonomous Republics he met with Greene to begin his plans for an institute of higher learning.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
[click to read ]
Copyright © 2019, The Kirchman Studio, all rights reserved

THYME Magazine: The Bridge Builder's Tale XXVII

Citizen Journalism with a Better Flavor



On a long flight, after periods of crisis and many hours of fatigue, mind and body may become disunited until at times they seem completely different elements, as though the body were only a home with which the mind has been associated but by no means bound. Consciousness grows independent of the ordinary senses. You see without assistance from the eyes, over distances beyond the visual horizon. There are moments when existence appears independent even of the mind. The importance of physical desire and immediate surroundings is submerged in the apprehension of universal values.” – Charles Linbergh

The aircraft was cleared for landing at Baltimore's BWI Airport. An ambulance met the Greenes and whisked them to Johns Hopkins. Kris' daughter had passed the hours watching the Disney 'Princesses' movies on the plane. Now she wore Pat's robe like a royal one as she was hurried off to Baltimore. Though the administration had tried to put institutions like Johns Hopkins Hospital under government control, the administrators of that institution had skillfully avoided it. Kris carried a sizeable amount of Alaska Petrodollars, handed to her by Rupert, in order to ensure her treatment under the "Private Option."

Zimmerman planned to remain on the plane and quietly slip out when they were no longer needed. Unfortunately he had parted with his Petrodollars before they might possibly have come in handy. This was no small airport where Zimmerman-friendly staff ignored the bounty on his head. This was Baltimore Washington International -- thirty minutes from the nation's capital! Some officious little weasel of a security official ran the obligatory check on the plane's tail number. He was not satisfied with the Calgary registration and started cross-checking the recorded flight plans. Obtaining a warrant, he and a small detail of security stormed the plane on the tarmac. Zimmerman's crews were required to be expert marksmen... and women, but Zimmerman ordered them to surrender. No one should have to die when Rupert's surrender would end any need for force. Besides, Zimmerman knew the lower 48 depended on the fruits of his labor for their economic survival. Negotiation just might work.

Zimmerman was taken into custody and the plane seized by the IRS. A tax charge had been fabricated by the administration in the hopes of just such a moment as this. While Rupert was incarcerated, Kris' daughter responded wonderfully to her treatments. Elizabeth O'malley provided them and the plane crew with commercial tickets home on Alaska Air. Alaska Air even 'loaned' the BSB a temporary replacement for 'BSB One.' Elizabeth's mercy flights continued even as her father languished in a US Federal Prison.

Elizabeth O'Malley pressed the Alaskan Autonomous Republic to pursue diplomatic measures to secure Rupert's release. Zimmerman took advantage of the time to write her lengthy letters in which he mused on how quickly a great culture like the United States could be reduced to the state she was in now, unaware of her heroic past, anxious for an uncertain future, she had sold herself out all too quickly to the rhetoric of "Hope and Change." Indeed there had been change, but now things had become all the more hopeless! A great nation that had rolled up her sleeves and faced obstacles with Faith and Tenacity was now reduced to the status of victims who blamed others for their lack of progress. Liberalism had moved from advancing mankind's condition to warring against the noble instincts of man... and man was being reduced in the process.

Pastor Greene was concerned about this too. An interesting round of correspondence between Elizabeth, Greene and Zimmerman ensued where the three thinkers opined as to how best address the problem. Zimmerman valued Greene's insight, as both men had a low tolerance for most of the bull-crap that passed as 'modern thought.' Elizabeth, who saw most of the world's suffering as a direct result of bad political choices, wondered at the revolving door of revolution, where the people overturned their rulers, identifying those in power as oppressors, only to establish regimes that were even more oppressive than the ones that they'd replaced. The great universities had been established to bring Christianity to the wilderness, but now they spurned their beginnings and promoted this endless cycle of violence. [1.]

A year went by. Kris' daughter grew strong and became the darling of the Big Diomede community. Elizabeth became the acting president of the BSB organization in her father's absence, presiding over the reconstruction of the Eastbound span's 'blind hump' into a more gradual ascent and descent. The president of the trucker's association gave her a plaque, but the burly presenter's sincere bear-hug represented more accurately the drivers' deep sentiments!


"Eschewing the notion of high and noble ideals for humanity to aspire to, modern thinkers sought to recreate institutions rather than enlighten the heart. Their notion that 'man was basically good' and that the institutions were the problem did not resonate with a man like Zimmerman, who needed no-one to remind him of the dark places of his own heart." Greenstone Replacement, St. Francis' Church, Staunton, Virginia.
Photo by Bob Kirchman 


Thomas Jefferson's Rotunda, Clad in Scaffolding for Reconstruction.
Photo by Bob Kirchman


Capitol Dome in Scaffolding. Photo by R. S. Kirchman

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
[click to read ]
Copyright © 2019, The Kirchman Studio, all rights reserved

THYME Magazine: The Bridge Builder's Tale XXVI

Citizen Journalism with a Better Flavor



Those interested in the future of the country, not only from a national defense standpoint but from a civil, commercial and economic one as well, should study this matter carefully, because air power has not only come to stay but is, and will be, a dominating factor in the world’s development.” – Billy Mitchell

Elizabeth remembered how she rolled her eyes when her father decided he would buy the airplane. Alaska Air was always happy to allow BSB to charter one of their planes and they enjoyed pretty good access to the lower 48, even as the administration there still felt the need to harass the instrument of their restored prosperity. Zimmerman had been considered a war criminal and he wanted a plane with no discernible livery so he could return quietly to Virginia. There was a little airport in the Shenandoah Valley where he had friends in the general aviation terminal. There was also a smaller airport just North of it in Bridgewater where he could pretty much come and go as he pleased, and he did. The parka wearing Inuit man on Alaska Air's planes tail markings was just too much of a risk. Zimmerman wanted access to his Summer house with Pat but he had no desire to see the inside of a Virginia prison!

It is quite alright to own an airplane if you don't mind a kid throwing up in it!" Zimmerman had retorted to his daughter's well-reasoned objections. In the end, Elizabeth had become the biggest fan of the jet and her brave crew. She'd been visiting Virginia with Rupert when an old friend of Zimmerman's who ran a medical center in Santa Cruz, Bolivia took her father aside and confided to him that one of her staff in Santa Cruz was watching her little child dying. "If we could just get her to medical care in the US..."

But it seemed that all of Bolivia was on strike. The commercial airliner that flew in from Miami daily by way of La Paz was grounded. The airport was closed, her tower dark. No one knew when it would be safe to fly in again. Yet a beloved daughter's life was ebbing away. There was no time to wait if she was to be saved.

Zimmerman quickly summoned his crew, who were enjoying some rest and recreation at the resort tucked inside the twin ridges of Massanutten Mountain. They rushed back to the little Bridgewater Airport in their golf clothes and performed what has to have been the fastest preflight checklist ever. Fueled and readied, they flew through the night and pulled off a dangerous grass-field landing. All of Santa Cruz was on strike and commercial air traffic was at a standstill. Besides, the airport inspectors at Santa Cruz airport were notorious for slowing things up when you needed them not to. Zimmerman was a bit shaken when his pilot showed him the fresh bullet holes in his shiny airplane.

The little girl reached a Miami hospital just in time and had made an amazing recovery. Now she was the head nurse at the Santa Cruz hospital, where Elizabeth had helped her obtain some of the machines that had saved her life in Miami.

Once Elizabeth discovered the power of her father's plane to bring healing to her friends around the world, she kept the little plane and her crew quite busy. You couldn't save every child who needed medical care, but you could do something! The person you helped, like the young Inca girl, would go on to expand the circle of healing. Because she didn't die, she took what she'd seen back to Bolivia!


Mission of Hope, Bolivia is an actual ministry in Santa Cruz.

The fine leather upholstery of the little plane soon bore the permanent stains of childish innocence. Rupert would often pull Cheerios and crayons out of the seat cushion and show them to high-powered world leaders as if they were trophies he had won in hard battle. Indeed they were.

The crew of the little plane became a legend... among the Alaskan bush pilots!, a group not easily impressed. When the crew returned to their vacation in Virginia after their diversion to Bolivia, they arrived early in the morning. They were far too excited to sleep so they managed to secure an early tee time at the mountain golf course. The pilot and the communications officer both scored under seventy!

At least the legends that grew around these men and women were akin to the stories that grew around Davy Crockett of old. Pilots are given to understatement, as everybody knows, but we actually have their scorecard from that day!

Kris and her daughter had their own story involving the airplane. The Greene's young daughter had become seriously ill without warning during her second Winter on Big Diomede. The doctor on Big Diomede examined her and said they'd need a specialist that could only be found at some place like Johns Hopkins in Baltimore... it was a dark day for Kris! It was also a dark day on Big Diomede. A cruel Winter storm pounded the world outside the biosphere as Kris made her desperate call to Elizabeth. Officially, all air traffic was suspended. Rupert's plane was at Wales, where the runway was long enough to attempt a takeoff, but the crew would have to agree to it. Zimmerman would not order these fine young people into danger. They would have to volunteer.

Zimmerman went personally to his crew, as the young family sped across the bridge to Wales. His pilots were the first to step forward. One was a young mother herself and Rupert asked her to fly the mission. The crew eagerly organized themselves around the young hero and began their signature rapid, but thorough, preflight checklist. The Greenes were bundled safely aboard and Rupert himself stepped aboard as the flight attendants came in.

Zimmerman quietly ordered them to stock the plane's galley and leave. For the next seven hours Zimmerman himself would attend to the little family's needs. Rupert was no hero, he just felt it was wrong to ask people to do jobs you wouldn't do yourself. That is why, when his pilot made her intent clear to go, Zimmerman made it clear that he would join her crew!

The pilot would have to take off blind, depending on her copilot to tick off the seconds as she pushed the plane's acceleration. She'd have to lift the plane off the runway at just the right moment. The enhanced visibility technology and computer controlled takeoff were no match for the variable conditions created by such an intense storm. One needed the skills and sense of a Chuck Yeager and Jack Ridley to even attempt this. The wicked and fickle currents required a special touch and some intuition... and that was on a blue-sky day! Zimmerman's crew had been groomed for this moment and as they pushed their airplane into the face of the storm's furious force, their voices reflected their calm resolve that they were up to the task.

Zimmerman himself kept quiet during the takeoff, knowing his cracking voice might betray the fear he still struggled to contain. Though he did things some would call brave, he constantly was fighting the wounds inflicted by his overprotective father. The plane shook violently as she strained to climb above the swirling chaos. Thick snow blew by the windows in furious streaks as the aircraft flexed to avoid breaking, buffeted by the cruel elements. Kris' daughter unceremoniously threw up on the fine leather. As the plane broke through the clouds, Rupert unfastened his seat belt and grabbed some cleaning supplies from the galley. The poor little girl had been rushed aboard without so much as a change of clothes. The extra uniforms of the plane's crew would not fit her, but Pat's terry robe was a comfortable solution. "We'll go shopping in Baltimore." Zimmerman said softly. His mind wandered to a time when his youngest brother had hurled in the family car on the way to Luray Caverns in Virginia. They had stopped quickly at a J.J. Newberry store and bought a cheap little outfit for him. Rupert's mother would recall years later how that little outfit had outlasted many a more expensive set of children's clothes from Hutzler's!

Touching down for fuel in Canada, the crew quickly filed an 'official' flight plan into Baltimore's BWI airport. There was no sneaking into Virginia now. Time required a straight-on approach. An ambulance was scheduled to meet them. They declared the medical emergency that they were coming for. No surprise. Hopefully the authorities would cooperate as they usually did.


Map of Alaska in 2060. Enlarge [click to view full size]

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
[click to read ]
Copyright © 2019, The Kirchman Studio, all rights reserved

THYME Magazine: The Bridge Builder's Tale XXIV

Citizen Journalism with a Better Flavor



The name of Heaven should become beloved through you." -- Torah imperative, as related by Jonathan Rosenblum

Rupert Zimmerman stepped from a still pool into a little grove bathed in a golden light. The light seemed to eminate from a single point in the distance, spreading in rays that seemed to pierce throught the tree canopy. The source of that light, Rupert observed, was moving toward him. The peace he felt seemed oddly familiar... like the peace he'd first experienced in the Greene's living room long ago on Big Diomede!

Then Rupert saw the Man! He was as Magnificent as He was Fierce. He was Kindness and Unbridled Force! His very being was a tensegrity of terrible forces that in their totallity created Peace! The builder of bridges fell to his face before his Master! It must have been eons he lay there. There was a feeling of overwhelming Joy and Terror, like the feeling Rupert had had long ago when he and a friend had taken a small boat out into the Chesapeake Bay only to be caught in a colossal storm! Heading the small boat into the waves, they had narrowly averted being capsized. Head into the storm, they rose and crashed with the waves. Rupert LOVED the memory of that day and the surge of adrenalin he had experienced! This felt wonderfully the same. Rupert had to steer into the force of this moment. He rose slowly as the Man touched his shoulder: "Come see what I'm working on."

Rupert noticed the kindness in the Man's eyes, which were brilliant to behold! He seemed capable of holding storms in his hand, which bore scars, but the wounds in no way diminished the completeness He projected! He was surrounded by wonderful constructions, the hives of bees, the webs of spiders and nests even more complex than that of the oriole! He spoke to Rupert kindly: "Friend," he said, "You were the tool in my hand to join two continents, but then you came and joined me in my most passionate work! Many have found hope in me because of your faithfulness."

You came to me late in life, but you placed your life into my hand! I was able to work a great work in mankind because you surrendered YOUR passion to MINE!"

Come see the Great Works that you will now share in, because you are my beloved child and I share much with my children!"

Rupert suddenly became aware that he had not spoken -- perhaps for eons. Indeed, there was only one voice in that glade Rupert wanted to listen to right now -- that of the Magnificent One!

(to be continued) [click to read] 

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
[click to read ]
Copyright © 2019, The Kirchman Studio, all rights reserved

THYME Magazine: The Bridge Builder's Tale XXIII

Citizen Journalism with a Better Flavor



Never, never, never... give up!" -- Sir Winston Churchill

We want to know not how we should pray if we were perfect but how we should pray being as we now are." – C. S. Lewis

Now the man who had brought them all here was gone. Greene thoughtfully fingered the letter, and reflected simply: "Here we have a unique sermon, spoken by a man who wanted in the end to strip away all pretense, that if there was indeed any evidence of the Divine having transformed his life, you might see it. As his friend, I can attest to it that I have seen much evidence that Rupert Zimmerman was a man who's life was transformed.

There was one more thought to be read from Zimmerman's 'last letter,' then the mourners would drive out the Memorial Tower on the Eastbound span, where Rupert's ashes would be interred. The tower was a unique bit of architecture containing a pipe organ built with pipes made of glass! It was built by an Austrian master builder and Pastor Greene loved its pure sound. He often retreated to the memorial tower to play this instrument as he arranged his thoughts for the weekly sermon. The tower had been built to remember the lives of those who had died on the Bering Strait Bridge. There were even glass pipes of the organ embedded in the stained glass windows. The effect was a beautiful chapel where art and music came together in solemn harmony:

We will now proceed to the little chapel on the bridge." Green continued, "In it are remembered the names of those who died on the bridge and its approach roads. The first plaque recalls the name of a man who plunged to his death into the icy waters. I'll never forget that night, for I held tight to the man's friend, who was about to jump into the icy void after him! Though that man didn't escape my grasp and follow him... he took no thought for his own well being at the time. He, in that sense, was ready to lay down his life for his friend!"

So, I would have to say that TWO men died that night on the bridge, though that man was brought back from the brink and ministered to much by my friends the Greenes. He went home to love and serve his family. We know his granddaughter, the young woman who helped Kris paint the mural at the college, for she spent two Summers with us here at Big Diomede."

But there was a THIRD man that died that night on the bridge... it was ME! That was the night I gave my heart to learn the ways of the Kingdom I have now entered into. I tasted honest prayer that night, and though there was no sudden transformation, I ceased to live as the man I once was... I now lived for a new Master... and He demanded my very life!"

The life you have come to remember today was, I hope, the life of Him living in me more than me living as I've always lived. George Müller was as bad a man as I in his first life, but saw a transformation in himself that led him to declare that 'the age of miracles is not past.' Living in simple trust of the one who had transformed him, he built five large orphan homes at Ashley Downs in Bristol. I've visited them. History tells me that indeed the age of miracles is not past! I have been blessed to live in it!"

I will not tell you in a letter how to pray. For me it took Jon's patient friendship to bring me to that point. Around you today are many who have tasted the Kingdom I speak of. They will be more than eager to show you the full richness to be found there. Words fail to describe it. I've rambled long. I've taken more than my share of this day... so please enjoy your trip to the little chapel and if you are so inclined, make your way to Wales and hike on my beloved Cape Mountain for me!"

The little choir sang "How Great Thou Art" and the mourners prepared to drive to the memorial tower chapel. The Eastbound span had been closed to traffic for the procession, but people had been allowed to walk out along the shoulders of the span’s travelway... and here they were! Men and women of the New World, assembled to remember the passing of one man. Truckers and motorcycle riders stood shoulder to shoulder with security officers and waitresses. Cooks and concrete finishers, steel workers and seminarians, pilots and mechanics, dishwashers and designers, mothers and babies, farmers and house builders all lined the bridge together. Old soldiers and Inuit communications specialists joined together with young engineering apprentices to line the path between continents that had changed their lives. Elizabeth sobbed unashamedly, knowing that her father's crazy vision and persistence was the reason they stood here. Indeed, without a visionary to build this bridge, there would be no place to stand! A new wave of emotion rolled over her as she realized that this bridge was merely a tool in the hand of a Greater Master... to build the work of the Kingdom that now her father had stepped into. She told the driver to stop the car. She stepped out onto the bridge deck and began to extend her fair hand to those in the crowd... old leathery hands, soft children's hands, brown, black white and all shades in between!, the warmth of human touch blessed the bridge across the Bering!

Martin, Kris and Jon joined her. There was no hurry to complete the journey to the chapel and the impromptu celebration of humanity joined together certainly was something that warmed the heart of the Divine.


Scuola di Atene by Raphael.

(to be continued) [click to read]

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
[click to read ]
Copyright © 2019, The Kirchman Studio, all rights reserved

THYME Magazine: The Bridge Builder's Tale XXII

Citizen Journalism with a Better Flavor



An artist is not paid for his labor, but for his vision." -- James McNeill Whistler

Perhaps the most sincere praise Rupert wrote in his last letter was for those rare people of vision like his wife Pat, Kris and her husband, and his own extended family, who while they didn't build great, works like bridges, built perhaps even greater links to worlds of noble aspiration! Their lives were to him a continual challenge.

He didn't want to embarrass his oldest granddaughter, but carefully crafted his words so that the young woman would have no doubt as to how much he loved her. Anna's oldest child was indeed the successor to Martin O'Malley as chief engineer of what would soon be THREE spans linking East and West. That this child had chosen to follow the path she did of her own passion was a great joy to the old man. Even more of a joy to him was the knowledge that he had cut her no slack in getting there. She'd EARNED her place. He was truly sorrowful that he could have no more interaction with her in her career. "But, it is time for me to move on..." the old man wrote, "to a place I believe contains even greater wonder and inventiveness. I humbly dare to believe that I shall press my feeble hand into the scarred hand of the Master!"

Again, I thank you, Jon and Kris, for your unwavering friendship in guiding me to a place where I could 'see' this Promised Land. I shall ever be in your debt for the knowledge of this place that your loving witness first made real to me."

The great builder rarely addressed the Pastor as other than Reverend Greene in public. This slip in a letter was intentional. The man who had frst come to Big Diomede to oversee the moral well-being Zimmerman's Folly had become his personal mentor in things unseen, and Zimmerman loved him for it!

Indeed it was Greene who had become Zimmerman's closest confidant as he developed new ideas in education as well as innovation in construction. Now, illuminated by the thought that Divine inspiration was truly available to mere mortals, Zimmerman pushed to see where that inspiration might take him. He set out to woo Pat to come to Big Diomede. Abandoning his Spartan quarters on Wales, he brought her to the Big Diomede community. Together they designed a house to be built by the craftsmen in Virginia and assembled in the little community. Their house was not all that different from the first house built on Big Diomede for the Greenes. In fact, Pat "borrowed" many ideas from the original house. Rupert mused that the Pastor's wife would have been brilliant had she pursued a career in his own design department.

Martin and Elizabeth built a house next to Rupert and Pat's. Their children grew up in the full richness of a multigenerational family. The choir of the little church on Big Diomede grew rich with an ever increasing variety of voices. Rupert and Pat were there every Sunday, and they usually drove over to Little Diomede after services with their children to a place where it was Saturday, on the other side of the International Date Line. There they would enjoy chicken sandwiches that they could not have had after church on Big Diomede. The restaurant chain's policy of being closed on Sunday was strictly observed... even acknowledging time zone differences! The residents of the Diomedes had some fun with this!

On warm Summer days the happy little party would continue on to Wales, and a day of hiking on Cape Mountain or along Kingigin. Zimmerman looked forward to these walks most of all. Even in his nineties he still loved to hoist a grandchild onto his shoulders and walk in cadence to his or her song. The tundra flowers were brilliant during the brief Summer. There was by this time a little reconstructed Inuit village near Wales and the family loved to explore it. Pat's heart warmed to the Rupert who had first carried their own children on his shoulders to the little log farmhouse reconstructed in the Blue Ridge Mountains near Waynesboro, Virginia. He seemed to have returned, only this time there was a mantle of peace that the old man wore.


Summer flowers on Cape Mountain.


Diomede Girl. Alaska Historical Collection.


Walrus Boats. Alaska Historical Collection.

When the long Winter descended, Rupert would 'surprise' Pat with a Christmas present that usually involved a trip to someplace warm and sunny. One DIDN'T want to miss Christmas festivities at Big Diomede's little church. The Greenes made certain that they were both beautiful and meaningful, but January and February the Zimmermans would leave the work of the great bridge in the hands of Martin and Elizabeth as they visited places dear to their youngest daughter.

Pat and Rupert became eyes and ears for Elizabeth in their travels. Many of her initiatives to build a school or provide clean water began with a tearful story told by her mother. Pat never needed spend the endless Winter in the North country. She never set foot in the 'Labyrinth of Exile" again!


Photo by Kristina Elaine Greer.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
[click to read ]
Copyright © 2019, The Kirchman Studio, all rights reserved