AUGUSTA - It's been 24 years since despondence last took a life on the Memorial Bridge. It's been 23 years since the construction of a suicide-prevention fence. And it's been a little more than one year since the chain-link fence was taken down, unveiling gorgeous views of the Kennebec River, the Capitol dome, and Augusta's historic arsenal.
As soon as this week, those scenic vistas will start to disappear, as the Maine Department of Transportation, which removed the fence to allow for bridge repairs, begins rebuilding the only suicide barrier on a bridge in Maine.
The fence's return follows a citywide conversation about Augusta's self-image, the nature of depression, changes in the state's mental-health system, and the question of whether Maine's capital city can move beyond its painful past.
"The bridge did become symbolic of suicide," said Dr. Lawrence Mutty, past president of the Maine Association of Psychiatric Physicians.
The tragedies that haunt the 57-year-old Memorial Bridge are intertwined with Augusta's history as a center for the treatment of mental illness.
The city's suicide rate has often been at least twice the statewide average, according to a recent study. Between 1960 and 1982, of the 14 people who jumped to their deaths from Memorial Bridge, nine had been patients at the state's psychiatric hospital, the Augusta Mental Health Institute, the same study found.
Historically, the hospital was chronically overcrowded, with patients sharing beds and a head count frequently exceeding 350. But following a series of deaths at the hospital, the state agreed in a 1990 consent decree to develop more community-based resources.
Consequently, individuals with mental illnesses are now more evenly distributed across Maine, rather than concentrated in Augusta. The changes have led some to conclude that a fence on Memorial Bridge is inappropriate.
"I think that stigma is no longer here," said Karen Foster, a former city councilor in Augusta, "and we don't need the fence to remind us of our past."
City Councilor Donna Lerman, who organized a failed petition drive that would have put an advisory question about the fence to local voters, said its temporary removal last August boosted civic pride.
"The fence came down, and all of a sudden, we had a breath-taking view," Lerman said. "I think people had lost a sense of pride in the city. And that raised people's spirits."
Even though fence opponents failed to get enough signatures to put the issue on the ballot, there's anecdotal evidence that many local residents don't want the fence to return.
Lerman said that as she gathered signatures, only about one in 30 people favored rebuilding the fence.
"There's overwhelming support for a fence-less bridge," she said.
Larry Pease, who manages a jewelry and pawn shop near Memorial Bridge, said the span looks better now without the 11-foot metal fence. He also objected to the new fence's $350,000 price tag, saying the money could be better spent.
Lastly, Pease noted that someone committed suicide in 2005 by jumping off another bridge in Augusta.
"Anybody that's going to do it is going to find other means," he said.
That's an oft-heard argument, but fence supporters say it betrays a lack of understanding about the impulsive nature of some suicides.
Helen Bailey, public policy director at the Disability Rights Center in Augusta, said she supports a fence on the Memorial Bridge in Augusta, just as she does on San Francisco's Golden Gate Bridge, which has witnessed more than 1,000 suicides since it opened in 1937.
"There are people who will actually walk over the Marin County bridge and then jump off the Golden Gate," Bailey said.
Memorial Bridge in Augusta has a long history of suicides, but data show that the trend didn't pick up speed until the mid-1970s.
Between 1960 and 1975, at least five people committed suicide by jumping off the bridge. One suicide every three years -- while not an insignificant tally -- was not enough to spur action in this community of about 18,000 people.
But then, over the next seven years, nine people plunged to their deaths.
Richard Griffin, who was the city's police chief in 1982, said at the time, "I understand that patients at the hospital talk about 'doing the bridge.'Instead of saying'killing yourself,' they say, 'doing the bridge."'
Nearly a quarter-century later, AMHI is closed, replaced by the Riverview Psychiatric Center. Augusta's suicide rate has fallen by 35 percent. An entire generation has grown up since the last suicide from Memorial Bridge.
On an unusually warm afternoon last week, the sun hung high above the Capitol, bathing the bridge's low railings in light.
Jane Gagnon of Windsor, who was working on a laptop computer near the foot of the 100-foot-tall bridge, said she just moved to the region a few years ago.
Gagnon confessed that she didn't know the bridge's history. But she affectionately described the sights that are now offered to a westbound motorist on Memorial Bridge. "I love that view," she said.
So the question becomes: Are 24 years without a suicide enough time to turn a symbol of death into something more positive?
When the Augusta City Council held public hearings on the fence, mental-health providers attended in large numbers, and they gave a clear message that the fence is still needed.
Fence supporters say this region is still home to a higher percentage of people with mental illnesses than other parts of Maine, and Augusta still has a cluster of mental health providers.
"I think there have been improvements, but suicide remains common," Mutty said.
The chance of more deaths is not worth the risk for Liz Carignan of Winthrop, an advocate for people with mental illnesses in Maine. As someone who fights acute major depression, she could see herself jumping from the Memorial Bridge if she was despondent enough at a given time.
"Were I to walk across that bridge if I lived in that community, I'd jump," she said. "It's a very long bridge. It's a very low rail. It's very compelling."
On the other hand, no one has jumped from the Memorial Bridge in the 15 months that the barrier's been gone. And only one person has threatened to jump, according to Augusta Police Sgt. Mark Desjardin.
By contrast, South Portland police say they've received an average of nearly five calls a year aboutsuicidal people on the Casco Bay Bridge since the last known suicide there in September 2001.
There has been no public groundswell in support of a suicide barrier on the Casco Bay Bridge.
Nor, according to Wayne Frankhauser, project manager at the Maine Department of Transportation, was a fence seriously considered for the new, 163-foot-tall Penobscot Narrows Bridge in Down East Maine.
Maine has seen 12 bridge suicides since 1998, according to statistics from the state Medical Examiner's Office in Augusta. But with 2,700 bridges statewide, it would simply cost too much money to install a barrier on every one, Frankhauser said.
He said that building a new suicide barrier would require more proof of actual danger than would rebuilding an existing fence.
That admission will come as little comfort for opponents of the fence. They say the fence is a constant reminder of suicide.
"And that's not what we want in our future," Lerman said. "That's not how we want to define ourselves."
Staff Writer Kevin Wack can be contacted at 282-8226 or at:
kwack@pressherald.com
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