C: Lessons on a Bridge
We have a graceful bridge over the Arkansas River, uniting the North and South of our metropolitan area from its western side. I don’t travel this bridge very often—maybe three or four times a year—finding that my travels take me more east-west and, if I go north, I usually travel on the Eastern side of the loop. But this week I had court in another county, and the logical route home brought me by way of this bridge. It was on that day (last Thursday), that something occurred to me. Never —not one time, I’d venture to say—do I traverse this bridge without thinking of an incident that occurred there in 1999. Yes, 13 years ago, and the incident is still in my mind every time I cross the bridge. I told V about this, and she c onfirmed that she, too, often thinks of it. This young lady’s name is Carson Prince. In 1999 she was the nineteen-year-old daughter of two attorneys, one of them the former mayor of our city. In April 1999 drivers...