"Welcome back, your dreams were your ticket out."

I first crossed the George Washington Bridge in the fall of 1947. I was less than 6 months old. Our family of five was moving from Northport Long Island, where I was born, to Summit, New Jersey, where I grew up. That also constituted my first trip to (through) Ft. Lee and my first (subliminal) awareness of the little red light house that sits proudly under the bridge on the Manhattan shoreline.

My mother was an illustrator of children's books and had a particular fondness for The Little Red Lighthouse and the Big Grey Bridge written in 1927 by Hildegarde Swift and Lynd Ward. The lighthouse reminds us, according to it's website, that "all things big or small have a significant place in our world." It was mom's kind of story - consistent with all that she went on to teach us throughout the years.

Ironically, the lighthouse was in the process of being decommissioned at the very time that we were soaring high above it that fall afternoon. The enormous popularity of the children's book, however, played a role in saving the lighthouse from demolition in the years to come.

In subsequent years, our family would cross the George Washington Bridge at least twice a year as we made the annual summer trek to our mother's childhood home in Quebec. On the way north, barely an hour out of Summit in our laden Ford Country Squire station wagon, she would begin lilting as we approached the bridge in a voice filled with the joy and optimism of a new day, "Here we come, children, let's all keep our eyes peeled for the little red lighthouse...it's right down there", she'd say craning her neck out of the front passenger window.

Right down where?!

I was too young to know that it was impossible to see that which was directly under the bridge, but we always tried.

"Oh there's the spot, " she'd say as we wound off the ramp onto the Henry Hudson Parkway. The little red light house was mom's deal and we all bought into it. We didn't have to actually see it to know that it was there.

Several months later, our loaded car would again approach the bridge - this time from the north - as we returned having spent 12 hot miserable hours in the car, vacation over, school about to start, traffic barely inching along, and still an hour from home.

A frazzed dad hung over the wheel while an overwrought mom tried to hang on just a little longer. "If you children don't be quiet and behave, I'm going to ask dad to stop the car right now and let you out." That, of course, was the ultimate threat and lead me into momentary horror. After several moments of imagining what I'd do, however, I'd remember the lighthouse below and know that, within a short walk, I'd find the safe haven that had so captured my imagination since earliest memory. Score one for the lighthouse.

My first actual sighting of the lighthouse came during my first visit to Ft. Lee several years ago. My daughter Sarah, then a graduate student at Columbia, brought me over to see the wonderful waterside park that spreads splendidly below the soaring bridge above. Weeks earlier, her fiancee John had proposed marriage to her at this very spot, yards from the flowing Hudson River, below the bridge, and directly across from and within easy sight of...the little red lighthouse on the far shore.

Wow.

Occasionally we say things like, "I don't ask for much in this world, but..." This was one of these moments. My daughter's life ahead, my life behind and all brought together by this magnificent little structure.

"There it is, mom. Right over there. See it?!"

Thank you for visiting.

Jack