The Bridge

In the wirephoto which appeared on the front page of almost every U.S. newspaper, the Ludendorff Bridge at Remagen did not look like a thing of beauty. Its squat towers, like two massive beer mugs, looked typically Teutonic. The picture, taken on a grey day, showed the grey rubble of war in the foreground. But the bridge was intact, and therein lay its exquisite beauty. Every American could see in it an imminent promise of victory in Europe.

The optimism that bubbled up in the U.S. with the crossing of the Rhine barrier was tempered by caution this time. The U.S. was through with such bumptious assumptions as it had made after General Patton's dash past Paris last summer. "A Feeling of Coming Victory," said the Chicago Sun's streamer. But this time it was not entirely the caution of earlier disappointment that kept down the premature cheering. It was also a more intimate realization of what the end of the war in Europe would mean.

In the same week that the Rhine was crossed, the U.S. people learned the full toll of what their might of arms had wrought in Cologne. No one, except the overly sentimental, shed tears. But for the first time the certain chaos of postwar Germany was made graphic. Everyone knew now that, no matter when the war in Europe ends, its end would not bring a cessation of grave problems. And there was still the stern prospect of the Pacific War.

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