especially the larger ones, and particularly one six-foot two-inch, 235-pound Italian apprentice
named Dominick. Every time Benny Olson saw him, he would call him "a dumb bastard" or, at best, a "big, stupid ox."
Just the mere sight of Olson walking down the catwalk would terrorize Dominick, for he was a very high-strung and emotional
type, and Olson could get him so nervous and shaky that he could barely light a cigarette. One day, after Olson had hurled
five minutes' worth of abuse at Dominick, the big Italian, turning red, lunged toward Olson and grabbed him by the scrawny
neck. Then Dominick lifted Olson into the air, carried him toward the edge of the catwalk, and held him out over the river.
"You leetle preek," Dominick screamed, "now I throw you off."
Four other bridgemen rushed up from behind, held Dominick's arms, pulled him back and tried to calm him. Olson, after he'd
been let loose, said nothing. He just rubbed his neck and smoothed out his shirt. A moment later he turned and walked idly
up the catwalk, but after he had gotten about fifty feet away, Benny Olson suddenly turned and, with a wild flare of fury,
yelled to Dominick, "You know, you really are a big, dumb stupid bastard." Then he turned again and continued calmly up the
catwalk.
Finally, a few punks on the Walt Whitman Bridge decided to get revenge on Benny Olson. One way to irritate him, they decided,
was to stop the spinning wheels, which they could do merely by clicking one of the several turn-off switches installed along
the catwalk— placed there in case an accident to one of the men or some flaw in the wiring demanded an instant halt.
So this they did—and, at first, Olson was perplexed. He would be standing on one end of the bridge with everything going smoothly,
then, suddenly, a wheel would stop at the other end.
"Hey, what the hell's the matter with that wheel?" he'd yell, but nobody knew. So he would run toward it, running the full
length of the catwalk, puffing and panting all the way. Just before he would reach the wheel, however, it would begin to move
again—a punk at the other end of the bridge would have flipped the switch back on. This conspiracy went on for hours sometimes,
and the game became known as "Keeping the Wheel from Benny." And at 3 A.M. a few punks in a saloon would telephone Benny Olson
at his hotel and shout, "Who's got the wheel, Benny?"—and then hang up.
Benny Olson responded without humor, and all day on the bridge he would chase the wheel like a crazy chimpanzee—until, suddenly,
he came up with an idea that would stop the game. With help from an engineer, he created an electrical switchboard with red
lights on top, each light connected with one of the turn-off switches strung along the bridge. So now if any punk turned off
a switch he would give away his location. Olson also appointed a loyal bridge worker to do nothing but watch the switchboard,
and this bridgeman was officially called the "tattletale." If the wheel should stop, all Benny Olson had to do was pick up
the telephone and say, "Who's got the wheel, Tattletale?" The tattletale would give the precise switch that had been flipped
off, and Olson, knowing who was working nearest that spot, could easily fix the blame. But this invention did more than just
put an end to the game; it also created a new job in bridge building—the tattletale—and on every big bridge that has been
built since the Walt Whitman Bridge, there has been a bridge worker assigned to do nothing but watch the switchboard and keep
track of the location of the wheels during the cable-spinning phase of construction. There was a tattletale on the Verrazano-Narrows
Bridge, too, but he did little work, for, without Benny Olson to irritate, the demonic spirit had died—there was just no point
anymore to "Keeping the Wheel from Benny." And besides, the men involved in spinning the cables on the Verrazano were very
serious, very
named Dominick. Every time Benny Olson saw him, he would call him "a dumb bastard" or, at best, a "big, stupid ox."
Just the mere sight of Olson walking down the catwalk would terrorize Dominick, for he was a very high-strung and emotional
type, and Olson could get him so nervous and shaky that he could barely light a cigarette. One day, after Olson had hurled
five minutes' worth of abuse at Dominick, the big Italian, turning red, lunged toward Olson and grabbed him by the scrawny
neck. Then Dominick lifted Olson into the air, carried him toward the edge of the catwalk, and held him out over the river.
"You leetle preek," Dominick screamed, "now I throw you off."
Four other bridgemen rushed up from behind, held Dominick's arms, pulled him back and tried to calm him. Olson, after he'd
been let loose, said nothing. He just rubbed his neck and smoothed out his shirt. A moment later he turned and walked idly
up the catwalk, but after he had gotten about fifty feet away, Benny Olson suddenly turned and, with a wild flare of fury,
yelled to Dominick, "You know, you really are a big, dumb stupid bastard." Then he turned again and continued calmly up the
catwalk.
Finally, a few punks on the Walt Whitman Bridge decided to get revenge on Benny Olson. One way to irritate him, they decided,
was to stop the spinning wheels, which they could do merely by clicking one of the several turn-off switches installed along
the catwalk— placed there in case an accident to one of the men or some flaw in the wiring demanded an instant halt.
So this they did—and, at first, Olson was perplexed. He would be standing on one end of the bridge with everything going smoothly,
then, suddenly, a wheel would stop at the other end.
"Hey, what the hell's the matter with that wheel?" he'd yell, but nobody knew. So he would run toward it, running the full
length of the catwalk, puffing and panting all the way. Just before he would reach the wheel, however, it would begin to move
again—a punk at the other end of the bridge would have flipped the switch back on. This conspiracy went on for hours sometimes,
and the game became known as "Keeping the Wheel from Benny." And at 3 A.M. a few punks in a saloon would telephone Benny Olson
at his hotel and shout, "Who's got the wheel, Benny?"—and then hang up.
Benny Olson responded without humor, and all day on the bridge he would chase the wheel like a crazy chimpanzee—until, suddenly,
he came up with an idea that would stop the game. With help from an engineer, he created an electrical switchboard with red
lights on top, each light connected with one of the turn-off switches strung along the bridge. So now if any punk turned off
a switch he would give away his location. Olson also appointed a loyal bridge worker to do nothing but watch the switchboard,
and this bridgeman was officially called the "tattletale." If the wheel should stop, all Benny Olson had to do was pick up
the telephone and say, "Who's got the wheel, Tattletale?" The tattletale would give the precise switch that had been flipped
off, and Olson, knowing who was working nearest that spot, could easily fix the blame. But this invention did more than just
put an end to the game; it also created a new job in bridge building—the tattletale—and on every big bridge that has been
built since the Walt Whitman Bridge, there has been a bridge worker assigned to do nothing but watch the switchboard and keep
track of the location of the wheels during the cable-spinning phase of construction. There was a tattletale on the Verrazano-Narrows
Bridge, too, but he did little work, for, without Benny Olson to irritate, the demonic spirit had died—there was just no point
anymore to "Keeping the Wheel from Benny." And besides, the men involved in spinning the cables on the Verrazano were very
serious, very
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