Last night I was supposed to dine at West. It was the Batasiolo winemaker’s dinner, one of the hottest tickets on the wine fest calendar, and I was really looking forward to it.
When I arrived downtown I decided to skip taking a cab and walked the rest of the way so I could enjoy the beginnings of the sunset en route.
About a quarter of the way across the Granville St. Bridge, a man walking about 30 yards in front of me stopped a girl, said something to her while dropping his bag at her feet, and kept on walking past.
When I got to where she was, she was a little panicky, saying that he’d told her that he was going to jump. I called 911 and as I was talking to the dispatcher the girl and I followed the man to the center of the bridge. We were 10 yards behind him when he stopped and climbed over the edge. We stopped too, unsure of what to do. We yelled “Don’t do it!” and “Wait!” several times, but didn’t dare get any closer.
He was about 40 years old, my height (5′8), and 175 lbs tops. He was wearing a baggy, cream-coloured suit that was a little dirty, and his black hair was short but wild. He hadn’t shaved for several days. His expression was one of frantic determination.
The next few seconds seemed to happen in slow motion. He looked at us, took a deep pull on his smoke before flicking it, and then jumped. It wasn’t a half-hearted jump either. It was a full on leap, an end-it-all swan dive with arms outstretched and no sound. Very surreal.
We watched him fall all the way down and land on his face and belly, the impact splash louder than the rush hour traffic whizzing past. He disappeared for a moment in the froth and then resurfaced face down, arms still outstretched, but without movement. Within 5 seconds, the current pulled him underneath the bridge span and out of our view.
This all happened while I was still on the line with the 911 dispatcher, and I felt pretty bad for her having to listen to it all remotely from her chair with her headset on (that must be a lame job). Anyway, the girl left pretty upset, and the dispatcher told me that I had to wait where I was with the jumper’s bag until a cop could get to me.
A crowd had gathered on the other side of the bridge, no doubt watching the body float away. A few minutes later a Coast Guard boat passed under the bridge with crew members pointing, followed closed behind by a little zodiac. I was all alone, not a little freaked. Just waiting and replaying what had just happened. When the cop arrived I told him what I saw. He took down my details and gave me a card in case I wanted to talk to someone. I guess I was in shock and looked the part, but I was OK.
So I didn’t show up at the West dinner. It was going to be the first time I would sample the new chef’s cooking, but I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to handle it. I turned around and on the advice of my wife (who called the restaurant and canceled for me) I walked to Bacchus for the fastest beer I’ve ever had (piano tinkling in the background), then to 900 West for several more, and then home to her and our kids. Sleep was sketchy at best, but I’m hoping that blogging about it will smooth the surreality out enough to allow for some perspective.
