Ken Medell takes bridge phobics across the Bay Bridge. (Baltimore Sun photo by Algerina Perna / September 2, 2008)
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This one guy was so freaked by the idea of traversing the Bay Bridge that he practically begged to cross in his car's trunk. Fat chance of that; rules are rules. Instead he had to settle for lying down on the floor behind the seats, underneath a blanket.
And he was a helicopter pilot.
Ken Medell told this story while cruising over the bridge's eastbound span, 185 feet over the placid bay waters, to illustrate a point. When it comes to gender, job and presumed machismo, bridge phobia just about spans all of it. He has shuttled an airplane pilot, a police officer, a race car driver.
A lot of people, it turns out, have an irrational fear of the venerable Bay Bridge, that soaring, 4.3-mile-long expanse of steel and asphalt. Since Medell won a state contract for the drive-over service 16 months ago, he and his staff have gotten behind the wheel 3,500 times, for an average of seven customers a day.
"To the person," Medell said, "everybody has told me, 'I've driven this bridge a hundred times; something happened, and now I can't do it.' Most of them don't know what happened."
It's not generally even a worry about going off the bridge or having the thing collapse. Experts say the phobia is often rooted in a panic disorder and fear of losing control.
Given that, Medell was not surprised that his business saw no increase after a truck plowed off the bridge last month, killing its driver. After the Aug. 10 accident, corrosion was discovered on the eastbound span, leading to lane closings during repairs that officials expect to be completed by mid-month.
Though the summer rush is over, Medell and his staff at Kent Island Express know they'll get a few daily requests from skittish motorists willing to pay $25 to let somebody else, anybody else, take charge of a journey that usually lasts just eight minutes.
Many are repeat customers who know to call an hour in advance. Some commute weekly to a job on the opposite shore or have family on both sides. Some have a vacation place on the Eastern Shore.
One morning last week, Medell and Marty Marcellino left the company's office on Kent Island and crossed the westbound span to meet a caller. Marcellino, a grandfatherly 73-year-old, would drive her SUV while Medell trailed. She waited on the roadway, wearing a sun visor that would soon shield her eyes from the bridge she could not bear to look at.
The woman, a Baltimore resident going to see a sick family member on the Eastern Shore, had driven the bridge dozens of times over the years. Though never "wild about it," she saw it the way most of us do: as an elevated roadway with a sweeping view. Earlier this year she endured a panic attack during a solo crossing. She began sweating like mad, thought her heart would leap from her chest. She labored to control her breathing.
Why? She wishes she knew. All she knows is the bridge's steel superstructure terrifies her, as does the incline to the middle of the bridge. What about driving at night? "I would probably have issues." How about driving around the bay? She tried. That route has two bridges, "and I had an anxiety attack."
Making matters worse, her husband has no idea about her phobia. That's why she declined to give her name and vaguely said she was in her 50s. "He will not relate to this phobia," she declared. "A lot of people probably can't. They'd probably laugh at me. A phobia is a phobia whether it's dogs or height or planes. I didn't ask to be like this."
She chatted during the crossing with no obvious anxiety but kept her visor low. After reaching Kent Island, Marcellino pulled onto the shoulder. The woman got back in the driver's seat and zoomed off.
A fear of bridges is a recognized phobia with its own fancy name, gephyrophobia. Symptoms can include rapid heartbeat, dry mouth, nausea and a sense of dread. It can be limited to bridges or form part of a wider anxiety.
Dr. Harold Steinitz, a Towson psychologist, has no statistics but said bridge phobia "certainly comes up fairly often." He has even treated state troopers at his private practice, the Anxiety and Stress Disorders Institute of Maryland. The goal with treatment is not simply to tell people to relax. Rather, it's to help them develop coping skills. "People get significantly better," he said. "We don't talk about cure."
In Bethesda, clinical social worker Jean Ratner sees 10 bridge-phobics a year at her Center for Travel Anxiety. And while she said people who are committed to re-conquering bridges can often do so, the Bay Bridge shuttle service provides an option.
Joan Kalin was a drive-over customer last week. Treatment has no appeal. A grandmother who has a beach house near Ocean City and lives in Silver Spring, she's been getting a lift for a dozen years. She can't handle the bridge's superstructure or its curved shape or when there is two-way traffic on one span.
"If I had to, I probably could do it," she said. But she's got Medell. He's a white-haired, 59-year-old Vietnam veteran with no training in phobias. His company drives people to the airport and Ravens games. Mornings and afternoons, he drives a school bus. He won the drive-over gig after the Maryland Transportation Authority, which used to offer it free, privatized the service.
Medell observes a few common-sense rules. He knows better than to ask about the phobia on the bridge, or off. He'll ask about family and tell goofy jokes.
Most clients are fine sitting in the passenger seat; rarely do they crouch in the back. Sometimes they yowl. One time a client screamed, "I can't do this, I can't do this" as she neared the bridge. Fortunately the shoulder had not ended, so Medell was able to back up. After a long wait, she was ready to try again.
"I could've been crass and said, 'Lady, I don't have all day.' But that wouldn't have been sensitive," Medell said. "I have a phobia, too, and I know what they're going through." The story is that as a 6-year-old, he insulted a little person - "Hey, midget!" - and was badly beaten by the man.
Panic at the sight of a little person is an unexpected phobia for someone who grew to a burly 6-foot-4. Medell says that he's dead serious and that it hurts when he tells clients and they burst out laughing. Steinitz, the psychologist, didn't doubt it one bit.
"There are fears," he said, "of everything."
If you have ideas about people or goings-on to suggest for Maryland Scenes, send them to news@baltimoresun.com
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