The Final Leap

The Final Leap

The publisher gratefully acknowledges the generous support of the General Endowment Fund of the University of California Press Foundation.

Suicide on the Golden Gate Bridge

John Bateson

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA PRESS

Berkeley Los Angeles London

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.

University of California Press

Berkeley and Los Angeles, California

University of California Press, Ltd.

London, England

© 2012 by The Regents of the University of California

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Bateson, John, 1951-

  The final leap: suicide on the Golden Gate Bridge / John Bateson.

    p. cm.

  Includes bibliographical references and index.

  ISBN 978-0-520-27240-8 (alk. paper)

  1. Suicide victims—California—San Francisco.

2. Suicide—California—San Francisco. 3. Golden Gate Bridge (San Francisco, Calif.) I. Title.

  HV6548.U52S36  2012

  362.2809794'61—dc23

2011038983

Manufactured in the United States of America

20  19  18  17  16  15  14  13  12  11

10    9    8    7    6    5    4    3    2    1

In keeping with a commitment to support environmentally responsible and sustainable printing practices, UC Press has printed this book on Rolland Enviro100, a 100% post-consumer fiber paper that is FSC certified, deinked, processed chlorine-free, and manufactured with renewable biogas energy. It is acid-free and EcoLogo certified.

To everyone who has lost a loved one
to the Golden Gate Bridge

Acknowledgments

Prologue

1. Beauty and Death

2. Fatal Decisions

3. Endless Ripple

4. Opening Up

5. Surviving the Fall

6. In Lieu of a Net

7. Guardians of an Icon

8. The Barrier Debate

Epilogue

Appendices

A. Explaining Suicide

B. Help and Resources

C. Golden Gate Bridge Suicides

Bibliography

Index

 

First and foremost, I want to thank the family members and friends of Golden Gate Bridge jumpers who shared their stories with me. Some didn't want to be identified or have their stories told so they're not mentioned. Regardless, my heart goes out to them, and I'm sorry for their loss.

A few family members have been public with their grief, knowing that it's necessary to influence decision makers and ultimately end suicides from the bridge. It has taken tremendous courage, and it has made a difference. I thank John and Erika Brooks, Dave Hull, Dayna Whitmer, and Mary Zablotny in particular for telling their stories to me and to others.

When friends and colleagues learned that I was writing this book, many wondered how I could sleep at night immersed in so much tragedy. Even tragedies have heroes, I replied, people who refused to be silent, who have stood up for what's right despite being criticized. This book has heroes, too, three in particular. I'm speaking of California Assemblyman and former Bridge District board member Tom Ammiano, bridge jump survivor Kevin Hines, and recently retired Marin County coroner Ken Holmes. They will deserve much of the credit when suicides from the Golden Gate Bridge end.

A number of mental health professionals have advocated strenuously over the years in support of a suicide barrier. I thank Mel Blaustein, Anne Fleming, Margaret Hallett, Eve Meyer, Jerry Motto, Richard Seiden, Ron Tauber, and many others for this. In addition to their advocacy, Blaustein and Tauber amassed extensive files of press clippings, meeting minutes, reports, and correspondence regarding suicides from the Golden Gate Bridge, and shared them with me.

Also deserving thanks are Linda Allen, Ken Baldwin, Robert Bea,John Draper, Lorrie Goldin, Eric Hall, Patrick Hines, Thomas Joiner, Dave Kahler, Paul Muller, Nancy Salamy, Eric Steel, Janice Tagart, and Janet Wilson. At various times they served as sources of information and expertise.

I'm grateful, too, for the cooperation I received from Golden Gate Bridge District officials. Denis Mulligan, the CEO and general manager, and Mary Currie, the public affairs director, answered every question I asked, as well as provided background information. Kary Witt, the bridge manager, and Lisa Locati, the captain of bridge security, freely answered questions as well.

So did representatives of the U.S. Coast Guard. Leanne Lusk, the sector San Francisco command center chief, and Mark Allstott, commanding officer of Station Golden Gate, made themselves available to talk with me about their work as it pertains to Golden Gate Bridge suicides.

One person I did not interview but who merits acknowledgment nonetheless is Tad Friend. His 2003 article in the
New Yorker
focused attention on Golden Gate Bridge suicides in a way that hadn't happened before. In some respects he was able to report in 5,000 words what has taken me 70,000.

Locally, the
San Francisco Chronicle
's seven-part series in 2005 about Golden Gate Bridge suicides was among the most in-depth pieces of reporting the paper has ever done. Much of the information is still relevant today, and some of the photos that are reprinted here, with permission, appeared first in the
Chronicle.

The staff and board of the Contra Costa Crisis Center also have my gratitude. They provided encouragement and valuable advice throughout the development of this book.

In all likelihood, the final draft would be much different if it had been handled by anyone other than Naomi Schneider and her talented team at the University of California Press. When I decided that there was enough material for a book, and put together a proposal, UC Press was my first choice to publish it.

Writing a book, for the most part, is a solitary process. Other than conducting interviews, the work—from research to writing to revising of various drafts—takes place alone. If one has a family, it means that others have to understand and be supportive. No one could receive more understanding or support than I have from Suzan and our four adult children—Sara, Cassidy, Chloé, and Trevor. You have my love and my thanks
.

 

It's a little after 6
A.M.
on Tuesday, January 29, 2008. A lone figure walks head down on the Golden Gate Bridge. She is seventeen years old, pretty, with shoulder-length brown hair. In five months she's supposed to graduate from Redwood High School in Marin County, one of the top-rated high schools in California. In the fall, her friends will be heading off to college. She could be heading off to college, too; she has a 3.7 grade point average and has been accepted at Bennington College in Vermont, her first choice. Bennington is a long way from home, which is part of its attraction. Also, it's a small college—another attraction. She liked the campus when she visited it with her parents, thinking that she would study environmental science and journalism. Now, though, she's on the Golden Gate Bridge, early in the morning on a school day, and has a different plan.

Near the midpoint of the span she stops. No one is around. At this hour of the day, in the middle of winter, it is cold and still mostly dark. The pedestrian walkway is deserted. There's no one to see her, no one to stop her. She climbs over the railing onto the chord, the 32-inch-wide girder on the other side of the railing. She's in good shape from playing soccer and lacrosse; however, the railing is only four feet high so being in shape doesn't matter. Almost anyone can climb over it. Between the chord and the dark water of the bay far below is salt air, thick and beckoning.

At nearly the same time, her father is up as usual in the family's Tiburon home, seven miles north of the Golden Gate Bridge. He is an executive in San Francisco and commutes every day across the bridge to work. This morning, as on many mornings, he goes into his daughter's bedroom to wake her up. On the wall above her bed a poster from the movie
Trainspotting
proclaims “Choose Life” in bold letters. He doesn't see the poster, though. What he notices immediately is that his daughter's bed is made and the keys to the family's red Saab are missing. A few days earlier there had been an argument and his daughter had been grounded, denied use of the car.

On the bed is a note. “The Saab is parked at the Golden Gate Bridge. I'm sorry.”

His daughter, Casey, has suffered from emotional problems since infancy. She was born prematurely, in Poland, to a mother who abandoned her. There had been a twin sister who was stillborn, but Casey's adoptive parents, John and Erika Brooks, had not told Casey about her, wanting to wait until Casey was a little older, a little better able to handle the news.

Casey was fourteen months old when the Brookses adopted her from a Polish orphanage. She had the developmental capacity of a six-month-old. She couldn't stand, sit, talk, or feed herself. Doctors told the Brookses that best case, Casey was under stimulated and suffered from learning disabilities. For five weeks, while the Brookses were in Poland waiting for Casey's visa to be approved, Casey showed rapid progress. By the time they left the country, Casey was able to sit up and walk.

She continued to progress, and in many respects seemed “normal.” She was a talented writer, did well in school, and was popular with classmates. The trauma Casey suffered during infancy had a lasting effect, however. As she got older, her father says, “She was unable to soothe herself. She had periodic temper tantrums and crying fits, would lock herself in her room, and scream it out.” He speculates that she suffered from an attachment disorder and “had a lot of self-loathing.” At the same time, “She put on a great game face, not letting people see what she was fighting.”

Starting in middle school, the Brookses took Casey to a succession of therapists. It wasn't easy; in fact, Casey fought therapy vigorously and her parents almost literally had to drag her to sessions. “She had demons inside her and didn't want anyone to touch them,” her father says. Eventually, they gave up, deciding that it wasn't productive. Moreover, Casey made it known that she wouldn't take any medications that were prescribed for her. “Seventy-five percent of the time she was delightful,” John Brooks says. “Twenty-five percent of the time she was a nightmare.” It was hard to know whether this was common or atypical. The Brookses had no parenting experience to draw on; besides, every child is different, and adolescence is a time of emotional angst.

To an outside observer, Casey Brooks led a life of privilege. An only child, she grew up in one of the wealthiest communities in the United States. The median price of a home in Tiburon is $2 million, and many homes cost more than $10 million. Views are spectacular—panoramic and breathtaking. Houses are oriented to the water, to San Francisco Bay and the Golden Gate Bridge.

Being an orphan from Eastern Europe, abandoned at birth and developmentally delayed due to a lack of attention, and now living in one of the most beautiful places in the world, Casey had trouble believing that she fit in. Her entire life could have been spent in the orphanage or on a Polish farm, yet she was living in luxury. Her guilt was reflected in a poem she wrote for English class a week before her thirteenth birthday, titled “Don't Stereotype Me.”

Just because I live in Tiburon, I'm not a billionaire, I'm not conceited, I don't gossip, and I'm not stuck up.

Just because I live in Tiburon, I don't own a $200,000 Bently
[sic]
, I don't live in a mansion, I don't go to an expensive private school, and I don't get whatever I want.

Just because I live in Tiburon, I haven't my own basketball team, it doesn't mean I'll get a Mercedes on my 16
^th
birthday, it doesn't mean I go to fancy spas every day, and it doesn't mean I'm any better or worse than you.

Just because I live in Tiburon, why should it matter anyway? Why do you judge me? You don't even know who I am. What does it matter, I'm no different from you. What counts is your personality, not your possessions.

Just because I live in Tiburon, don't stereotype me.”