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Dear Friends,

When I was a child growing up in Bar Harbor, my family attended Mass at Holy Redeemer Church every Sunday morning.  Afterwards we would drive into Acadia to see our “Dad’s Bridge” and then up to the top of Cadillac Mountain to get a maple sugar pilgrim and look at the view of Frenchman’s Bay and the Porcupine Islands. We lived on Eagle Lake Road.  My mother cooked biscuits on a wood stove, while the youngest, Roberta slept in a laundry basket on our kitchen table.  The iceman dropped off a huge block of ice every week for the small ice box and we licked the top of it.  The milk man brought milk bottles and for some reason, I got to eat the cream that had risen to the top.

You could still get a piece of depression glass free in a box of detergent.  The butcher always gave us kids a free mini frankfurter. We always got “jimmies” on top of our ice cream

As a young girl I clearly remember driving with my father and younger brother, Michael, to the Rockefeller Mansion so he could pick up his paycheck and discuss the construction with I do not know who.

I have had fears for some time that Duck Brook Motor Bridge has fallen into obscurity. Acadia's Centennial is almost over and the bridge is still in moth balls. As I grew older, I decided to have a painting done of the bridge so it would stay "alive" in my family. The artist, Robert Hagberg (whose excellent work can be seen at Argosy Gallery, Bar Harbor, Maine), could not get a photo of the bridge due to the overgrowth. Robert relied on my father’s construction photos and our old family photos. Talented photographer George Soules went to the bridge site in the fall after he discovered it, climbed down into the ravine, and even though most of the leaves were off the trees, had to combine two images to complete his beautiful image of Duck Brook Motor Bridge. He still was unable to capture all three arches of the bridge.

Although we no longer live in Bar Harbor, Roberta, Mary, Mike and I return regularly to visit the graves of our parents in Holy Redeemer Cemetery, where my husband and I will one day join them.  I can’t tell you how many countless hours my sister Mary and I have spent over the years looking through gift shops for a refrigerator magnet, note card, or anything else with a photo of Dad’s Bridge on it, to no avail. One day the thought “The Forgotten Bridge of Acadia” came into my head.  Soon after I developed the idea of a website to raise awareness of the bridge’s plight and to uncover its hidden charm.

I often wonder how many families out there call Duck Brook Motor Bridge Dad’s Bridge, Grandpa’s Bridge, or Uncle so and so’s bridge because they too have an ancestor or family member who helped construct this historic bridge. I would like to find out...

It is said that the National Park program is America’s Best Idea. We are so thankful for the foresight of Charles Eliot, George B. Dorr, John D. Rockefeller Jr. and others. We are also indebted to the countless numbers of construction workers, road builders and bridge builders, including our father, that brought their dreams to fruition.



Therese Klotz Marshall

cone.  When we were old enough to attend St Edwards Catholic School, we had ginger snaps and milk for snack every day at 10AM provided for us by some sweet lady in her will. We played jacks on the merry go round in the school yard. Ribbons hung from the May Pole every spring and we sang as we danced around it winding the ribbons to the bottom of the pole. We caught frogs at Eagle Lake, picked blueberries in our back yard and fished for minnows in the stream with our hands. Life was very good.

Our father, Avon Robert Klotz, and mother, Josephine Mary Kane, had met in Washington DC, where both worked in the Pentagon during WW II.  My mother was a hometown Bar Harbor girl whose paternal ancestors lived in Maine since the 1600s.  She was descended from some of the oldest families in Maine. When the war was over they returned to Bar Harbor.

Driving on Rt 3 into Bar Harbor, my parents would say, “Look to the right.  It’s coming up.  Don’t look away or you will miss it. There it is!” We would chime, “I saw it!”  We were talking about “Dad’s bridge”, formally known as Duck Brook Motor Bridge, Paradise Hill Road.

Our father, Avon Robert Klotz, was the supervisor of construction of Duck Brook Motor Bridge, Paradise Hill Road.  He worked for Harold MacQuinn Construction Company.  He broke his arm at the work site during the construction. To us the bridge was always “Dad’s Bridge,” or to the greater family “Avon’s Bridge,” and to the next generation “Grandpa’s Bridge”.

"Dad's Bridge"

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