A Few Kind Words

A passerby convinces a distraught woman not to end it all

- Andy Simmons

IT WAS 11 p.m. when Alex Conrad saw the woman on the Main Street Bridge. She was standing by the railing, peering down at the rushing Chippewa River below. At her feet was what appeared to be a backpack.

Maybe she’s fishing, Conrad, then 20, thought as he continued driving his Mustang to his home a short distance away. His friend’s car had broken down, so Conrad was making a quick pit stop to grab some tools before heading out to help.

Tools in hand, he climbed into his car. Instead of taking a shortcut, though, he opted to head back over the bridge. Something about that woman didn’t sit right. Why would she be fishing this late at night—in May, when it’s still cold in Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin?

As he crossed the quarter-mile-long bridge, Conrad saw the woman standing in the same spot. He pulled a U-turn and parked on a diagonal some 20 feet away with his hazards flashing, blocking one of the four lanes. In case there was trouble, he hoped another driver would take note and help.