Even for those who have walked its span or photographed its towers at sunset, the Golden Gate Bridge holds countless surprises beyond the usual trivia. Spanning 4,200 feet between towers and rising over 750 feet above the water, it was the longest suspension bridge in the world when completed in 1937[1]. Yet the stories behind its name, color, engineers, and dramatic history are far less widely known. Drawing on historical records, engineering studies, and local accounts, this article uncovers the Golden Gate’s hidden chapters – from a lost designer’s decades-delayed recognition to a massive 1987 crowd that visibly sagged the roadway. Each section that follows weaves together meticulous research and on-the-ground insights to paint a complete portrait of this iconic span.
Most visitors assume the “Golden Gate” moniker refers to California’s Gold Rush or the bridge’s color, but the name actually predates both by almost a century. In 1846 U.S. Army Topographical Engineer John C. Frémont dubbed the strait leading into San Francisco Bay “Chrysopylae,” Greek for “Golden Gate,” because he imagined it as “a golden gate to trade with the Orient.” Frémont explicitly noted that name by analogy with Istanbul’s famed Golden Horn. In other words, the waterway was the Golden Gate long before the bridge arrived – the structure merely inherited the already‐romantic name (rather than naming the waterway). The original Greek term “Chrysopylae” breaks down to golden (chryso-) gate (pylae), reflecting that intended symbolism. It wasn’t until 1937 that the span officially adopted “Golden Gate Bridge,” linking the city of San Francisco to Marin County across the strait Frémont named (and later sank beneath human-made gold discoveries).
Few realize that even before construction, San Franciscans debated the name. Some early proposals called it “Strait of Malho” or “Columbia Bridge,” but officials ultimately kept the poetic Golden Gate name. The persistence of “Golden Gate” honours both Frémont’s 1846 christening and the grand image he imagined – a threshold to California, not a reference to the metal gold. (Fun fact: in 1846 Frémont himself later glossed chrysopylae simply as “Golden Gate” in his journal, cementing the name in English usage.)
One of the most famous aspects of the bridge is its vivid International Orange hue – a deep, burnt-orange that stands out in fog. But why orange? In fact, it wasn’t the first choice. During World War II the U.S. Navy had suggested painting the new bridge with black-and-yellow stripes for visibility. Irving F. Morrow – the bridge’s relatively unknown architect – adamantly disagreed, believing such a scheme would be hideous. Instead, Morrow was inspired by the bridge’s primer coat. Steel components arrived coated in a red lead primer (a rust-inhibiting primer) which had an orange-red color. Morrow found that this orange primer harmonized beautifully with the Marin hills in the distance and the constantly changing sky. He commissioned paint samples and concluded that a hue in the “International Orange” family would blend well with the natural setting, while still being vivid enough to alert passing ships and planes.
Ultimately the chosen shade (close to Pantone 1595 C) is similar to the primer’s red-orange, officially called Golden Gate Bridge International Orange. Its CMYK color formula is roughly 0% cyan, 69% magenta, 100% yellow, 6% black. This hue not only resists the gray fog but also underwent a subtle psychological test in 1936: an anonymous color consultant, sculptor Beniamino Bufano, painted granite model towers in different colors and confirmed orange’s aesthetic appeal. Morrow liked that International Orange would glow warmly in sunlight yet remain visible in low light.
So the bridge remains that distinctive orange not by accident, but by a deliberate aesthetic choice. The final decision came down to Irving Morrow’s vision: an emotionally warm color that held up against the elements and “as pleasing as unusual in engineering,” as one contemporary noted. The result is a color that no one now suggests changing – proving that in this case the controversial defense against stripes or steel grey paid off for beauty and visibility.
Perhaps the most tragic untold story of the Golden Gate Bridge is that of Charles Alton Ellis, the brilliant engineer who did much of the design work yet was almost written out of its history. While Joseph Strauss held the title of chief engineer, Strauss admitted later that he had little experience with long-span suspension bridges. Instead, Strauss hired Ellis (a professor of civil engineering) and consulting engineer Leon Moisseiff to handle the actual bridge design. Ellis worked remotely from Illinois, producing over 10 volumes of detailed calculations for the bridge’s structure. In essence, Ellis refined and adapted Moisseiff’s “deflection theory” (a more flexible design than Strauss’s original cantilever concept) into safe plans for Golden Gate.
However, Ellis’s contributions were nearly erased. In November 1931, before construction began, Strauss abruptly fired Ellis, supposedly for excessive telegram costs while coordinating with Moisseiff. Ellis stayed on unpaid, completing final drawings and calculations through 1932. After that he returned to academia, literally heartbroken that Strauss claimed most of the credit. For decades, Ellis’s name did not appear on plaques or popular histories of the bridge.
“Only much later were the contributions of the others on the design team properly appreciated,” a retrospective noted. In 2007 the Golden Gate Bridge District finally admitted that “Charles Ellis deserves significant credit for the suspension bridge design which we see and cherish today.” This official recognition, 70 years late, vindicated Ellis’s role in giving the bridge its graceful, minimalist form.
Ironically, Ellis had to wait until 1977 – thirty years after his death – to see any credit: he and Moisseiff were named by the American Society of Civil Engineers as two of the Golden Gate’s “engineers of record.” Strauss by contrast pushed his own fame: in his 1937 self-published book he wrote of the bridge as his singular triumph. Strauss’s original design had been an “upside-down rat-trap” of cantilevers, which Moisseiff and Ellis replaced with the flexible main cables and suspended roadway we know today. In short, while Strauss sold the bridge to the public, Ellis’s unseen hand shaped its physics. Only modern historians have pieced together his true influence – making the Golden Gate as much a memorial to Ellis’s math as to Strauss’s ambition.
Building the Golden Gate Bridge was a gargantuan feat completed in record time – especially impressive given the Great Depression context. Voters approved a $35 million bond issue in November 1930 (despite the economic collapse). The bridge’s official costs indeed totaled $35 million, which included $27.125 million for the span itself plus engineering, financing and other expenses. (By modern accounting that equates to roughly $630 million in today’s dollars.) Remarkably, all this was managed under budget – Strauss’s team finished about $1.3 million below the bond amount. Bank of America founder Amadeo P. Giannini personally ensured the financing: in 1932 Strauss appealed to Giannini, who famously agreed to buy millions in bridge bonds to get the project moving.
It’s easy to forget these monumental figures when admiring the graceful span today. In the depths of the Depression, San Franciscans banked on Strauss’s gamble – and it won. Without Giannini’s backing and underwriters willing to invest during a banking panic, the bonds might have failed. Instead, the bridge’s financing was largely settled before the first tower stood, making what seemed impossible into reality.
The Golden Gate Bridge was built more safely than virtually any comparable project of its time, thanks to Strauss’s insistence on protective measures. Famous innovations – hard hats, goggles, respirators and, most famously, a safety net under the deck – were enforced at the threat of dismissal for non-compliance. In fact, the net saved 19 men who fell into it, a group that dubbed themselves the “Halfway to Hell Club” (halfway between the roadway and the bay below). Only one man died during the first 44 months of work – extraordinary when the era’s norm was roughly one fatality per $1 million spent.
Tragically, on February 17, 1937 a scaffolding section failed. It punched through the net over the open water, sending 12 steelworkers into the bay – 10 were killed and 2 miraculously survived. Those ten names (Chris Andersen, William Bass, and others) are commemorated on a plaque on the bridge today. Even counting that accident, the total toll was 11 deaths for the entire project. (Note: some popular accounts have inflated the figure over the years; the official Golden Gate Bridge Historical Society and District both confirm 11 total.)
Each life lost is remembered, but it’s noteworthy how safety measures kept the toll low. Strauss had “the idea we could cheat death by providing every known safety device”, he wrote in 1937, and indeed he fired men who dared to stunt without gear. The men who fell into the net and survived did not all walk away unscathed – at least one suffered head injuries – but they did live. After the 1937 disaster, Strauss mandated that all railing openings be shielded and no work proceed without nets fully secured. In sum, 19 lives were saved by the net and 11 men died – a grim tally, but astonishingly low for a bridge that spanned a mile of rock and wind above turbulent water.
Historical Sidebar: “A safety net below the floor of the Bridge… saved the lives of 19 men who became known as the ‘Halfway-to-Hell Club.’”
Though often admired for its beauty, the Golden Gate Bridge also hides clever engineering solutions to daunting challenges. Consider the environment: currents at the strait pull 390 billion gallons of ocean water through the bay in each tidal cycle. Engineers anchored the bridge’s towers into bedrock nearly 300 feet below the surface on the San Francisco side, and similarly deep in the Marin headlands. (Fun fact: at mid-span the water depth reaches about 372 feet – one of the deepest parts of any bridge span.)
High winds and storms threatened the open span. Designers deliberately built in flexibility: the roadway suspension and towers were engineered to sway up to several feet to absorb gusts. After a sensational windstorm in 1951 – partly inspired by the Tacoma Narrows Bridge collapse – an engineer noted the Golden Gate could still be blown flat under enough load. In fact, when 1987’s half-million-person crowd pressed the roadway down, the main span drooped as much as seven feet (eliminating its normal 6-foot arch). This had no structural damage (the bridge was built to flex), but it was a vivid demonstration of both strength and flexibility.
Other subtle innovations hide in plain sight. For example, just south of the Marin approach lies Fort Point, a Civil War–era masonry fort originally in the path of the bridge. Rather than demolish it, Strauss instructed engineers to build a “bridge within a bridge.” A steel arch was crafted to carry the roadway over the top of Fort Point, preserving the historic fort below. The arch is so graceful that casual passersby often assume it’s a decorative element rather than a critical support.
These engineering feats – deep foundations, wind-tolerant design, ingenious arch over Fort Point – are baked into the bridge yet not obvious to pedestrians. The result is a structure that has stood the test of time, wind, waves, and even blackouts (the span has redundant power supply so that lighthouses and foghorns remain lit even if city power fails).
At its unveiling in 1937, the Golden Gate Bridge instantly held world records. Its main span of 4,200 feet was the longest suspension span on Earth, and its towers were the tallest in any bridge. These records lasted decades: the span record stood for 27 years until New York’s Verrazzano Narrows Bridge opened in 1964, and the twin towers remained the tallest until Japan’s Akashi-Kaikyo Bridge was completed in 1998. Even today, the Golden Gate remains an engineering wonder: its 746-foot towers still rank among the tallest suspension-bridge towers in the U.S. (and its 4200-foot span is now the second-longest in the Americas).
To put that 1937 feat in context, when Franklin Roosevelt pressed the button to open the bridge, no single bridge had yet surpassed it. The bridge’s total length is 8,981 feet (about 1.7 miles), and it was widely celebrated as an American “wonder” upon completion. In fact, in 1994 the American Society of Civil Engineers listed the Golden Gate as one of the Seven Wonders of the Modern World (alongside the Panama Canal and Hoover Dam, among others).
Even as new spans eclipse the Golden Gate in length, it still holds a few bragging rights: its main span is the longest in the Western U.S., and no other bridge tops its distinctive combination of height and length. The cables themselves held a record: at nearly 7,650 feet total length, they were once the longest continuous cables ever spun.
Beyond engineering, the Golden Gate set crowd records. On “Pedestrian Day” May 27, 1937 – the day before it opened to cars – an estimated 200,000 people crossed the bridge. Reporters described scenes of so many visitors that by evening the bridge’s steel deck had visibly flattened under the load (people recall walking on what felt like a gentle downward slope). For a brief time it was the busiest scene in San Francisco history.
“The Golden Gate Bridge… stands before you in all its majestic splendor, in complete refutation of every attack made upon it.” – Joseph Strauss, 1937.
Opening weekend was less of a ribbon-cutting and more of a citywide festival. On May 27, 1937 – Pedestrian Day – the entire 1.7-mile roadway was reserved for people on foot from dawn to dusk. By 6:00 a.m., about 18,000 eager residents were already queued to cross. For 12 hours, an estimated 15,000 people per hour streamed over (for the admission price of 25 cents). In fun feats-of-firsts, San Franciscans vied to be the first across on roller skates, stilts, or even pushing a baby carriage. By day’s end roughly 200,000 pedestrians had traversed the span – far more than expected, and enough to once again flatten the arches underfoot.
That night, citywide celebrations lit up in honor of the bridge. On May 28, 1937, the bridge was officially opened to traffic. President Franklin D. Roosevelt symbolically participated: from the White House he pressed a telegraph key that illuminated a light on the bridge, signaling its opening to the world. (FDR did not attend in person, but local dignitaries – Mayor Angelo Rossi among them – held ribbon-cutting ceremonies on site.) Later that day, 500 U.S. Navy airplanes flew overhead in formation, a patriotic salute visible from every hill. Newspapers reported traffic beginning under the new suspension at 10 a.m. The festivities included a giant floral gate ceremony at the toll plaza and a sharing of Strauss’s celebratory poem “At last, the mighty task is done…” under fireworks.
Over the years since, the bridge’s openings have remained legendary. Even its anniversaries drew crowds. On May 24, 1987, the 50th Jubilee, an estimated 750,000 to 1,000,000 people tried to walk the bridge. At its peak, 300,000 people were on the bridge simultaneously, far exceeding its intended live load. Engineers watched in amazement – two of the spans flattened completely (seven feet of sag) under the human weight. Fortunately, the structure was built to flex and sustained no permanent damage. The event remains a cautionary tale of crowd control: some sections buckled so dramatically that people at the lowest point had trouble climbing back up!
Long before the bridge, ferries were the lifeblood of Bay crossings. By the 1930s, the Southern Pacific Railroad’s Golden Gate Ferries ran nearly continuous car-and-passenger service between San Francisco and Marin County. The new bridge upended that business: with a flat rate of 60¢ per car (and 15¢ per passenger) ready to replace ferry fares, ridership began collapsing even before the bridge fully opened. By late summer 1937 ferry fares had halved, and service steadily declined. Within a year the big ferry company had gone bankrupt, and the age of ferry cars was essentially over.
Today no ferries survive on the Golden Gate route (the commuter ferries across the bay ply Oakland), but their legacy lingers – for example, all toll signs once displayed railroad heralds. In effect, the bridge transformed Bay Area transit: instead of scheduling around ferry times, drivers now had 24/7 access. It is one of the first high-volume road spans in the world funded and maintained through toll revenue, setting a model for bridges everywhere.
Spaning the Golden Gate meant bridging an active seismic zone. From the start, builders encountered quakes: a magnitude 6.0 jolt struck San Francisco in 1906 (before construction), scouring the bay and dropping Fort Point 20 inches. By the 1970s and ’80s, engineers realized the bridge – though unbroken – had vulnerabilities. A series of retrofit projects (mainly 1980s onward) have strengthened the towers, anchorages, and road deck. Remarkably, the bridge has only closed for earthquakes three times in its history, always as a precaution during strong Bay Area quakes (including the 1989 Loma Prieta event). In each case inspections revealed only minor damage (most notably some cracked concrete in anchorage blocks, easily repaired). As of 2025 the Golden Gate can withstand far stronger shaking than it ever has endured.
In short, it’s astonishing that through over 80 years and hundreds of earthquakes, the Golden Gate has survived intact. Every few decades engineers learn something new and retrofit accordingly. By layering modern technology onto Strauss’s original design (like adding tiny shock absorbers to lamp posts), the bridge keeps pace with 21st-century safety standards without altering its famous silhouette.
This modern chapter needs a sensitive approach. The Golden Gate’s graceful span belies a grim reality: it became one of the world’s deadliest suicide sites in the late 20th century. From opening to 2021, it is estimated that over 2,000 people jumped from the bridge. For decades, campaigners and officials debated how to deter this tragedy. The outcome: a suicide deterrent net stretching 1.7 miles, completed in early 2024.
The new net system – a stainless steel mesh 20 feet below each sidewalk – is designed both as a barrier and a safety measure. It took seven years and about $224 million to build (funded by grants, bonds, and donations). Its installation was the final phase of a project begun in 2017. Importantly, preliminary results show the net is working: in 2024 (one year after completion) the number of suicides dropped by 73%. There were only 8 confirmed bridge deaths in 2024, compared to an average of about 33 per year before the net. Emergency interventions (when people climb the railing) also declined from ~200 per year to 132.
This chapter shows the bridge continuing to evolve. In a way, this net is the latest safety measure in a long line: after the 1937 scaffold collapse claimed lives, Strauss installed nets to save lives; in 2017 Bridge officials installed nets to preserve life. It’s an unanticipated fact that visitors now largely walk above this life-saving web – most know nothing of the lives it silently protects.
The bridge’s history includes some quirky closure stories. Interestingly, the Golden Gate has almost never closed to vehicles for routine reasons. Only three windstorms in the 20th century forced full shutdowns (and trucks were blown over in at least two cases). By contrast, the Bay Bridge (to the south) has had multiple wind closures.
Despite its reputation, the bridge isn’t some perpetually closed fortress. More often, it’s traffic that shuts: annual maintenance lane closures (nights for painting), and the occasional motorcycle Grand Prix or walking charity event. Even San Francisco’s huge street fairs sometimes link to Bridge sidewalks for pedestrian overflow. But structurally, the span has proven surprisingly resilient to interruptions – you’ll seldom see it “out of service” except for scheduled improvements or safety.
It’s a myth that the bridge is constantly being painted; the truth is more mundane yet equally relentless. Salt-laden fog from the Pacific is the bridge’s nemesis. Corrosion is an ongoing battle: by 1969 engineers found many original bolts in the cable suspension had rusted inside invisible gaps. The solution has been meticulous maintenance, not another full repaint.
Since the 1960s crews have been systematically blasting and recoating sections – but always one spot at a time. A popular story holds that crews paint a little bit every day, ensuring the entire structure gets a touch-up roughly every 4-10 years. In fact, no full repaint has occurred since the 1930s prime coat. Instead, workers use sandblasting machines and high-tech epoxy paints to address any bare steel. In the 1960s–1990s an immense 30-year lead-abatement project finally removed the old lead primer under federal mandate. (Lead paint that wasn’t removed is contained under later coatings.)
Other maintenance highlights:
Despite these constant chores, the bridge always looks freshly painted because crews never let any bare steel sit exposed. The iconic orange endures because upkeep is continuous – but hidden behind the scenes.
These tidbits – whether engineering marvels or human-interest quirks – highlight how much depth lies behind the bridge’s familiar façade.
For modern visitors and travelers, practical details abound:
Insider Tip: Visiting early on a weekday means you’ll see maintenance crews at work and hear the bridge’s characteristic foghorns unmasked by crowds. Time it right, and you might catch the morning fog rolling under the span, turning the towers into golden silhouette.
Above all, today’s Golden Gate Bridge blends seamlessly into the daily life of the Bay Area. It’s a working toll bridge carrying 110,000 vehicles per day, a communal walkway for exercise and protest, and a cherished symbol of San Francisco. Yet, as you gaze on its towers, remember there’s much more here than meets the eye.
