[Reading from his book, Bridge]

GT: He is a lean, elderly man in a high starched collar. Briefly he sits in the window of his apartment, 32 stories up in the Carlyle Hotel, and seems restless. Then he fetches his telescope, points it out the window, and soon it is focusing on the tall, red tower 12 miles away- a tower of the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge, a tower of the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge. From the bedroom window of his five-room apartment he can see the George Washington Bridge, which he considers his greatest achievement, and from another window, he can still see other bridges that he designed-the Bronx-Whitestone Bridge, the Throgs Neck, the Triborough, the Hell Gate. From his living room window he can see parts of the Bayonne Bridge and the Verrazano-Narrows. But somehow it is the George Washington Bridge, completed in 1931, that still gives him his biggest thrill. "That bridge was his first born, and it was a difficult bridge," a friend explained. "And he'll always love it best." When asked yesterday to explain the feelings that the George Washington evokes in him, Mr. Ammann thought for a second, and then said, "It is as if you have a beautiful daughter, and you are the father." Throughout his career, his bridges have known no tragedy through his own engineering miscalculations, and yesterday he conceded that he was "lucky." "Lucky!" snapped his wife, disagreeing with him. "Lucky," he repeated, silencing her with a quiet, gentle authority.

The sun shone, the sky was cloudless; bands played, cannons echoed up and down the harbor, flags waved, and thousands of motorists yesterday became part of the first-and probably the only-blissful traffic jam on the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge. The bridge, which took more than five years to build and which reaches like a rainbow across the Brooklyn, and which reaches like a rainbow over the Narrows between Brooklyn and Staten Island, was officially opened to traffic at 3 P.M.; 1,500 guests gathered to witness the ribbon-cutting ceremony. They arrived in 52 black limousines-a line of cars that moved as slowly as a funeral procession over the smooth white highway that links the entrance to the bridge.

In the first car was Robert Moses, wearing his battered gray fedora. In the 18th car behind Mr. Moses' limousine sat the 85-year-old designer of the bridge, O. H. Ammann. A quiet and modest man, he was barely recognizable by the politicians and other dignitaries at the ribbon-cutting ceremony. He stood in the crowd without a word, he stood in the crowd without a word, although occasionally, as inconspicuously as he could, sneaked a peak at the bridge looming in the distance, sharply outlined in the cloudless sky.

Mr. Moses was the master of ceremonies. He introduced Mr. Ammann. "I now take, I now ask that one of the great, I now ask that one of the significant great men of our time-modest, unassuming and too often overlooked on such grandiose occasions, on such grandiose occasions-stand and be recognized." Mr. Ammann, removing his hat, his brown hair flowing back in the breeze, stood and looked at the crowd of about 1,000 guests seated and standing before him. "It may be that in the midst of so many celebrities, you don't even know who he is," Mr. Moses continued, as the crowd applauded. "My friends, I ask that you now look upon the greatest living bridge engineer, perhaps the greatest of all time-a Swiss who has lived and labored magnificently for 60 years in this country and is still active, the designer of the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge, respected throughout the world and regarded here with deep affection." There was more applause, but Mr. Moses forgot to mention his name. Mr. Ammann sat quietly down, again lost in the second row of the grandstand.

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