Joseph B. Strauss was always one to dream big.

At just 5 feet 3 inches, Strauss (1870-1938) was known for being touchy about his height.

Perhaps for that reason, he was highly ambitious from a young age. In 1892, his senior year at the University of Cincinnati, he was elected class president and class poet.

For his senior thesis, Strauss came up with a bold concept to build an international railroad bridge across the Bering Strait from Alaska to Russia. After graduating, he pursued a career in bridge building.

Strauss was never certified as an engineer. Yet he still rose to become the chief engineer of the Golden Gate Bridge, which overlooks scenic San Francisco Bay.

The majestic span is widely hailed as a wonder of engineering.

Many collaborated on the Golden Gate Bridge. But it was Strauss who rallied public support, raised the money and assembled a team of brilliant engineers.

Strauss wasn't even a specialist in suspension bridges when he took on the project. But that didn't hold him back, says Mary Currie of the Golden Gate Bridge, Highway and Transportation District, which manages the bridge. "Strauss surrounded himself with the right people," she said. "He was a brilliant visionary and political leader in that regard."

Strauss became fascinated with bridges as a student. He got injured while trying out for the football team. From the school infirmary, he gazed at the Cincinnati-Covington Bridge that straddled the Ohio River. It was America's first long-span suspension bridge, and he was enthralled by its graceful lines.

On His Own

After college, Strauss took a series of jobs. He soon joined a Chicago engineering firm, where he designed a boxy type of bascule drawbridge that was plain, yet functional.

In 1904, Strauss launched his own firm. He went on to build some 400 drawbridges around the world. His success stemmed from a technical breakthrough. Instead of using cast iron for the bridge counterweights, Strauss substituted concrete. That made the weights heavy enough, but at a much lower cost.

Strauss applied this same low-cost mentality when the city engineer of San Francisco, Michael O'Shaughnessy, solicited proposals for a bridge to link the city with nearby Marin County to the north. The bridge would have to span a record 4,200 feet.

The deep Golden Gate Strait in San Francisco Bay complicated the design. The site often featured strong winds, harsh waves and thick fog.

Worse, the region was prone to earthquakes. Undeterred, Strauss proposed a design that combined two drawbridges at the ends with a suspension bridge in the middle.

Rival bids exceeded $100 million. Strauss first estimated that he could do the job for $17 million. It ended up costing twice that much. Strauss also said the bridge would pay for itself through tolls, which it did.

Such a compelling pitch won out. That was just the start for Strauss. Through two decades, he promoted the bridge project via a tireless mix of skilled salesmanship and engineering know-how.

Many powerful interests came out against the plan. Dozens sued to stop it. Opponents included local ferry companies, city officials, area farmers, timber interests and the mighty Southern-Pacific Co.

Even more troubling, federal and state officials had set aside money to build the nearby Bay Bridge to Oakland. That meant there would be no government funds left for the Golden Gate Bridge.

Strauss barnstormed the surrounding counties to unite politicians and voters. He made fliers and gave interviews to promote his role as lead designer. His campaign won approval for a regional bridge district that was modeled after the New York Port Authority.

In 1930, the district passed a $35 million bond package. Taxpayers mortgaged their homes, farms and businesses to underwrite the deal. The bond was repaid through toll fares over 34 years. It was quite an achievement; voters approved the bond during the Great Depression.

To gain still more support, Strauss hired the leading design experts of his day. Engineer Charles Ellis had written a definitive textbook on suspension bridges. Other renowned project engineers included Leon Moisseiff, O.H. Ammann and Charles Derleth.

The men soon scrapped the hybrid design. They opted for a more elegant, full suspension bridge. All the engineers took part, but Ellis did the most complex calculations.

Ellis' exacting computations made the bridge an engineering marvel, says John van der Zee, who wrote "Gate: The True Story of the Design and Construction of the Golden Gate Bridge." "Strauss deserves credit for promoting the creation of the bridge, but he didn't really design it — Charles Ellis did," van der Zee told IBD. "The Golden Gate Bridge is a gigantic math problem that Charles Ellis solved."

As construction started in 1933, Strauss revealed a deep obsessive streak. He suffered from mental and physical exhaustion, even disappearing from the work site for six months. During his absence, he divorced his longtime wife to marry a younger woman. He was diagnosed with a nervous breakdown.

During the construction phase, Strauss championed bridge worker safety. He insisted that all workers don new metal safety helmets. He also required elaborate safety nets to catch anyone who fell.

Unfortunately, 10 men died when a large scaffold gave way and tore through the netting in 1937. But 19 others were saved by the nets, during falls in which they were said to join the "Halfway-to-Hell Club."

Strauss became consumed by his desire to be known as the bridge's creator. This caused him to downplay the work of Ellis, Moisseiff and the rest. Strauss later fired Ellis and took credit for his work, according to van der Zee.

"Strauss desperately wanted to get his own finger into the bridge design," he said.

Yet Strauss still deserves praise for actually getting the bridge funded and built, says Henry Petroski, professor of civil engineering at Duke University. He chairs the history and heritage committee of the American Society of Civil Engineers.

Strauss didn't have the background needed for such a large-scale project, so he wisely recruited the expertise that he lacked, says Petroski. "Strauss believed it was possible to pull together all the parts," he said. "The Golden Gate Bridge would not have been built when it was if not for Strauss."

Ready For Action

The bridge was finally painted its signature orange-vermilion color. It opened on May 28, 1937 — on time and under budget. One year later, Strauss had a stroke and died. Some think his death stemmed from over-exertion on the bridge.

As a savvy promoter and scrappy leader, Strauss earned his rightful place in the annals of engineering, says William Hall, professor emeritus of civil engineering at the University of Illinois.

Hall was born in 1926 in Berkeley, Calif., across the bay from San Francisco. As a youngster, he watched the bridge take shape. He first crossed it with his grandmother just weeks after opening day. Hall never dreamed that he would chair a civil engineering department someday.

"The Golden Gate is a beautiful and spectacular bridge that has stood up well over time," he declared. "It's an all-American icon."

BY J. BONASIA