Harris and Trump say America tanks if they lose. So why the exuberance at their rallies?

Shortly after taking the stage 91 minutes late for his Atlanta rally this week, Donald Trump did what he can't help doing — go off on a tangent. This was clearly going to be a night at the improv.

He marveled at length about how Elon Musk’s SpaceX rocket booster was snatched from the skies by mechanical arms on its return. All that fire and smoke. “Coolest thing I’ve seen in a long time,” he told his crowd. “Was that crazy?” Talk about a rocket's red glare.

A day earlier in Erie, Pennsylvania, Kamala Harris was buzzing with energy and blinding smiles on stage, and so were the thousands there to see her. No tangents.

She delivered a lacerating putdown of her opponent, polishing the art of looking incredulous about the man half the country might be voting for. If she’d held up a sign, “WTF” would have nailed the expression on her face. Her crowd was on a sugar high.

If next month’s election is the ultimate battle of good vs. evil, which we are told by both sides that it is, why are all these Georgia and Pennsylvania people dancing in the hall and having all this fun?

Harris' rhetoric is existential, the country's very foundation susceptible to crumbling away Nov. 5, in her reckoning. Trump's always provocative words have gone darker still, even with violent undertones at times.

Yet in a country sick of what American politics has become, here were thousands marinating in it. Enjoying it. Making a date night out of it. Cocooned in it.

The Harris rally Monday and the Trump one Tuesday were on different planets, to borrow Trump’s phrase for the world each candidate is offering Nov. 5. Trump looked ahead by looking back, promising a return to the country “you were born in.” Harris was fiercely future-focused.

Chants of “U.S.A., U.S.A” rang out at both events and love of America was in the air. But what America?

For U.S. Rep. Byron Donalds, who warmed up the crowd for the tardy Trump, it's the country where boys grow to be men — “manhood is needed” — and girls become strong women who get husbands. Added Trump when he spoke, “Transgender insanity will be out of our schools immediately” if he wins.

For Harris, it's the country where people have “the freedom to love who you love openly and with pride."

At the Trump rally, Jonathan Cordero, 31, a former Bernie Sanders supporter now backing the Republican, was asked whether he recognizes that Democrats are patriots, too. He said yes, and compared patriotism to religion — different faiths all devoted to a deity.

“Somebody who believes in, let’s say, Islam or Hinduism, they fully are committed to that belief system,” he said. “Same concept here — if somebody is for Harris and they’re chanting ‘U.S.A.,’ that’s because that’s their vision for where the country should go.”

More than four hours before Harris took the stage, the line to get inside the Erie Insurance Arena wrapped around a city block. Once inside, people had more than two hours to kill before the first speaker addressed them.

Many were on their feet much of that time, dancing as a high-energy DJ spun a club mix heavy on female artists like Katy Perry, Whitney Houston, Beyonce, Madonna and Taylor Swift.

People danced the Cha Cha Slide at their seats when prompted by the DJ. “Woah, we’re halfway there!” the crowd shouted when Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ on a Prayer” came on, with those lyrics.

Before the speakers started, Robert Cabaniss, a 28-year-old music artist from Pittsburgh, two hours away, and his companion on a fishing trip showed up to support a strongly Democratic friend at the rally.

If not a pure party loyalist himself, Cabaniss nevertheless supports Harris because “she fights for all of us” and, in his mind, she’s the only grownup running.

“It’s like, man, did he grow out of his shoe size yet?” he said about Trump and his “spoiled brat talk.” He went on: “I’m still waiting. It’s like Peter Pan hasn’t grown up yet.”

As for Trump’s supporters, he said, “I think they love their country, but not the right way.”

A few sections over sat Angela Cox and her adult daughter, Taylor Norton, who had driven from Buffalo, New York, about 90 minutes away, after learning about the rally online. They were in line two hours before settling in their seats, and Cox had no complaints about that.

“I’ve been having conversations with people all day long, and I love it,” she said. “The camaraderie.”

The hall was electrified when Harris walked out and launched into a half hour speech hitting on the touchstones of her campaign — her plans, biography, patriotism and the “brutally serious consequences” should Trump, whom she’s come to call an “unserious man,” win.

In a twist for her, she had the crowd watch a video on the jumbo screen of Trump musing about using the military to suppress “the enemy within” — the political opponents, investigators and resistant bureaucrats he branded as more dangerous than Russia or China.

“You heard his words coming from him,” she said. “He’s talking about the enemy within, Pennsylvania. ... He considers anyone who doesn’t support him or who will not bend to his will an enemy of our country.” Lusty boos washed over the hall.

Her rally-goers were jazzed throughout. Afterward, she snaked through the crowd on the floor, shaking hands and chatting for 20 minutes.

“I think she’s superb,” said Luther Manus, a 97-year-old World War II and Vietnam veteran as the arena started emptying out. “And it’s something, because what we had we don’t need again.”

The upper-crust suburban setting outside the 2,800-seat Cobb Energy Performing Arts Centre put something of a damper on the carnival-hawker midway vibe that traditionally accompanies an outdoor Trump rally in a fairground setting.

But the usual merch was on display, like the T-shirts saying “I’m voting for the felon and the hillbilly,” a reference to Trump’s criminal conviction and running mate JD Vance’s 2016 memoir, “Hillbilly Elegy.”

“I just want to be around people that feel the same way I feel,” said Lydia Ward, a 33-year-old makeup artist, mother of two and longtime Trump supporter. "I’ve never been to something like this. The weather’s great, and we were able to get a babysitter and kind of made a date out of it.”

The typical attendee invested as many as eight hours in Trump's event, from joining the lineup into the home of Atlanta’s ballet and opera companies to seeing him leave the stage with Village People’s 1978 song “Y.M.C.A.” blasting.

A screen over the stage flashed slides that few seemed to heed. Some slides made dystopian threats about the consequences of a Harris victory that focus on an America overrun by violent migrants. “Kamala’s border plan: Make America Haiti,” proclaimed one, with a dog picking its way down a junk-strewn street. “Kamala is responsible for a broken economy, broken border and broken world,” said another.

Whether because he was tired in his third event of the day or just feeling chill, Trump was a bit lower key and shorter in his remarks than in some recent speeches, clocking in at 70 minutes. But he covered his bases.

He cracked up his crowd with one-liners. He made common cause with MAGA supporters by telling them his rich friends are “boring as hell," though one of the world's richest, Trump supporter Musk, plainly fascinates him.

He mocked Harris for being wed to a teleprompter and not knowing what inflation is ( she does ). He tapped the thrill of group transgression, as when he said that under Democrats, “Everything turns to ...” The crowd completed the sentence.

A hearty ovation greeted one of his newer lines about immigration: "The United States is now an occupied country, but Nov. 5 is liberation day.”

“I love the excitement,” said Kay Bomar, a retiree from Ringgold in northwest Georgia. “You can talk to these people about what you feel and they tell you what they feel. You can say what you think here and not have to be afraid of offending somebody because they feel something different.”

Cordero, the former Bernie Sanders supporter, plans to vote for Trump for the first time. “There’s similarity," he said. "Not in the literal sense, but in the sense of the energy that they provoke out of people. They are very about change.”

Cordero, who lives in the Atlanta suburb of Marietta and works in technology and advertising, showed up to be part of history.

“I’m Hispanic," he said. "I’m Puerto Rican, and there’s some people who would say that Latin people shouldn’t like Trump, or that Hispanics shouldn’t support somebody like Trump. But I disagree with that statement.

“I think that Trump, this time around, has really reached all kinds of people simply by saying that we’re going to get the economy to a good place. We’re going to get our country safe again.”

Harris got under Trump's skin in their debate by noting how his crowds can thin out while he's still speaking. A few did bail Tuesday night, starting about 25 minutes into his much-delayed speech. Most hung in.

Among them were Julius Adams, a student collecting disability who is Black, and his wife, Tanya Young-Adams, who delivers pizzas for Papa Johns and is white.

He has faith that Trump will follow through on deporting those immigrants who are “causing trouble,” even if he doesn't pull off the mass deportations he's promised. She is sold on Trump's plan to exempt tips and car loans from taxes.

“We’re on disability," she said. “We can barely get by with trying to buy groceries. And I’ve got a car payment and gas is outrageous.”

Trump and Harris gave their supporters a night away from that sort of grind. In Erie and Atlanta both, it was a welcome-to-the-tribe party, a performance and a chance to cut loose.

The election results will tell which rally's exuberance proved more rational.

Thompson reported from Erie, Pennsylvania, Amy from Atlanta and Woodward from Washington.

A supporter cheers as Democratic presidential nominee Vice President Kamala Harris arrives to speak during a campaign rally at Erie Insurance Arena, in Erie, Pa., Monday, Oct. 14, 2024. (AP Photo/Jacquelyn Martin)

A supporter greets Republican presidential nominee former President Donald Trump after a campaign event at the Cobb Energy Performing Arts Centre, Tuesday, Oct. 15, 2024, in Atlanta. (AP Photo/Alex Brandon)

Democratic presidential nominee Vice President Kamala Harris speaks during a campaign rally at Erie Insurance Arena, in Erie, Pa., Monday, Oct. 14, 2024. (AP Photo/Jacquelyn Martin)

Democratic presidential nominee Vice President Kamala Harris claps on stage during a campaign rally at Erie Insurance Arena, in Erie, Pa., Monday, Oct. 14, 2024. (AP Photo/Jacquelyn Martin)

Republican presidential nominee former President Donald Trump shakes hands with Georgia Gov. Brian Kemp at a temporary relief shelter as he visits areas impacted by Hurricane Helene, Friday, Oct. 4, 2024, in Evans, Ga. (AP Photo/Evan Vucci)

People line the road as Republican presidential nominee former President Donald Trump arrives to speak at a temporary relief shelter as he visits areas impacted by Hurricane Helene, Friday, Oct. 4, 2024, in Evans, Ga. (AP Photo/Evan Vucci)

Sen. John Fetterman, D-Pa., arrives to speak at a campaign rally for Democratic presidential nominee Vice President Kamala Harris at Erie Insurance Arena, in Erie, Pa., Monday, Oct. 14, 2024. (AP Photo/Jacquelyn Martin)

Republican presidential nominee former President Donald Trump greets people at a temporary relief shelter as he visits areas impacted by Hurricane Helene, Friday, Oct. 4, 2024, in Evans, Ga. (AP Photo/Evan Vucci)

Republican presidential nominee former President Donald Trump walks from the podium after speaking at a temporary relief shelter as he visits areas impacted by Hurricane Helene, Friday, Oct. 4, 2024, in Evans, Ga. (AP Photo/Evan Vucci)

Democratic presidential nominee Vice President Kamala Harris speaks as an image of Republican presidential nominee former President Donald Trump appears on screen during a campaign rally at Erie Insurance Arena, in Erie, Pa., Monday, Oct. 14, 2024. (AP Photo/Jacquelyn Martin)

People line the road as Republican presidential nominee former President Donald Trump arrives to speak at a temporary relief shelter as he visits areas impacted by Hurricane Helene, Friday, Oct. 4, 2024, in Evans, Ga. (AP Photo/Evan Vucci)

Supporters cheer as Sen. John Fetterman, D-Pa., arrives to speak at a campaign rally for Democratic presidential nominee Vice President Kamala Harris at Erie Insurance Arena, in Erie, Pa., Monday, Oct. 14, 2024. (AP Photo/Jacquelyn Martin)

Luther Manus, 97, leaves the Erie Insurance Arena after hearing Democratic presidential candidate Vice President Kamala Harris speak at a rally on Monday, Oct. 14, 2024, in Erie, Pa. (AP Photo/Carolyn Thompson)

Robert Cabaniss, 28, left, and Taylor Lyze, 25, of Pittsburgh, await the start of a Democratic presidential candidate Vice President Kamala Harris rally at Erie Insurance Arena in Erie, Pa., Monday, Oct. 14, 2024. (AP Photo/Carolyn Thompson)

Angela Cox, center, and her adult daughter, Taylor Norton, left, await the start of a Democratic presidential candidate Vice President Kamala Harris rally at the Erie Insurance Arena in Erie, Pa., Monday, Oct. 14, 2024. (AP Photo/Carolyn Thompson)

Republican presidential nominee former President Donald Trump greets supporters at a campaign event at the Cobb Energy Performing Arts Centre, Tuesday, Oct. 15, 2024, in Atlanta. (AP Photo/Alex Brandon)

Democratic presidential nominee Vice President Kamala Harris arrives to speak during a campaign rally at Erie Insurance Arena, in Erie, Pa., Monday, Oct. 14, 2024. (AP Photo/Jacquelyn Martin)

Republican presidential nominee former President Donald Trump poses for a photo with a supporter at a campaign event at the Cobb Energy Performing Arts Centre, Tuesday, Oct. 15, 2024, in Atlanta. (AP Photo/Alex Brandon)

TURNER STATION, Md. (AP) — As the dust settled after the deadly collapse of Baltimore’s Francis Scott Key Bridge, as the initial shock wore off and the breaking news coverage subsided, residents of this tiny peninsula found themselves facing an uncertain future.

Many had spent decades living in the shadow of the Key Bridge, an iconic landmark that placed the community of Turner Station firmly on the map. For their working-class, historically Black neighborhood, it was a lifeline to the outside world, a source of both pride and convenience.

Within seconds, it was gone. Six construction workers died after a massive container ship lost power and veered off course, striking one of the bridge’s support piers in the overnight darkness of March 26.

Turner Station was already struggling with population loss and economic decline long before the bridge collapse — and its newest chapter promises even more challenges.

Plans are underway to rebuild the Key Bridge by 2028. But in the meantime, its absence will be felt most acutely by people like Loreasa Minor and her neighbors, people who routinely hopped over the bridge to run errands, visit family, attend church and get to work.

Minor has lived in Turner Station nearly all her life. Some of her earliest memories are of the bridge being built, a feat of modern engineering taking shape right in her family’s backyard. When it opened to cars in 1977, the 1.6-mile (2.6-kilometer) span bypassed downtown traffic and provided a direct connection between industrial communities on either side of Baltimore’s harbor.

It also made Turner Station easily accessible, allowing residents to enjoy the neighborhood’s small-town feel without living in the middle of nowhere. As jobs at nearby industrial plants gradually dried up, residents started commuting farther afield and many came to rely heavily on the Key Bridge.

Without it, Minor said, her daily commute has more than doubled.

She doesn’t want to leave Turner Station, where her grandparents put down roots many decades ago. She currently lives across the street from her aging parents and around the corner from her beloved church. But sometimes while she’s sitting in traffic for hours on end, she ruefully watches the gas gauge and contemplates her new routine.

“Do I relocate? Do I get a new job?” said Minor, who works at a state-run veteran’s cemetery south of Baltimore. “I don’t want to do either of those. I love my job. Who wants to start from scratch?”

Turner Station was originally built to house Black steelworkers at a time when segregation laws limited where they could settle.

During WWI, military leaders tapped Baltimore’s robust shipbuilding industry, including a sprawling steel mill northeast of the city. The federal government provided nearby housing only for white workers, so Black families started their own community in nearby Turner Station. Federal housing projects came later during WWII.

Bought by Bethlehem Steel in 1918, the mill at Sparrows Point would become the largest steel producer in the world. It provided lucrative jobs to Black people moving north, often to escape unfair sharecropping arrangements and other low-paying jobs in Southern states.

By the 1950s, Turner Station was home to many stores and other amenities, including an air conditioned movie theater, an amusement park, a community beach, doctor’s offices, restaurants and cocktail lounges. It became largely self-sufficient in its heyday, an enclave of Black entrepreneurship and achievement in majority-white Baltimore County.

The population peaked at nearly 9,000 in the 1950s, but started shrinking soon after. Part of the area was rezoned for industry, resulting in the demolition of two large housing complexes. Manufacturing jobs gradually dwindled and businesses shuttered. By 1980, the population was under 4,000, according to local historians.

After decades of downsizing, the Bethlehem Steel plant closed in 2012. Younger generations started leaving Turner Station while their parents and grandparents sought to preserve its legacy.

During a recent tour of the neighborhood, longtime resident Courtney Speed marched up and down its residential streets lined with brick rowhouses and modest single-family homes. She said it shouldn’t be lost on anyone that Turner Station is the product of racist housing policies, that its residents were fighting an uphill battle from day one.

She listed off a number of notable figures with ties to the community, many of them featured in the Turner Station History Center, a tiny museum filled with stories and photos.

“We’ve always been innovative,” said Speed, 84, who owns one of Turner Station’s longest operating businesses, Speed’s Barber and Beauty. “It’s our culture to make something out of nothing.”

Henrietta Lacks, a Black woman whose cervical cells became a cornerstone of modern medicine after Johns Hopkins doctors harvested them without her consent, lived in Turner Station for almost a decade. Her name appears on commemorative street signs throughout the neighborhood and a plaque marks her former home.

Robert Curbeam, a former NASA astronaut and retired Navy captain, spent some of his childhood there.

U.S. Rep. Kweisi Mfume, former president of the NAACP, also grew up in Turner Station where he befriended NFL legend Calvin Hill. He said the community instilled in them certain core values.

“Work hard, play by the rules, love your country, cherish your faith, respect the elderly and always believe that you can succeed,” he recited. “It’s a fiercely proud community. We were told to be proud of who you were.”

He said most of the families were relatively poor, but they took care of each other. It was a simpler life, somewhat protected from the crime and violence that plagued nearby parts of Baltimore.

Mfume, a Democrat, now represents Turner Station as part of his district in Congress. Since the bridge collapse, he’s been working with other members of Maryland’s congressional delegation to secure 100% federal funding for the cleanup and rebuilding process.

He said Turner Station residents have expressed concern about potential damage to buildings from the seismic impact of the collapse. And they’re already tired of 18-wheelers getting diverted through their neighborhood, spewing diesel fumes and wearing down the roads.

Residents are also frustrated by rising home prices, partly a function of their desirable water views. Some worry about outside investors buying up properties, jacking up rents and pricing them out. They want to guard against the negative effects of gentrification by helping longtime renters become homeowners.

“This is some of the most valuable property in Baltimore County,” Mfume said. “We don’t want real estate speculation taking place.”

Residents have spent years pushing government officials to adequately address flooding in Turner Station, a longstanding problem that has only gotten worse in recent years as county officials have studied the issue but failed to take significant action.

That’s coupled with decades of industrial pollution making the surrounding water dangerous for swimming and fishing.

“They need to start treating this place as beautiful as it is,” said Marquis Neal, whose backyard often floods during heavy rainstorms.

His neighbor Linwood Jackson, a Vietnam veteran who worked at Bethlehem Steel for over 30 years, called on elected officials to finally give Turner Station the attention and resources it deserves. That could mean bringing a grocery store back to the neighborhood, which has become a food desert in recent years. Or removing brush from the drainage ditches and replacing a rickety old fishing pier in the public park behind his house. Not to mention flood mitigation measures and continued pollution monitoring.

Jackson said he hopes Turner Station will become less of an afterthought since tragedy struck so close by.

“Now we’re at a crossroads again,” he said.

But one thing he’s learned, in war and in life, is that no one’s coming to save you.

Having watched construction of the original Key Bridge “from the ground up,” Vernon Banks said he looks forward to seeing its replacement take shape over the next four years. But it won’t hold the same memories.

Last month, state transportation leaders awarded a contract for the massive project, which is expected to cost around $1.7 billion.

Turner Station residents hope some of that money will make its way into their neighborhood and help spur revitalization.

State officials have pledged to include surrounding communities in the planning process and make jobs available for local workers during construction, though they haven’t provided many details about the arrangements.

Turner Station has already benefited from environmental cleanup and recent redevelopment of the old Bethlehem Steel site, which now houses an Amazon warehouse and a maritime shipping terminal. Tradepoint Atlantic, the site’s owner, plans to continue growing the business into a major transportation and logistics hub. That also bodes well for job creation, although the glory days of steelworkers’ wages are likely long gone.

Meanwhile, Turner Station residents will be doing what they’ve done for generations: coming together and fighting for their community.

There’s Gloria Nelson, president of the Turner Station Conservation Teams, who has spent decades working with government agencies to bring resources into the community, including for housing redevelopment and a recent federal Superfund designation to support environmental cleanup in historically polluted Bear Creek. She wants to help Turner Station “move into the future while still respecting its history.”

There’s Antuan “Sleep” McQuaige, who’s selling home-cooked meals around town and raising money to bring back a neighborhood youth football team.

There’s Quanny Avondale, 30, who mentors younger men in the community, focusing on conflict resolution and financial planning. He encourages them to take advantage of Turner Station’s real estate market and invest in property.

And on Sunday mornings, there’s Pastor Rashad Singletary inspiring dozens of parishioners at Mount Olive Baptist Church, about 500 feet away from where the Key Bridge once stood. In the hours after the bridge fell, he opened up the church for first responders to use the bathroom or take a nap and hosted a prayer vigil later that evening.

“Sometimes it’s hard to go through and trust God when you don’t see nothing working,” Singletary told congregants during a recent Sunday sermon about persevering through challenges.

“I just believe that if God brought me from all the things I’ve been through before. He’s not gonna leave me now.”

His booming voice filled the sanctuary as church members nodded and clapped in affirmation, thinking back on the obstacles they’ve already faced and looking ahead to future possibilities.

Pastor Rashad Singletary leads a service at Mt. Olive Baptist Church, Sunday, Aug. 18, 2024, in Turner Station, Md. Turner Station is located near the former site of the Francis Scott Key Bridge, which collapsed in March. (AP Photo/Steve Ruark)

Mt. Olive Baptist Church holds a service, Sunday, Aug. 18, 2024, in Turner Station, Md. Turner Station is located near the former site of the Francis Scott Key Bridge, which collapsed in March. (AP Photo/Steve Ruark)

Pastor Rashad Singletary, center, greets parishioners during a service at Mt. Olive Baptist Church, Sunday, Aug. 18, 2024, in Turner Station, Md. Turner Station is located near the former site of the Francis Scott Key Bridge, which collapsed in March. (AP Photo/Steve Ruark)

Gloria Nelson, president of the Turner Station Conservation Teams, poses for a portrait, Friday, Aug. 16, 2024, in Turner Station, Md. (AP Photo/Stephanie Scarbrough)

Debris from flooding is seen at at Fleming Park in Turner Station, Md., Tuesday, Aug. 13, 2024. (AP Photo/Stephanie Scarbrough)

Turner Station resident Marquis Neal looks toward garbage that has piled up on a pier at Fleming Park in Turner Station, Md., Tuesday, Aug. 13, 2024. (AP Photo/Stephanie Scarbrough)

A semi truck drives past on the remaining portion of the Francis Scott Key Bridge, Tuesday, Aug. 13, 2024, as seen from the backyard of Linwood Jackon's home in Turner Station, Md. (AP Photo/Stephanie Scarbrough)

Linwood Jackson poses for a portrait at his home in Turner Station, Md., in front of the remaining portion of the Francis Scott Key Bridge, Tuesday, Aug. 13, 2024. (AP Photo/Stephanie Scarbrough)

Linwood Jackson poses for a portrait outside of his home, Tuesday, Aug. 13, 2024, as a semi truck drives past on the remaining portion of the Francis Scott Key Bridge in Turner Station, Md. (AP Photo/Stephanie Scarbrough)

A commemorative street sign in honor of Henrietta Lacks, who lived in Turner Station for almost a decade, is pictured Friday, Aug. 16, 2024, in Turner Station, Md. (AP Photo/Stephanie Scarbrough)

Angie Banks, a volunteer at the Turner Station History Center, is pictured among artifacts and informational posters inside the community museum, Friday, Aug. 16, 2024, in Turner Station, Md. (AP Photo/Stephanie Scarbrough)

Vernon Banks, a volunteer at the Turner Station History Center, looks at photos in the community museum, Friday, Aug. 16, 2024, in Turner Station, Md. (AP Photo/Stephanie Scarbrough)

Courtney Speed, of Turner Station, Md., stands in Speed's Barber and Beauty, her salon, Sunday, Aug. 18, 2024, in Turner Station. Turner Station is located near the former site of the Francis Scott Key Bridge, which collapsed in March. (AP Photo/Steve Ruark)

Loreasa Minor, of Turner Station, Md., seated with family friend Zoey Rogers, left, 5, claps during a service at Mt. Olive Baptist Church, Sunday, Aug. 18, 2024, in Turner Station. Turner Station is located near the former site of the Francis Scott Key Bridge, which collapsed in March. (AP Photo/Steve Ruark)

Loreasa Minor, of Turner Station, Md., stands during a service at Mt. Olive Baptist Church, Sunday, Aug. 18, 2024, in Turner Station. Turner Station is located near the former site of the Francis Scott Key Bridge, which collapsed in March. (AP Photo/Steve Ruark)

A community welcome sign on the corner Main Street and Dundalk Avenue is pictured, Friday, Aug. 16, 2024, in Turner Station, Md. (AP Photo/Stephanie Scarbrough)

A small beach below the remaining portion of the Francis Scott Key Bridge is seen, Tuesday, Aug. 13, 2024, in Turner Station, Md. The water is unsafe for swimming and fishing from decades of industrial pollution. (AP Photo/Stephanie Scarbrough)

Peggy Whitfield, left, of Baltimore, attends a service at Mt. Olive Baptist Church, Sunday, Aug. 18, 2024, in Turner Station, Md. Turner Station is located near the former site of the Francis Scott Key Bridge, which collapsed in March. (AP Photo/Steve Ruark)