(In the interest of full disclosure, parts of this column were taken from one that I wrote in October 2011)
Our local newspaper recently ran an article recalling the official grand-opening of Interstate
89 through Vermont fifty years ago this month. Although the
first stretch of the highway, just north of Montpelier, had been completed in
1960, the 30 miles between exits 3 and 8 (Bethel to Montpelier -- including our
town of Randolph) were the final missing link. The ribbon cutting
on November 19, 1970 now provided for uninterrupted interstate travel from Bow,
New Hampshire all the way up to the Canadian border - a total length of 191
miles (61 in New Hampshire, 130 in Vermont).
Similar scenarios were playing out throughout the country from the late
1950's well into the 1970's, the result of President Eisenhower's 1956 Federal Aid Highway Act, which established the
Interstate Highway System.
One of the catalysts for the Highway Act and resultant development of the interstate highway system can be traced back to as early as the summer of 1919. In the aftermath of World War I, when the importance of efficiently moving troops and equipment via motor routes became apparent, the U.S War Department sponsored an experimental convoy across the country from Washington DC to San Francisco, the purpose of which was to test the viability of the nation’s system of roads. The “Transcontinental Motor Convoy” consisted of 80 or so military vehicles and 280 personnel, including the 28 year-old Lt. Col. Dwight D. Eisenhower.
The 3,250 mile journey took 62 days and was rife with breakdowns, accidents, mud, quicksand, and washed out bridges (not to mention the lack of fast food restaurants or GPS). One observation by the young Eisenhower: “….Illinois started on dirt roads, and practically no more pavement was encountered until reaching California”. The resulting War Department’s summary report of the convoy concluded that the road system in the U.S. was “absolutely incapable of meeting the present day traffic requirements”.
The next 30-plus years saw more federal studies and projects, with groundbreaking for the Interstate system taking place just weeks after the law was signed in 1956.
It's incredible to imagine that I-91 in Massachusetts wasn't fully completed until 1970, or that the northern-most portion of the highway in Vermont's Northeast Kingdom didn't open until 1978. It seems like recent history, and most of us probably have memories of “hybrid” interstate travel like John recalls from the 1960’s: visiting a Wentworth classmate during Christmas break 1961, he started out from Worcester on two-lane Route 12, meandered through New Hampshire, hopped on to the partially completed I-91 in Brattleboro for a few miles, then back to Route 12 for the rest of the trip (he muses that he probably came right through Randolph, never suspecting this would be home 40 years later). A side trip to Burlington from Montpelier meant more of the same highway on-and-offs.
A friend of mine who grew up here in Randolph and witnessed first-hand the construction of I-89 and the changes it brought to the region credits “the highways and the hippies” for saving Vermont from devolving into a forgotten and depressed backwater. To be sure, the interstate helped Vermont's ski and tourist industry, and I think the state has done a fairly decent job of preventing the feared over-development and clutter of areas immediately surrounding the highway exits. (One subtle thing you may or may not notice when you drive through the state - no billboards!)
Of course, not everyone saw the interstate highway development in the same positive light, as demonstrated in the tragic case of Romaine Tenney in the town of Ascutney. A 64 year-old bachelor, Tenney was still living off the grid and farming via 19th century means on his family’s land in the early 1960’s – land that, unfortunately, happened to lie in the planned path of I-91. Refusing to sell the land, he was served papers in July of 1964 to relinquish his property under rules of eminent domain. Not long afterwards, Tenney burned down his home, taking his own life as well. The highway went through as planned – but just last year, the residents of Ascutney met to discuss how to honor Tenney: .
www.vnews.com/Vermont-remembers-farmer-who-refused-to-sell-for-interstate
I haven’t been able to find out what they may have decided, but in the meantime, his story inspired a song:
www.vnews.com/Song-commmemorates-late-Weatherfield-farmer-Romaine-Tenney
In Connecticut, the construction of the interstates may not have
affected too many family farms, but it did disrupt a number of suburban
communities, as I personally witnessed when I was about eight years old.
To make way for I-84 through West Hartford, a number of streets were
effectively bisected – the houses on one side of the street remained in place
to face the new highway (although their value likely dropped), while the houses
on the other side were either demolished, disassembled, or moved.
The timing was perfect for my Uncle Kaz and Aunt Bernice, who were living a few streets away in a three-family house owned by her parents. The property included a small lot next door, so my uncle and aunt bought the lot, had a foundation built, and bought one of the houses slated to be displaced by the highway. Somewhere, in some old family album, there are pictures of that two-story house on a flatbed, slowly making its way up Englewood Avenue to its new location.
The details of the cost of the house and the price of moving it have been lost over the years, but it still stands and is currently owned by one of my cousins.
We visited family at that house many times over the ensuing years, but one memory in particular sticks out in my mind because it was one of those embarrassing moments that an eight year-old never forgets, even sixty years later. In those days, I would go to my aunt’s after school for a couple of hours until my parents picked me up. The new house had been moved onto its fresh foundation, but the indoor finish work wasn’t complete so my aunt and uncle continued to live in the three-family next door with her extended family. The new house's foundation had yet to be backfilled, so the surrounding yard was essentially a mud bog, with a maze of planks leading up to the front and back doors. I decided to peek in through the back door one afternoon when I lost my footing and sank knee-deep into the mire, still in my school uniform. I was fortunate to grab on to the door before I fell in completely, but I’ll never forget the smirks on the other kids’ faces - now including not just my cousins but other neighborhood kids too - as I squished my way next door to get the oozing mud off of my white knee socks and good school shoes. It doesn’t seem particularly earth-shattering now, and I doubt that any of the others still remember the incident, but it was mortifying for this second grader!
