Lyell D. Henry, Jr.

The reason I wanted to read The Jefferson Highway was for a breath of fresh air. It was such a totally different time. Roads were dirt trails. Highways had names, not numbers. They passed right through town, benefitting everyone. The very thought of a single highway running from Winnipeg to New Orleans got everyone so excited they donated money, gravel, and labor. Coordinating everyone from end to end was a massive undertaking. Townspeople came together to ensure they were part of it all. Fundraising for highways was an honor. When a hotel or gas station opened along the way, it was cause for celebration. Today, highways go literally out of their way to bypass towns. Funding is measured and federal, services few and far between. And highways are numbers.

The Jefferson Highway was the complement to the Lincoln Highway, which ran east-west, from New York to San Francisco. They crossed in Colo, Iowa, the geographic center of the country. The book is largely about how it all transpired in Iowa, but the same sorts of events took place the length of the highway. It was exciting, consuming, and worthwhile.

This was not a six lane, concrete interstate; gravel was a miracle upgrade in some of the stretches. And it wasn’t a straight shot. There were curves, turns and street changes all along. The highway was marked by a JH logo on poles and posts so you would know you were still on it. Fortunately, there is an interactive map available (ironically) the highway’s website, so you can zoom in and see exactly what Lyell Henry is describing.

So while I have little interest the street names, gas stations, campgrounds and hotels of central Iowa, The Jefferson Highway is a minor treat.

David Wineberg… (meer)