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The companion to the PBS® documentary
DIVIDED HlGHWAYS
a Florentine/Hott Production,
by Lawrence Hott and Tom Lewis

Thomas Harris MacDonald regarded road building as something more than a mere livelihood; it was a calling of higher moral purpose. "Next to the education of the child," he wrote, road building ranked as "the greatest public responsibility." It contributed to the common good and did more to increase the "possibilities of enjoyment and happiness of life than any other public undertaking." Good roads could improve the living standards of all, but especially rural Americans. For decades agrarian life had been on the decline as young men and women on farms, unable to tolerate their isolation, abandoned their parents' land and succumbed to work in the city. It was only a matter of time before those living in cities would outnumber those living on farms. Surely, MacDonald and others believed naively, roads connecting the country with the city could reverse this decline. Not only would he would pull farmers out of the mud, but through good roads he would connect those farms with the county seat, the state capital, and ultimately with other states and cities. Greater mobility would make rural life more attractive and help keep Iowa's sons and daughters on the farm.

Automobiles were beginning to appear in the state, and they, too, needed good roads if they were to travel beyond the limits of large cities. Isolated no longer, rural life would prosper. MacDonald's high ideals were sorely tested: The men building roads in Iowa in 1904 were both fraudulent and ignorant. Throughout each of the state's 99 counties, private companies--often with the knowledge of county officials--conspired to rig their construction bids so that each would be guaranteed a portion of the contracts. While their collusion was merely unethical, their construction was dangerously incompetent: wooden bridges insufficient to carry an automobile or a horse and wagon; bridge decking without room for expansion and contraction; wooden culverts without any reinforcement. Within a few months of completion, the structures invariably collapsed or broke apart and county officials and construction companies repeated the process. Shortly after his appointment, MacDonald challenged the simpatico relationship bridge contractors and cement producers enjoyed with county officials. Traveling the state on horseback and by train, he set up demonstration projects that taught county officials how to build culverts with concrete and bridges with steel, as well as the principles of road maintenance. He checked construction projects personally; often he uncovered serious flaws, and sometimes fraud. Many farmers and local officials did not know quite what to make of this formal and dispassionate young man who brought efficient management, scientific detachment, and an unassailable integrity to what they regarded as simply an easy and benign way to spread a little extra money about the state. But word spread quietly and quickly: unlike others concerned with road building, MacDonald could not be bought. He exposed bid rigging in Clinton and Polk counties. County officials went to jail and companies had to reimburse counties for shoddy work.

"There has never been a straighter man any place," a writer for the Montezuma newspaper said in a fulsome tribute, "he has always stood to the fore...for protection of the taxpayer and that they get the worth of their money." More important than exposing fraud, MacDonald actually brought road improvements to his state. Highway crews now graded the 6,000 miles of road regularly. They stabilized the soil, and spread gravel and stone on about 2,000 miles. Still other roads, under 500 miles, they surfaced with brick or Portland concrete. Instead of rebuilding the same faulty wooden bridges and culverts again and again, engineers designed new structures of reinforced concrete. Modest though those improvements were by today's standards, they represented a quantum leap for the time. Seeing the ways that better roads ended isolation, Iowans were happy to pay for them. As roads improved, they began to buy automobiles. By 1914 Iowans owned more automobiles per capita--one for every 5.5 persons--than any state in the Union. Just a decade after it began, the Iowa boasted a full-fledged Highway Commission with a staff of 61 and an annual budget of fifteen million dollars. MacDonald was ready for a bigger challenge. It came in the spring of 1919 when David Houston, the Secretary of Agriculture invited him to become "Chief" of the Federal Bureau of Public Roads, successor to the Office of Road Inquiry, in Washington. MacDonald accepted after he held out for a salary of $6,000--$1,500 more than his predecessor received. That March, after the appointment was announced, the Des Moines Capital published an editorial about the Commissioner. "Mr. MacDonald is a steady going man," the writer said, who had to endure "all the unhappy features of Iowa road work." Iowans had known he would be offered the job, "but hoped that he might not accept." Still, it said, "in the larger field, he may accomplish more."

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