Well , this particular rant is about Tuscumbia wanting to turn hwy 72 into it's new downtown with stop lights etc. , but the bigger problem is that the entire area has been blighted with them.
Where else, can a major bridge over a big river , 6 lanes wide, built on newly purchased right of way, not have on and off ramps . Why in the name of whoever is the hwy commissioner, did they build two overpasses for the new road, and then put a damm stoplight at each one ? Who else would do such a stupid thing, and why ?
It is just beyond me.
I have to disagree Bamaman, there is a world of difference between Cox Creek Parkway and Hwy 72 in Tuscumbia. First, Cox Creek is a street in Florence, and while I still beleive it is overbuilt for it's own good, it's still just a street.
Hwy 72 is , well, an interstate (not to be confused with "I" designated interstates, but the kind that goes between states - in this case ,3) highway, a major E-W route connecting Memphis, this area, Huntsville, Decatur and Chatanooga, not to mention access to 3 "I" designated interstate highways .
In addition, like I said, the highway used to go thru Tuscumbia, and that part was built as a bypass. Build it up to stop traffic from moving, and alternate routes will be used, which in the long run will do more harm to this area than it will help that poor little town that can't figure out how to help itself other than inconvenience thousands of people per day.
I don't know if any of you enjoy poetry, but I read this poem about 45 or so years ago, and it speaks to the problem of closed minds about more than just this highway thing.
Hope you enjoy !
The Calf-Path
by Sam Walter Foss (1858-1911)
One day, through the primeval wood,
A calf walked home, as good calves should;
But made a trail all bent askew,
A crooked trail, as all calves do.
Since then three hundred years have fled,
And, I infer, the calf is dead.
But still he left behind his trail,
And thereby hangs my moral tale.
The trail was taken up next day
By a lone dog that passed that way;
And then a wise bellwether sheep
Pursued the trail o’er vale and steep,
And drew the flock behind him, too,
As good bellwethers always do.
And from that day, o’er hill and glade,
Through those old woods a path was made,
And many men wound in and out,
And dodged and turned and bent about,
And uttered words of righteous wrath
Because ’twas such a crooked path;
But still they followed — do not laugh —
The first migrations of that calf,
And through this winding wood-way stalked
Because he wobbled when he walked.
This forest path became a lane,
That bent, and turned, and turned again.
This crooked lane became a road,
Where many a poor horse with his load
Toiled on beneath the burning sun,
And traveled some three miles in one.
And thus a century and a half
They trod the footsteps of that calf.
The years passed on in swiftness fleet.
The road became a village street,
And this, before men were aware,
A city’s crowded thoroughfare,
And soon the central street was this
Of a renowned metropolis;
And men two centuries and a half
Trod in the footsteps of that calf.
Each day a hundred thousand rout
Followed that zigzag calf about,
And o’er his crooked journey went
The traffic of a continent.
A hundred thousand men were led
By one calf near three centuries dead.
They follow still his crooked way,
And lose one hundred years a day,
For thus such reverence is lent
To well-established precedent.
A moral lesson this might teach
Were I ordained and called to preach;
For men are prone to go it blind
Along the calf-paths of the mind,
And work away from sun to sun
To do what other men have done.
They follow in the beaten track,
And out and in, and forth and back,
And still their devious course pursue,
To keep the path that others do.
They keep the path a sacred groove,
Along which all their lives they move;
But how the wise old wood-gods laugh,
Who saw the first primeval calf!
Ah, many things this tale might teach —
But I am not ordained to preach.
