by Grace Priddy
At the beginning of every semester, I make a solemn vow to change my old habits and become the nose-to-the-books, determined student I know is hiding somewhere deep inside me. This week I celebrate the fastest-ever end to that biannual resolution: January 28, 2002, I skipped all of my afternoon classes to fly a kite.
It's that witch Mother Nature, too. She knows I'm trying hard, and waits just until I'm vulnerable, then slips in 60 degree weather to bust my chops. I drove to Carbondale Monday morning thinking little of my papers due this week and instead spent the day fantasizing about spring break. In my mind, I was already heading down Route 66 on my way to peace of mind and warm neon signs.
The more I think ahead, however, the more antsy I am becoming for vacation to get here. And it isn't the sun in my eyes, either. Sadly, this summer may in fact be the sunset of an era passing us at an industrial pace. While hard-core "66ers" still answer the friendly call of the famous highway's many small-town detours and gaudy attractions, most tourists have traded in the country road for its more time-conscious neighbor, Interstate 44.
Even more depressing, along with the "super-slab" evolution comes the inevitable fatality of an American heritage decaying quietly behind the scenes. Once a long, winding Mecca of vintage architecture and pastoral scenery, countless communities find it easier to turn their heads as our all-too-recent history falls into disrepair along 66's weedy roadside and bushy overgrowth. Among our rural death toll lay the dusty remains of many deserted beacons of the past, including St. Louis' famous Coral Court Motel, torn down in 1995. And the endangered list is growing at an alarming rate. This summer may in fact bring the final curtain for John's Modern Cabins, an aging site along the highway just 10 miles west of Rolla, Mo.
While preservation activists fight to keep the windblown cabins standing, the tattered scene seems almost a tribute to what 66ers sourly refer to as the "McCulture." Heading west, tourists will notice to the right side of Route 66 a cluster of caved-in, asbestos-filled cabin walls surrounded by plants and wildlife, donning the circa-1950 neon sign for the campsite. To the left, however, one can easily make out the noisy chaos of Interstate 44's speeding motorists and semis whizzing past, oblivious to the once-peaceful landscape parallel to them. Visitors can easily discern a proverbial snapshot of what happened to rural America as nature reclaims its spot. One can view the dead, the death and what killed it, all at a glance.
Writes James Howard Kunstler of our post-war, baby boom generation, "Americans still liked to think of themselves as rugged individualists, as pioneers out on the frontier, no matter how many of them really worked as factory slaves or office drones."
While many of us may never have lived on a dusty road past an old General Store or sunny barn scene, we like to think it's still there for the taking when our city lives become smothering and our need for country air surfaces. We still like to think of ourselves as pioneers. Show me a sunny day in Saluki country, and I will show you dozens of SIU parking decals lining the Giant City blacktop; all transporting carloads of breeze-hungry students to the mock solitude of hiking trails and rock cliffs. Meanwhile, this plague of second and third-generation yuppie capitalism takes no pride in the more eccentric treasures left behind along the Midwest's rural routes. We may see the forest through the trees, but how many buildings will soon become hidden in the undergrowth?
In the meantime, I am packing my April suitcase early, in hopes that Mother Nature will float me another loan on this spring weather. Each day counts during the fight for our landscape, and I intend to get there before the Grand Finale.
Author's note: More information can be found on John's Modern Cabins and local Route 66 history at http://www.springbreak66.com or by emailing the author.
Not Just Another Priddy Face appears on Wednesday. Grace is a senior in architectural studies. Her views do not necessarily reflect those of the Daily Egyptian.
Published on 11/17/05; 12:24:44 PM
