| Photo by Jody Zamirowski |
For twenty years I’ve dreamed of taking the Great American Roadtrip. During a sabbatical I took while teaching at Dominican University, that wish came true.
Whenever I travel, I use my camera as a visual journal, accumulating an extensive collection of images that include letters, words, colors, and textures. I'm interested in a particular layer of typographic history in the landscape: advertising signage along the road, specifically from the 1930s through the early 60s.
This era is the time when Americans first began to travel the country in earnest by car. The Federal Highway Act of 1921 transformed many dirt roads into a nationwide system of reliable, hard-surfaced highways. People became mobile. Car production was growing. For the first time, the average American had the means to explore the United States independently. The controlled, linear experience of travel by rail was now contrasted by the ability to create a personally determined schedule along the open road.
Many of these early highways were called Named Trails, such as the Lincoln Highway, the nation's first coast-to-coast road. There were some great ones: The Black and Yellow Trail (Chicago to Yellowstone National Park, U.S. 14), The Dixie Beeline (Chicago to Nashville on U.S. 41), and The Old Spanish Trail (St. Augustine, Florida, to San Diego on U.S. 70, 80 and 90).
As this system of roads grew, so did the need for a logical and consistent designation method. For the original network of roads, the north/south routes end with the number 1. This begins with U.S. Route 1, which runs down the Atlantic coast, and ends with U.S. 101, which runs along the Pacific coast. East/West routes were designated with 0 endings. The Lincoln Highway, for example, primarily exists along the current U.S. 30. And, of course, there's Route 66.
Clockwise from top: Bahr’s Motel, Floodwood, Minnesota; Balyeats Coffee Shop (Young Fried Chicken), Van Wert, Ohio; One Stop, Delhi, Colorado; Bar Q Motel, Sidney, Nebraska; Camping, Mongo, Indiana.
A newly mobile American public needed services and wanted amusement along their routes: restaurants, motor courts and motels, service stations, souvenir stands, and curiosities. Enterprising towns advertised their businesses to motorists who might be getting hungry or ready to stop for the night. These businesses flourished because the original U.S. Routes went through the heart of these communities, allowing travelers to experience the character of each town.
Intersecting these towns obviously increased the time it would take to get from Point A to Point B. As with all growth came the necessary evolution of the American highway. The Federal Highway Act of 1956 created the primary interstate system… super highways designed for efficient and speedy transport of people and goods. Many of these run parallel to the old U.S. Routes ( I-80 and U.S. Route 30) but were designed to bypass towns and cities. These interstates effectively cut off the lifeblood of the small businesses geared toward accommodating traveling motorists.
Many businesses that had once been part of the journey became obsolete, eventually replaced by the convenience and predictability of a cluster of franchised motels and restaurants at the interstate exit.
Over the course of a summer and fall, I covered as many of these original highways as possible, making a daily log of each photograph I took. I soon realized the importance of keeping that record. After several thousand miles, it would have been impossible to reconstruct where I had encountered any particular sign.
Clockwise from top left: Hot Dog, Yarnell, Arizona; Superior, Caveland Motel, Cave City, Kentucky; AAA, Caveland Motel, Cave City, Kentucky; Modern Cabins, Alanson, Michigan; Only Motel, Urbana, Ohio.
My goal in this project was to explore the original U.S. Routes to see what was left. What hasn't been torn down, sold off, or simply fallen down is still out there in various states of decay.
I discovered that I would not find much in larger cities, except for the occasional beloved hometown hamburger joint or café. The real estate is simply too valuable, and much of what might have been on the outskirts of town has long ago been bulldozed to make way for new businesses. What I did find is mostly in smaller cities, rural towns, and lonely outposts… places where the land is not in great demand, so there's little incentive to re-develop these properties.
I traveled to 27 states and drove over 20,000 miles in search of what remains. Since there are parts of the country I haven't yet explored, I'll continue with the project this summer. Except for one excursion south, I drove these miles alone. An unexpected result was that the project became a contemplative experience. Besides, I was continually hitting the brakes, turning around, getting out to shoot, writing in my logbook… it would have been crazy-making for any companion who wasn't as excited about this stuff as I am.
I was intentional in my choice not to use a GPS. I had a road atlas and stopped to buy state road maps along the way. In part, I wanted to explore, discover, and find my way, as did earlier road travelers. My decision was mostly because I didn't want a GPS device to "chew my food and spit it out" in small segments, leaving me no need to make decisions and see the bigger picture.
Clockwise from top left: Paul’s, Kentucky; Thank You Come Again, Morgans Gap, Kentucky; Service, Lordsburg, New Mexico; Windmill Restaurant, Lovelock, Nevada; Restroom sign; Indiana.
As you can see by the images, I chose to photograph the signage during the day to show the actual state of disrepair that exists. While some of the signs still have working neon, a night shot would have masked their decay. I found the faded, rusted, and broken signage beautiful, though. They've become compositions made by time and weather, layered into the original intention of the sign's message. Among my favorite finds were signs that were handmade or hand-painted, such as the odd but charming little restroom sign with each letter crudely carved out of wood, the "Thank You Come Again" sign leaving Mortons Gap, Kentucky, and Paul's, a store sign with the name scripted from a rope.
I'm anxious to get back on the road as soon as I can. I've recovered from being road weary and longing for home. Besides, the typographic history that I'm looking for is disappearing every day, and when it's gone, a significant layer of cultural and graphic design history will be gone with it.
Clockwise from top: Port Motel, Chapman, Pennsylvania; Texaco/Standard, Indiana; Souvenirs, Tama, Iowa.
Jean Bevier is an emeritus associate professor of graphic design at Dominican University. Currently, she is a designer at the Charles M. Schulz Museum in Santa Rosa, California.
Article first appeared in UCDA’s Designer magazine (Vol. 37, Issue 4, Winter 2012)