Kentucky's Frontier Highway: Historical Landscapes Along the Maysville Road

Kentucky’s Frontier Highway

KENTUCKY’S FRONTIER HIGHWAY

Historical Landscapes along the Maysville Road

KARL RAITZ AND NANCY O’MALLEY

Cartographic Design and Production by Dick Gilbreath, Gyula Pauer Center for Cartography and GIS

Copyright © 2012 by The University Press of Kentucky

Scholarly publisher for the Commonwealth,

serving Bellarmine University, Berea College, Centre College of Kentucky, Eastern Kentucky University, The Filson Historical Society, Georgetown College, Kentucky Historical Society, Kentucky State University, Morehead State University, Murray State University, Northern Kentucky University, Transylvania University, University of Kentucky, University of Louisville, and Western Kentucky University.

All rights reserved.

Editorial and Sales Offices: The University Press of Kentucky

663 South Limestone Street, Lexington, Kentucky 40508-4008

www.kentuckypress.com

Unless otherwise noted, photographs were taken by Karl Raitz between 2005 and 2007.

16 15 14 13 12 5 4 3 2 1

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Raitz, Karl B.

Kentucky’s frontier highway : historical landscapes along the Maysville Road / Karl Raitz and Nancy O’Malley.

pages cm

Includes bibliographical references and index.

ISBN 978-0-8131-3664-6 (hardcover : acid-free paper) —

ISBN 978-0-8131-3666-0 (pdf) (print) -- ISBN 978-0-8131-4069-8 (epub) (print)

1. Historic sites—Kentucky—Maysville Region. 2. Landscapes—Kentucky—Maysville Region. 3. Trails—Kentucky—Maysville Region—History. 4. Roads—Kentucky—Maysville Region—History. 5. Maysville Region (Ky.)—History, Local. 6. Maysville Region (Ky.)—Description and travel. 7. Frontier and pioneer life—Kentucky—Maysville Region. 8. Maysville Region (Ky.)—History. I. O’Malley, Nancy. II. Title.

F459.M47R35 2012

976.9’323—dc23 2012032833

This book is printed on acid-free paper meeting the requirements of the American National Standard for Permanence in Paper for Printed Library Materials.

Manufactured in the United States of America.

Member of the Association of

American University Presses

Contents

List of Maps and Illustrations

Part I.  Introduction

1.  Reading America’s Roads

2.  Traveling the Road

Part II.  Overland Roads and the Epic of Kentucky’s Settlement

3.  Coming to Kentucky

4.  Regional Context

5.  Road Evolution

6.  Indian Paths and Buffalo Traces

7.  Pioneer Road

8.  Turnpike Road

9.  State and Federal Highway

10.  From Turnpike to Parkway

Part III.  The Maysville Road: A Landscape Biography

11.  The Road as a Corridor of Complexity

12.  Lexington

13.  The Original Limestone Trace—A Side Trip on Bryan Station Road

14.  The City-to-Country Transition

15.  Gentleman Farms and the Inner Bluegrass Landscape

16.  Siting Paris

17.  Side Trip: High Street from the Bourbon County Courthouse South to the Juncture of High and Main Streets

18.  Nineteenth-Century Paris

19.  Paris toward Blue Licks

20.  Millersburg

21.  The Eden Shale Hills

22.  Blue Licks

23.  Commemoration, Heritage, and a Battlefield Park

24.  Blue Licks toward Maysville

25.  Fairview and Ewing

26.  Fairview toward Mason County

27.  The Outer Bluegrass

28.  Mayslick—The Asparagus Bed of Mason County

29.  Old Washington

30.  Slavery, the Underground Railroad, and Hemp Production

31.  Intersections and Commercial Roadside Development

32.  Maysville

33.  Living with the River

34.  East Maysville

Part IV.  Reflecting on Roads and American Culture

35.  The Changing Landscape of Mobility

Acknowledgments

Notes

Bibliography

Index

Maps and Illustrations

Maps

John Filson’s Kentucke—Cumberland Gap to Boonesborough

John Filson’s Kentucke—Ohio River to Lexington

Kentucky’s Roads and Trails, circa 1794

Lexington–Maysville Road Corridor

Lexington–Paris Road Corridor

Southwest Lexington–Northeast Lexington Road Corridor

Lexington circa 1791

Evolution of Lexington’s Out-Lot Blocks, 1800–1990s

Northeast Lexington–Ferguson Road Junction Road Corridor

Ferguson Road Junction–Paris Road Corridor

Paris circa 1799

Paris–Blue Licks Road Corridor

Paris–Millersburg Road Corridor

Millersburg circa 1876

Millersburg–Lake Carnico Road Corridor

Lake Carnico–Blue Licks Road Corridor

Blue Licks–Maysville Road Corridor

Blue Licks–Mason County Road Corridor

Fairview and Ewing, circa 1950s, Fleming County

Mason County–North Fork Licking River Road Corridor

Mays Lick (Mayslick) circa 1876

North Fork Licking River–Maysville Road Corridor

Washington circa 1876

Maysville circa 1990

Illustrations

Ellis Tavern

Entrenched road in Mason County

Road improvement circa 1934

Iron turnpike marker, Mayslick

U.S. 68 realignment at Eaglestone Farm

Paris Pike as parkway

Maysville skyline

Paxton Inn, Washington

Tavern at Forest Retreat

Lower Blue Licks springs

Maysville and the Ohio River

Eden Shale Hills in Fleming County

Conestoga wagon in Kentucky

Tollhouse in Nicholas County

Lexington stagecoach office

Old Maysville Road in Mayslick

Interurban railroad freight car

Phoenix Hotel, Lexington

Limestone Street block, Lexington

Atomic Café, Lexington

Out-lot infill housing, Lexington

Rose Hill House, circa 1815, front elevation

Rose Hill House, plan view

Rose Hill House, perspective sketch, rear view

Commercial building on Sixth Street, Lexington

Loudoun House

Warfield Farm–Loudoun House property, Cape Cod–style infill housing

Joyland Park entrance

Green Hills at Elmendorf Farm

Elmendorf Farm interurban tracks and waiting room

Hughes Lane

James W. Wright house south of Paris

Paris railroad depot

Early gasoline station

Main Street, Paris

Bourbon County Courthouse

Court Day in Paris

North Main Street commercial buildings, Paris

Paris Milling Company mill

Bourbon Drive-In Theater

Farm implement shop, Millersburg

Exchange Bank on Main Street, Millersburg

Millersburg Cemetery beside Maysville Road

Old road track at Eaglestone Farm

U.S. 68 and roadside stone fence at Forest Retreat

Brushy Creek valley near Lake Carnico

Ellisville antiques shop from the bypass

Ellisville yard statuary business

Blue Licks hotel

Ewing depot

Main Street, Ewing

Ewing Baptist Church and farm machinery dealer

Burley tobacco curing in a tobacco barn

Tobacco barn internal framing

Row houses on Pike Street in Mayslick

Old St. Rose of Lima Church, Mayslick

Rosenwald school, Mayslick

Drake House, Mayslick

Mayslick consolidated school

Mayslick Mill on U.S. 68

Washington’s Bayless-Forman House

Washington connected houses

The Coffle Gang

Hemp field

Courthouse, church, and row houses, Third Street, Maysville

Russell Building and Russell Theater on Third Street, Maysville

Simon Kenton Bridge, Maysville

Business buildings on Second Street, Maysville

Steamboat Majestic on the Ohio riverfront

East Second Street commercial and residential buildings, Maysville

Part I

Introduction

As Carl G. Fisher wrote in 1912: The highways of America are built chiefly of politics, whereas the proper material is crushed rock, or concrete.

—George R. Stewart,

U.S. 40: Cross Section of the United States of America

1

Reading America’s Roads

The twenty-first-century road, whether in Kentucky or elsewhere in America, is sufficiently ubiquitous that its commonness may lull drivers into assuming its presence and passable condition. We tend to speed along, ignoring the road’s distinctive qualities, until a construction detour, accumulating snow, an outsize sign touting an outlet mall, or a highway patrol car’s flashing red and blue lights remind us that the road is a place of intersection, in both a literal and metaphorical sense, for a host of different actors, interests, and priorities all interacting through time. The product is a linear place that is at once part of a larger network of linear places that are linked together but comprise particularistic parts—a bridge, a quarter-mile section of road, a freeway interchange, a curb cut that opens to an abandoned building foundation—that are always changing, adjusting, in flux. Neither the road—as a whole or a part—nor the people or institutions that build, maintain, or use it are static or stable.¹ The road, its companion roadside, and the society that builds and uses it are always changing, adjusting, and becoming something new and different.² Some changes have long historical trajectories that are technology-dependent, such as a road’s cross-sectional form and its configuration in relation to topographic surfaces. Other changes occur within much shorter temporal windows, such as the weathering of smooth, black asphalt into a checked surface, sun-bleached and oxidized to a whitish gray. Just so, the roadside is in continual adjustment as businesses are established and fail, or as changes in travel technology—from stagecoach to interurban rail to private automobile—render nineteenth-century taverns anachronistic or motivate construction of a fast-food franchise restaurant.

Such change does not necessarily obliterate established landscape elements such as road sections, bridges, townhouses, taverns, or gas stations. Some elements recede from view when engineers make minor road realignments that bypass them; others stolidly remain standing along the road, but people convert them to new uses. The historical composite road-roadside landscape is therefore a complex palimpsest of structures and land uses that represent a host of incommensurable yet intersecting engineering technologies, legal edicts, political imbroglios, societal milieus, and economic conditions. Acknowledging that a road landscape is exceptionally complicated signals frustration because its very complexity implies that not even the best-informed person can begin to enumerate, never mind understand, all the interrelated factors that create and reside in a single mile of road. On the other hand, by its very nature as a public thoroughfare, the road is always open to our inspection, our questions and musings, as long as we remain open to serious engagement with its surfaces, signs, structures, and situations.

Now orphaned by the realignment of the road, the Ellis Tavern at Ellisville in Nicholas County once stood directly next to the thoroughfare, convenient to the passing traveler in need of libations, a hot meal, stabling and feed for a horse, or a night’s accommodation. The massive stone construction promised sanctuary within, and visitors found solid respectability in the person of James Ellis, proprietor, who also built a log courthouse, jail, and a pen for stray livestock near the tavern when Ellisville served as the county seat.

The metaphor of road-as-intersection acknowledges the road’s position as a node within any number of knowledge networks or systems that range from the abstract to the concrete, from the theoretical to the functional, from the historic to the current.³ For example, three technical knowledge networks intersect at the road-roadside; science, technology, and engineering. Before World War I engineers constructed roads on the basis of empirically derived understandings of nature and knowledge gained from cut-and-try techniques and the practical experience of observing what worked best in actual applications. The Federal Office of Public Roads did not use the term research to describe its laboratory and field investigations work until 1916.⁴ The applications, processes, and tools of road-construction technology remained embedded in traditional folkways—axes and brush hooks, picks and pry bars, shovels and wheelbarrows—until the 1870s, largely without the benefit of considered engineering or the application of scientific investigation.⁵ The best nineteenth-century roads in Kentucky were built from hand-broken stone laid and packed into a hard surface according to principles developed by the Scottish engineers John McAdam and Thomas Telford. Innovations in road construction technology or engineering, whether in Kentucky or elsewhere, were stimulated not by an absence of roads and bridges across minimally developed areas but by a bustling regional economy that was served by an overtaxed and dysfunctional road network.⁶ Laborers constructed the nation’s first brick-surfaced pavement of annealed shale-clay brick in Charleston, West Virginia, about 1870. By the 1890s brick road technology was in common use in Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois, where construction crews converted the National Road and other major thoroughfares from McAdam’s stone to brick surfacing. Although some Kentucky towns and cities employed brick as a street-covering material, it never became a common road surface in the state.⁷

A little more than a mile west of the Maysville Road in southwest Mason County, an old road said by some to follow a historical buffalo trace cuts across a farm pasture entrenched into the land surface by iron-shod horses’ hooves and iron-rimmed wagon wheels. Some abandoned roadways are marked today by linear depressions across farm fields and pastures; others continue in use as farm driveways or field access roads.

The twentieth century’s first two decades brought a host of revolutionary changes to road-building technology and engineering practices. Portland cement, invented in the 1870s, was first used to produce concrete street surfacing in Bellefontaine, Ohio, in 1891. In 1909 the Association of American Portland Cement Manufacturers offered prizes for the best articles on the increasing importance of concrete for road construction; Good Roads Magazine published the winning essays. By the 1910s concrete was coming into general use for road construction in the Northeast and Midwest, especially in urban areas.⁸ Engineers completed Kentucky’s first concrete road in 1915, a steep, two-mile section of the Covington-Lexington Road in Kenton County near the Ohio River.⁹ This road section was one of the state’s busiest, and its traditional rock-covered macadam structure failed repeatedly under heavy traffic loads. That the state legislature placed a high priority on rebuilding this road with resilient, albeit expensive, concrete was an affirmation of the principle that road construction innovation is stimulated by the failure of existing roads to serve the demands placed on them.¹⁰

The rapidly escalating market for large-scale farm machinery on California’s Central Valley bonanza wheat farms after the Civil War stimulated the development of track-type tractors. The crawler tractor’s arrival paralleled that of the gasoline engine, which, when petroleum fuels became available and engine electrical systems had been perfected, led to the manufacture of a gasoline engine–powered crawler tractor by a Stockton, California, machinery manufacturer in 1906. Soon thereafter road-construction contractors had access to track-type Caterpillar tractors equipped with bulldozer blades that allowed engineers to design and build roads that required moving large volumes of earth and rock to reduce grades by hill cuts and valley fills or embankments.¹¹

A different though parallel string of technology innovations began with a 1903 adaptation of a wagonlike box to what was by then a traditional passenger-car chassis to create the truck. By the 1910s trucks were increasingly displacing horse-drawn wagons for common dray work, thereby extending hauling and delivery-service distances fivefold or more. Trucking companies proliferated rapidly, eclipsing the horse-and-wagon lines with multiple, often unanticipated branching effects. As urban horse populations declined, for example, livery owners tore down their central-city stables, thus vacating large blocks of land for alternative development. Once in active use, heavily loaded trucks pounded and pulverized old macadam roads with catastrophic results. By 1918 road failure had become sufficiently pervasive that Prevost Hubbard of the Federal Bureau of Public Roads was moved to observe: These failures were not only sudden but complete, and almost overnight an excellent surface might become impassable. A very large proportion of the failures have been characterized by an almost simultaneous destruction of the entire road structure, and not merely the disintegration of the wearing course or pavement proper.¹² Contemplating the potential disruption to commerce and the cost of road replacement, states began to consider imposing weight and speed limits on trucks.¹³

During the Great Depression, circa 1934, WPA work crews improved some of central Kentucky’s rural farm-service roads, such as Squires Road in Fayette County, south of Lexington. A track-type tractor tows a leaning-wheel blade grader manufactured by J. D. Adams & Company of Indianapolis. The grader fills ruts and levels the road surface in preparation for the application of a thin layer of crushed stone. The roller-packer on the distant hillside compacts and levels the new stone surface. In the 1970s and 1980s farmland here was converted into subdivisions and Squires Road became a city street. (Courtesy of the University of Kentucky Library Special Collections, Goodman-Paxton WPA Collection, PA64M1-5381)

These and many other science, engineering, and technology object lessons illustrate that the parentage of road-related knowledge networks must, perforce, include legal, political, economic, and social dimensions that also intersected at the road and roadside. The Kentucky legislature passed a road law in 1797, five years after attaining statehood, a statute that essentially copied Virginia’s road law, itself an adaptation of centuries-old English road law.¹⁴ Thereafter, however, state-level legislative oversight of road construction was limited largely to concerns for a few major baseline roads, as they were termed, that connected the larger towns. Nineteenth-century roads in Kentucky and many other eastern and Atlantic coast states, especially local-scale roads that connected the rural countryside to a county seat or a cross-state thoroughfare, were built and maintained as toll roads not by governmental agencies but by local people guided only by practical knowledge and a few vague legislative edicts.¹⁵ When Kentucky’s U.S. representatives sought to obtain federal support for the construction of a proper macadam road from Maysville to Lexington in 1830, President Andrew Jackson vetoed the proposed legislation, arguing that the Constitution prohibited expending federal funds for projects of purely local character.¹⁶ The state, for its part, expedited plans to underwrite Maysville Road improvements internally by chartering the Maysville and Washington Turnpike Road Company and providing limited financing for road construction through the sale of shares in the company and tolls collected from road users.¹⁷

A rare Maysville Road iron turnpike mile marker is bolted to the road frontage fence in front of Daniel Drake’s home in Mayslick, Mason County. Embossed hands point north to Zanesville, Ohio, and Maysville, and south to Lexington, Nashville, Tennessee, and Florence, Alabama. Though Andrew Jackson in 1830 famously vetoed legislation to provide federal monies to build the turnpike on the grounds that the improved road would serve only Kentucky, he also traveled this road between his home in Nashville and Washington, D.C., and so personally experienced its regional character.

By the 1830s most state political leaders and businesspeople were becoming increasingly concerned that local and regional accessibility to East Coast ports and urban centers be enhanced through what were termed internal improvements—constructing harbors and canals, improving river navigation, and building long-distance roads. Kentucky’s legislature created the state Board of Internal Improvement, whose chief engineer began issuing detailed guidelines for road construction, although the state continued to insist that roads be financed and built by the people who used the roads.¹⁸ The Board of Internal Improvement lacked legal authorization to oversee or enforce state-level directives other than in the most elementary way. Board members, therefore, could only voice displeasure when local turnpike company officers hired immigrant road builders who were unable or unwilling to comply with directives of which they were unaware or lacked sufficient capital with which to conform. The abstract idealism of Kentucky’s early road law was dramatically attenuated, however; the divide between the legislative action that produced road law and the earth-and-rock reality of road building was chasmal. Furthermore, few state-level public officials were willing to acknowledge that the age-old traditionalist maxim that roads served local constituents and communities was anachronistic and that construction of roads and the establishment of planned road networks would require direction, oversight, and financing from a central governmental authority. This shortsighted perspective necessarily placed responsibility for road construction and maintenance in the hands of landowners, a logic that represented a failure to discern the potential economic and social value of trans-county, trans-state, and trans-regional roads. Local communities, never mind the few shareholders in a turnpike company, could never muster the large-scale financing and system management required to transform thousands of short, badly maintained road segments into a highway network characterized by connectivity, standardization, and reliability. If Kentucky governmental representatives were slow to grasp the import of their well-informed and adequately funded participation in large-scale internal improvement projects, the federal government was similarly vacuous and could offer little in the way of an object lesson in appropriate management techniques for road network development and oversight.

Kentucky and the rest of America exited the nineteenth century acceding to public demands for free roads; most roadside tollhouses were closed, and newly written state legislation enabled local governments to purchase and maintain the old pikes as free public ways. Between 1890 and 1930 inventor-entrepreneurs created multiple technological advances that were concomitant and intersecting and which manufacturers applied to vehicular construction—synthetic rubber and balloon tires, hydraulic presses and high-strength steels, petroleum refining and gasoline engines, storage batteries and electric ignition systems. The rush of transport-related innovations yielded an awkward imbalance between road-using vehicles that rapidly increased in number and capability, and road-building technology, governmental enfranchisement of construction finance, and engineering oversight; each of these sectors lagged annoyingly. Identifying and evaluating such lags is important in understanding the uneven evolution of road and society linkages. A useful concept for identifying technology-society system lags is that of reverse salient—literally a reentrant angle in a star-shaped fortification wall or a sagging section in an advancing weather front—which is a metaphorical reference to a component of an expanding system that does not advance harmoniously with other components. A reverse salient will present critical problems that will hamper or thwart the growth of an entire enterprise and begs for concerted action through technical inventions and procedural innovations if expansion is to proceed.¹⁹

In the twentieth century’s first three decades, state and federal governments, spurred by automobile manufacturers and owners who instigated the Good Roads Movement, and by a rapidly increasing cohort of bicyclists, reluctantly accepted responsibility for and control over road construction and maintenance. The movement was perhaps the most visible and well-documented response to the reverse salient of lagging governmental participation in the large-scale management of road construction technology and finance.²⁰ From 1915 to 1920 Kentucky’s commissioner of public roads oversaw construction of some eight hundred miles of state-aid roads that were, according to statute, to be maintained by the counties the roads traversed. When, for lack of funds to purchase equipment or to hire trained engineers and laborers, counties failed to maintain their new roads, the state in 1918 passed additional legislation permitting the government to redirect to road maintenance those state aid funds intended for county general fund expenditures. The state subsequently found, to its rather profound embarrassment, one might imagine, that it had neither the funds nor the equipment required to maintain the roads its state-aid program had built. To refine road jurisdiction, the Kentucky legislature passed a new road law in 1920 that designated a primary road system of some four thousand miles to be constructed and maintained by the Department of State Roads and Highways. The statute designated the Maysville Road a state road.²¹ The department organized a maintenance division in 1921 under the direction of an engineer who had supervisory control over the division’s labor crews. The state’s dearth of construction equipment was finally addressed when the federal government released surplus materiel from World War I, including trucks, tractors, and small tools sufficient to outfit state labor crews almost entirely.²²

For its part, the federal government passed its initial road act in 1916, followed by another in 1921. Though both acts allocated funds to state legislatures to repair old roads and build new ones, neither conceived of a planned, coherent nationwide road network. Furthermore, instead of initially focusing on upgrading primary intercity and intercounty roads, local county politics often siphoned off funds for small neighborhood roads used by limited but influential constituents. The concept of a road network that maximized traffic flow for trucks and automobiles over long distances lay beyond federal grasp. Instead, funds and labor were expended on unconnected local road segments; cross-country roads with sharp curves, steep hills, at-grade intersections, and narrow, shoulderless roadbeds were largely ignored.²³ In 1914 the American Association of State Highway Officials (AASHO) formed to advocate for federal support for road construction and quickly became one of the most influential lobbying groups in Washington, D.C. Working with the federal Bureau of Public Roads, AASHO helped bring order to the chaos of route designations by eliminating traditional road names and devising a uniform system of road numbers and standardized road signage. East-west roads received even numbers, north-south roads odd numbers. In 1926 the Maysville Road became part of U.S. 68, a trans-regional highway that linked Findlay, Ohio, and Paducah, Kentucky.²⁴ The process of creating a systematically numbered national road network was initially a mapping exercise that in many cases pieced together long roads from short fragments, but the net effect was to institutionalize or render permanent a master highway pattern that still obtains nearly ninety years later. Though the generalized routeways gained some measure of permanence, the technologies of vehicle construction and road and bridge engineering, and the interplay of legal statutes, tax-based financing, business and political priorities, were set into a gyre of continuous flux whereby changes in one segment necessarily unbalanced others.

As governmental organization and regulation of roadway construction became systematized and road quality improved, traffic volume increased geometrically, leading to congestion on cross-country roads and city streets, a rapidly accelerating accident rate, and a demonstrated need to bring discipline to roadway travel by instituting a variety of traffic-control regulations and creating special road police to provide enforcement. The first highway centerline formally dividing a hard-surface highway into two traffic lanes was painted on a Michigan highway in 1917. At-grade highway railroad crossings were particularly treacherous, and federal legislation in the mid-1930s allocated more than $600 million to states for highway safety and road improvement programs especially targeted at separating at-grade railroad crossings.²⁵ During the 1930s most states created a highway-oriented police force to assist motorists who had breakdowns or accidents and enforce state traffic laws. Kentucky’s Highway Patrol formed in 1936 and was reorganized into the State Police force in 1948.

Three different Maysville Road alignments lie in close proximity at the front of Eaglestone Farm north of Millersburg in Nicholas County. The oldest track, possibly the original pre-turnpike route, crosses the pasture to the far left. The first-generation engineered road is now a short access road to the immediate left. The modern road, established in 1948, cut through a sidehill of limestone bedrock on the right to straighten a dangerously tight curve. Between the two roads is a small island of rock and earth left behind by the 1948 cut-through. Excavated into the hillside to the far right, and camouflaged by trees, is an old roadside quarry that was likely a source of macadam stone for nineteenth-century road builders.

An active accompaniment to this complex interplay of technical, economic, political, and legal processes is the dynamic social world of all those whose lives and livelihoods were intertwined with the roads and vehicles that enabled discretionary movement. For rural people, access to the automobile presented a resolution to the isolation of remote farmsteads. But as rural residents took up the automobile and truck, their long-standing networks of social relations and socially created places based on horse and buggy travel were necessarily distorted and distressed. The car’s speed and long range threatened the viability of rural schools and churches. Improved roads and vehicles meant that children could attend consolidated schools in the county seat; a wider selection of religious philosophies was now within a Sunday morning’s driving range.²⁶ The frequency of visiting distant relatives increased, and the acquaintance pool from which one might draw a marriage partner expanded significantly. Farmers driving trucks had relatively easy access to mills and blacksmith shops in town; the trip via packhorse to the nearest creek-side gristmill in the countryside now became a quaint experience. Urban residents could drive to work and shopping and enjoy a ubiquity of areal access far greater than was possible when a person’s movements were dependent on the now derogated trolley car and interurban rail. State governments and city boosters promoted auto-borne tourism, and Sunday drivers began to clog rural highways and city streets. The spate of road traffic recatalyzed the roadside as a venue for potential businesses that served travelers. And people, through their purchase preferences and use patterns, influenced how motor vehicles were built and used and how governmental priorities for road construction and maintenance were established.

The twelve-and-one-half-mile section of the Maysville Road–U.S. 68 between Lexington and Paris follows an 1830s turnpike alignment and has long been known as Paris Pike. Engineers reconfigured the narrow, two-lane highway into a four-lane parkway in 2003. The parkway now crosses North Elkhorn Creek on twin concrete-and-steel bridges in front of Elmendorf Farm. The turnpike’s original track crossed the creek where the left-hand bridge now stands and traced straight across the hill in the distance, where it splices into the right-hand, or northbound, lanes.

From the Ohio River’s south-bank landing site at Maysville south to Lexington, the Maysville Road’s length is less than seventy miles. Yet along its corridor is a grand tableau of varied physical environments on which people from many cultures, deploying varied technologies, have pursued life and made a living. The engaged pathway traveler, whether auto-borne or armchaired, is aware of countryside and community along the highway and the subtle evidences of past and current lives. Perceptive travel requires locally scaled information on geography and history to confirm suspicions or spark revelations. The traveler should seek more insights than the declarative historic plaque at the roadside that offers a sliver of information, more often about powerful men than common people who created the landscape through which the road traverses. But that landscape is also a kind of historic plaque that, with great frequency, records the actions of the common folk who used the land and built the structures and incorporated them into their lives. No landscape biography could record every building, street, or landscape detail. Rather, the traveler should pay keen attention to the corridor along which the road passes and try to recognize the sites that represent the great processes of human agency that stand like felicitous scaffolding behind the making of the road’s landscape. Historic events and important individuals play a significant role in landscape making, but we need to place them within the larger landscape of common people and common artifacts, among sites both celebrated and commonplace. Both kinds of places are part of the language of landscape interpretation, meaning, and understanding.

Many eighteenth-century overland roads originated at important water-land connecting points, be they ocean or river ports. Maysville—originally named Limestone—is sited at the riverboat landing on the Ohio’s south bank near the mouth of Limestone Creek. Ferryboats connected Kentucky and Ohio at this point until 1931, when engineers completed the Simon Kenton Memorial Bridge. Maysville’s residential streets step down the Ohio River valley’s south bluff to the river’s edge. In this view of the Maysville skyline, a cruciform roof and twin bell towers identify St. Patrick Church on Third Street; the spire just to the left marks the Episcopal church.

Travel along an old road such as the Maysville Road can be much more than an invitation to daydream to the accompaniment of satellite-broadcast radio music. Rather, the modern roadway offers the curious traveler an opportunity to engage the road as a tableau of historical geography, to see, perhaps to read, in its routeway and roadside buildings the layers and bundles of human agency that it incorporates.

2

Traveling the Road

Purposeful travelers have a common goal: to depart a starting point and reach safely a destination. But what of the experience that links a journey’s beginning and end? Travel is a multidimensional process that blends predictable and unpredictable events. The transport mode (stagecoach or automobile), trip length, and date or season of travel are largely predictable. Weather, traveling companions (chosen or voluntary), and road quality are marginally predictable. And many of the trip’s events and perhaps much of its scenery are wholly unanticipated, and therein, for some travelers at least, resides the pleasure of the journey, the joy of experiencing the new, the unexpected.¹ Other travelers find the unpredictable aspects of a journey discomforting and seek to increase their comfort by increasing predictability. They do this by maintaining their conveyance, traveling in good weather, and staying overnight at inns or hotels where they have stayed before or they know by reputation to offer peerless accommodation.

The earliest historic travelers on the Limestone Trace walked or rode on horseback along a trail that was muddy and slick in wet weather, dusty in dry weather, and rutted all year round. And mud is a rather one-dimensional term for a variety of conditions, depending on location. Where the road crossed river floodplains, for example, the silty soils turned into a carbon-colored ooze when wet, creating a seemingly bottomless mire the consistency of thick porridge. The sickly yellow-blue-green mud on an Eden Shale hillside might be slick, even slimy, and a gangue of rock and clay. The Bluegrass limestone lands entrained high levels of organic material yet drained rapidly; the reddish-brown muds here were often thickly viscous.

John Filson’s Kentucke—Cumberland Gap to Boonesborough. John Filson, a schoolteacher, surveyor, cartographer, and land speculator from Pennsylvania, came to the Kentucky frontier in 1783. The following year he published a book entitled The Discovery, Settlement, and Present State of Kentucke, with an accompanying map simply entitled Kentucke. Filson used fine dashed lines to depict generalized trail routes, and this map segment portrays southeastern Kentucky, including Cumberland Mountain, and the Warrior’s Path, Daniel Boone’s Trace, and the Wilderness Road. Filson’s cartography uses mole hills to represent topography, but these symbols only hint at the rugged mountain land that these narrow paths traversed. At Flat Lick, just north of the Cumberland River, Boone’s Trace—labeled Virginia to Kentucke—angles north- northwest to Boonsburg (Boonesborough) on the Kentucky River. The Wilderness Road crosses the Rock Castle River heading northwest toward Crab Orchard and Whitley’s Station. Though thousands of migrants traveled the Wilderness Road and Boone’s Trace to reach the Bluegrass Region, most traveled on horseback or on foot leading packhorses. These legendary mountain tracks were not made suitable for heavy wagon traffic until after the Civil War. (Courtesy of the University Press of Kentucky and the Kentucky Geological Survey)

In the early years of historic settlement, the Limestone Trace was the last leg of a long journey that had already tallied weeks of anxious and exhausting travel aboard a wagon or on a flatboat or keelboat drifting with the current down the Ohio River. When a group of settlers finally tied up at the Limestone landing (now Maysville), they may have been relieved that they no longer had to worry about capsizing and drowning, but hazards of a different kind remained and the trials of travel were far from over. Few early travelers stayed at the Limestone landing because of its exposed position and lack of amenities. Joel Watkins did have a salutary experience when he passed through Limestone in 1789, largely because he was fortunate to stay with his former tutor, Thomas Brooks. Brooks entertained him with the greatest civility, insisted on his tarrying some time with him in town, and gave him a very agreeable breakfast and the opportunity to shave, take a nap, and explore the settlement. Watkins then spent the night where he had the satisfaction of being able to sleep in a bed with my Breeches off for the second night in a row.² Needham Parry, traveling to Limestone five years later, in 1794, was unimpressed with the people he encountered. He saw the potential for a flourishing little place at Limestone, but only if it was but settled with people of any principle: which I think they are the clearest of, of any set I ever saw.³

Most settlers who traveled to the region via Limestone headed inland from the river toward the Inner Bluegrass, where settlement was denser, quality land could be found, and, because of strength in numbers, conditions were safer, although the threat of Indian attack persisted until the close of the Revolutionary War. Along the corridor into Kentucky’s Bluegrass country, travelers on the Limestone Trace experienced widely variable conditions in the fundamental comforts available at roadside; food, drink, and acceptable beds.

Proceeding from the riverside landing at Limestone, travelers ascended the steep south bluff and made their way four miles inland to the village of Washington. By 1784, the year before Washington was formally surveyed, the place included only a few very crude buildings. Ned Darnaby described the place as he encountered it in October of that year: I noticed several houses commenced but not finished—bodies not covered. I don’t know whether there were any persons living there.⁴ Compared to his treatment at Brooks’s residence in Limestone, Joel Watkins’s experience in Washington was a disagreeable contrast. He encountered houses erected with hewn logs of very indifferent construction, and he could find no feed for his horse.

These examples at the Ohio River end of the Limestone Trace were typical of conditions in the 1780s, but matters improved as emigration increased and people established villages and rural communities along the road. As the increasingly preferred route into Kentucky, the Limestone Trace became the Limestone Road and later the Maysville-to-Lexington Turnpike. Although it was a direct route of only some sixty miles into the coveted Inner Bluegrass country, variable road quality dramatically dampened travel speed to the extent that one might require three or even four days to reach Lexington. Travelers needed sustenance to complete the trip, and over time their options for accommodations expanded as local residents established roadside businesses offering food, drink, overnight lodging, and stabling and feed for their horses. To describe such places of sanctuary, the lexicon of the day included a variety of terms including inn, tavern, ordinary, place of entertainment, tippling house, hotel, and resort. Some terms were interchangeable; others implied availability of specific types of services and amenities—or the lack thereof. Travelers brought their own conceptions of what qualities such roadside businesses should have, and their expectations were not always matched by the reality they encountered. Consequently, traveler’s observations recorded the verities, as they saw them, from high praise to dismayed criticism, often expressed during a single trip.

John Filson’s Kentucke—Ohio River to Lexington. This segment of John Filson’s map depicts the northeast section of the Bluegrass Region extending from the Ohio River in the north to the Kentucky River in the southwest. At the point where Limestone Creek joins the Ohio River (Maysville), Smith’s Waggon Road, later known as the Maysville Road, leads south to the Blue Licks on the Licking River. From there the track turns southwest to Hingston Fork (Hinkston Creek and Millersburg), Stoner’s Fork (Paris), Bryan’s Station, and Lexington. Filson’s Maysville Road corridor seems topographically benign, marked only by an imagined harmonic sinuosity of its streams and Fine Cane Land. Settlers associated cane with fertile soils and found that their cattle would readily feed on the luxuriant plant. (Courtesy of the University Press of Kentucky and the Kentucky Geological Survey)

An example from 1795–1796: Thomas Chapman, an Englishman who intended to emigrate to the United States, traveled from Newport, Kentucky, east to Virginia via the Limestone Trace to Lexington and the Wilderness Road from Danville, Kentucky, with side trips to Harrodsburg and Frankfort. His experiences are illustrative of what a traveler could expect in Kentucky in the 1790s. From Newport to Washington, his party slept two nights in log cabins, all sharing one bed, where they received civil usage although the fare was Homely. The first tavern he encountered was at Mayslick, where Isaac Drake, a New Jersey man, offered travelers respite. This tavern elicited no special comment, but Eve’s Tavern (probably Thomas Eades’s establishment) in Paris earned the unfavorable rating of a very dirty uncomfortable House.⁵

Conditions were better at more populous towns, Chapman found. At McNair’s Tavern in Lexington, he pronounced the proprietor a civil, well behaved Irishman. Mr. Wissengar’s Tavern in Frankfort was, in Chapman’s opinion, the best in the Town, and a very good one it is, attributing its quality to the presence of state legislators and other members of government who stayed there. Chapman stayed at a small log tavern on his way to Harrodsburg, an experience that passed without criticism. He then returned to Lexington, where he again stayed with McNair and was again impressed, calling him a much civiler Landlord than are commonly to be met with in this part of the World.

That Chapman would affirm McNair’s business persona so positively is all the more remarkable because the prevailing attitude toward Irishmen at the time was decidedly negative. Irish emigrants encountered an unambiguous disapproving attitude from other settlers, often expressed in offhand comments later recorded by such chroniclers as John Dabney Shane and Lyman Draper. Writers expressed similar prejudice toward those of German or Dutch descent. The difference in McNair’s case may relate to his ethnic background; his surname suggests he was a Scot whose family may have moved to Ireland before his birth.

On his return east through the Wilderness of southeastern Kentucky, Chapman found quality accommodations scarce, if not nonexistent. From Danville southeast toward the Cumberland River, he found no taverns at all, and at Crab Orchard he had to resort to spreading his blankets on the floor of a house belonging to a poor farmer named Pembleton. Leaving Crab Orchard, Chapman stayed at another farmhouse where he was obliged to leave his horses tied to a rail near the door all night. Heading for Rockcastle, deeper into the Wilderness, he spent a night in a rock shelter. Over the next few nights matters did not improve—the only accommodations were dirty cabin floors on which to sleep. Chapman’s sole positive experience during this part of the trip was a comfortable breakfast given him by a Mrs. Goodwin, a very clean nice Woman. Finally, after leaving Kentucky via the Cumberland Gap and proceeding east across the Clinch River, Chapman’s party stayed at Mr. Craigies’s Tavern, where they found ourselves exceedingly comfortable …, besides getting each of us a good Bed and clean Sheets, things we had not seen since leaving Kentucky.⁶

Chapman’s commentary on Kentucky taverns offers clues to his expectations; his idea of a good tavern included a good Bed, that is, one that preferably was not shared and whose sheets were clean, decent food for himself and feed for his horse, and amiable, civil company. Though not stated explicitly, Chapman’s attitude was that of someone whose self-worth suggested a sense of superiority over the average Kentuckian, who, he implies, was frequently dirty, ate homely food, and on the whole lacked refinement. His was a common opinion, and others expressed themselves much more forcefully. An unidentified traveler in 1791 wrote, the Taverns are generally wretched … and you are charged extravagantly for the worst fare; should a man go to Kentuckey, who could eat neither milk nor bacon, his case would be pitiable.⁷

Though many travelers found much to criticize about Kentucky’s frontier accommodations, conditions improved rapidly as settlement density increased. One traveler, whose anonymous account was published in 1834, attributed the disparity in roadside business quality to differentials in the geography of roads.⁸ Tavern presence and quality, he observed, corresponded directly to the importance of the road being traveled. Main roads connecting important points attracted more travelers and generally had more places to stay. A little advance planning was all that was needed for people moving along these routes to identify the best houses, with palatable food and comfortable lodgings. He distinguished regular hotels and taverns from houses of entertainment, the latter kept by farmers who did not hold liquor licenses or sell liquor but simply offered food and lodging to infrequent travelers. The addition of a spare room, with two or three neat beds for strangers, is usually the only preparation made by those who engage in this business, and although the fare is sometimes very coarse, the traveler often finds more comfort at these places, than at better furnished hotels. The traveler perceptively recognized that people who supplied such minimal services were simply local people who were not obliged to serve the public but were essentially doing travelers a favor. He described the process by which the practice arose:

When a road begins to be traveled, through an entirely new country, there are no taverns, and the travelers are obliged to seek shelter and food at the houses of the farmers, who entertain them gratuitously—but the number [of travelers] at length increases, so as to render that kind of hospitality burthensome, and the farmers request some one of their number, to relieve them from such calls, by making the reception of strangers a matter of business; or some one whose house is so situated as to be more exposed than others to the visits of travelers, determines to receive pay for that which his hospitable nature will not permit him to refuse, and which he cannot afford to bestow gratuitously. He agrees therefore to feed the horse of the traveler, and to furnish him with such accommodations as his house affords, for a trifling compensation—but he makes no contract to do any more—and, as the whole arrangement is the result of an accommodating spirit, and is made for the benefit of the stranger, and the public convenience, it is justly considered that the advantage is mutual, and that the party is really receiving a civility, which a person of a correct mode of thinking would consider enhanced by being permitted to pay for it.⁹

In this way, roadside residents, be they farmers in the open countryside or villagers, found early on that they could supplement their modest incomes by expanding their homes and taking in travelers for cash.

Discerning travelers soon recognized that accommodation quality varied according to the clients served, and whether such places operated as a business dedicated to