A look back on the remarkable events of 2000’s Spur 281 protest

By Kathy Anderson

It began with two phone calls.

The first came from Jim Ross. He’d been in touch with Paul Tompkins, a movie producer originally from Oklahoma City who’d gone west to Hollywood. Tompkins was back in town, hoping to produce a 1964-era black comedy called Coyote Flats, named for a fictional Route 66 town in Oklahoma. Paul was looking for feedback on the script from a 66er viewpoint and Jim thought my input would be helpful, especially since I had produced and shot two Route 66 videos.

We got together with Paul and gave him our thoughts. He then wondered if we had any ideas on where it could be shot along Oklahoma 66. We provided several ideas, but as he researched possibilities, nothing quite matched what he had in mind. He did find a town, miles and miles from the Route, that intrigued him. He wondered out loud if it would be possible to locate and move some discarded Route 66 roadbed into the town, so it would have some genuine 66 in it. I thought, privately, the idea was pretty farfetched. Where would the roadbed come from? Who would willingly give up it up? And the cost! But then, this was a Hollywood mindset. Thinking big was to be expected.

1932 bridge that carried Historic Route 66 across Canyon View Creek in 1999. Photo by Kathy Anderson.

The second phone call came from an intern at the Smithsonian. The Museum was looking for Route 66 artifacts for their upcoming America on the Move exhibit. They were hoping to find abandoned, unwanted structures that weren’t too far gone but might be in imminent peril if not rescued. Specifically, the intern inquired about telephone booth-sized gas stations. I certainly hadn’t seen anything like that along Oklahoma’s stretch of 66. In fact, I didn’t even know they existed. But I did round up some photos of smaller structures and sent them off, staying in touch.

Setting the Stage for the Spur 281 Protest

At the time, I was Secretary of the Oklahoma Route 66 Association. In 1999, we learned ODOT (Oklahoma Department of Transportation) was planning to four-lane S.H. 3/U.S. 270 from Woodward to Seiling to Watonga. The project extended southward from Watonga on U.S. 281 to Greenfield and Geary.

Part of this project impacted Route 66. Specifically, the routing south of Geary and eastward on the U.S. 281 Spur, part of the 1932 Route 66 alignment. The wonderfully unexpected and steep "Bridgeport Hill,” located just east of the Pony Bridge, is on the Spur. The fear was that in trying to four-lane this connection, the original two-lane Portland Cement Concrete stretch on Bridgeport Hill itself would be ripped apart to create a four-lane road. Even the steep grade itself might be cut down to meet current highway grade standards.

Undated photo of Bridgeport Hill, ODOT archives

The Oklahoma Route 66 Association sprang into action to find out more. Association board member Carol Duncan contacted Brent Almquist, ODOT Division V engineer, for information and help. He contacted the Roadway Design Division for the project plans. The preliminary good news was, rather than trying to widen the Spur as it travels Bridgeport Hill, the new pathway would bypass the Hill to the east and head NNW to hook onto current U.S. 281 just south of Geary.

Little did we realize at the time exactly what that meant.

It turned out ODOT planned to rip out 2.4 miles of the original 1932 pavement located between Exit 108 on I-40 (the easternmost of the two Cherokee Trading Posts) and the ruins of the old gas station located near the top of Bridgeport Hill. This meant the remarkably well-preserved concrete roadbed with its distinctive rolled curbs and drains as well as a 1932 concrete-and-steel bridge with an inset FAP marker would be torn out. It also meant a very long, uninterrupted stretch of original concrete paving was about to be cut into two. The ruins, however, would not be impacted.

As it became clear what ODOT's intentions were, Jim Ross and I alerted the Daily Oklahoman, Internet friends of Route 66, and the National Historic Route 66 Federation. Cheryl Nowka (webmaster of our Association's first web site and Lucille Hamons’ daughter; they donated a sign from the motel behind Lucille’s to the Smithsonian) took the bull by the horns and rounded up a list of politicians and ODOT officials we could e-mail. Jim and I made several appearances on Mike McCarville's “Open Mike Live” radio show on KTOK. Cheryl even persuaded KFOR Channel 4 to do a story on the situation.

Newspaper articles were written. Emails and letters were sent. But it became clear the roadbed was destined for destruction. We were simply too late.

This was not the first time we found out about plans after it was too late. The Association was always in reactive mode. One by one, bridges were being lost. Oklahoma had a lot of wonderful road features along Route 66, more than some other states. Some might have argued we had plenty to spare, so losing a few was not a big deal. But we knew it was a slippery slope. Somehow, we had to shift from reactive to proactive.

So, it seemed fitting to hold a protest along that stretch of Spur 281/66. That way we could make our point plus say a very public farewell. Preservation-minded residents from El Reno organized the event to coincide with the arrival of a Learning Channel documentary crew from Conspiracy Theory Productions who were shooting a Route 66 video. The date was set: Tuesday, March 28, 2000.

Protest Day

Jim Ross had been scouting the area ahead of time and had made contact with the job superintendent. He discovered they had been instructed (presumably by ODOT) to help us out in any way possible. And indeed, the crew went out of their way to find us a good spot to park and protest. They understood we just wanted to make a peaceful grand gesture. We all knew the old roadbed was a lost cause.

A small but dedicated group of protesters gathered at the Cherokee Trading Post in Canadian County on March 28th. While we were eating breakfast, several key people from the demolition company were also there.

A protestor holds a homemade sign amidst the red dirt. Photo by Kathy Anderson.

That’s when I had a chance to visit with the job superintendent. I was somewhat familiar with demolition and construction, thanks to my then-job with an advertising agency that worked with construction equipment companies. So, I asked about the removal process. I was thinking maybe there was a way for Tompkins to get his real 66 roadbed after all. The superintendent said because the roadbed was in such good shape, they’d be able to remove large slabs at a time—no problem.

So, I tucked that tidbit away in my mind to be dealt with later. My mind raced ahead to what I needed to do when we arrived onsite.

I had arranged for wooden signs to be painted with a Burma Shave-like jingle I wrote for the event:

Paved in 1932

With Portland Cement Concrete

Now the Highway Dept.

Its proud history will Delete

Save Route 66

I had also made 3 smallish protest signs that could easily be held. I printed out the message “Preserve US 66” and glued it onto the face of generic wooden shield shapes I had purchased at Hobby Lobby. The plan was to hand those out to anyone who didn’t bring their own sign.

And I was wondering just how many people would actually make it out to the protest. Would we look like losers in the eyes of the media? Would they portray us in a negative light?

Various members of the press caught up with us at the restaurant. We chatted and gave interviews. We then all headed west out to the doomed section of Route 66.

Preparing the roadside signage. Photo by Kathy Anderson.

As the Burma Shave-like protest signs were hammered into the ground, two television stations and the Learning Channel video crew that came for the event swooped in. The documentary crew had also brought Lucille Hamons, at her request. She had taken the time to get all dressed up and was determined to protest her road’s destruction. The fact that the rest of us were in jeans made her presence even more noteworthy.

I welcomed her and asked if she’d like one of my shield-like protest signs. She took it without hesitation. When she held the sign up, the media went crazy.

Lucille Hamons stands in front of a row of protestors along the old pavement. Photo by Kathy Anderson.

There were about a dozen of us there. Most held signs and all of us waved at the cars and trucks whizzing by. Many waved or honked back, we hoped in sympathy. It was then I noticed signs 3 and 4 of Burma Shave-like signs were set up in the wrong order. There was also a misspelling: Its had become It’s. I internally groaned and hoped no press or media crew tried to get a sequential shot of them all.

Standing by the side of the road, I felt someone isolated and bitter. Few people had turned out. That was symptomatic of what we were seeing from the board standpoint. We appreciated our loyal members but wished more would become active. Then there was the landscape itself. The road crews had been busy carving out new lanes, yet there was so much empty land out there. Seeing how wide open the whole area was, I couldn’t understand why ODOT didn't make the old roadbed a frontage road, like it had for the sections that parallel I-40. Or, incorporate it into one-half of the new four lane

The Spur 281 section before and after (animated)

A hindsight note: I found out later many members of the Association, including board members, thought the idea of a protest was too radical. In fact, when I was elected President, some expressed fears there would be more protests. I had to reassure them the Spur 281 protest was a unique situation.

Smithsonian Benefits from Post-Protest Media Feeding Frenzy

Newspaper and TV station coverage began that evening and continued for several days. The documentary crew interviewed Neal McCaleb, head of ODOT. It quickly became apparent ODOT was embarrassed and defensive, because of the negative publicity.

A day or two after the protest, I got in touch with the Smithsonian intern. I explained that although I still hadn’t been able to locate a small gas station, I did know of genuine Route 66 roadbed in great shape and was slated for destruction. I assured the somewhat-flabbergasted intern ODOT would bend over backward to help them. I knew it would be the ideal way for ODOT to offset the terrible press. I even told the Smithsonian intern the backstory as reassurance.

Later I found out a number of other roadies who had previously been contacted by the Smithsonian also reached out to them and mentioned the roadbed.

When the news broke that the Smithsonian had contacted ODOT about the pavement, none of the media thought to contact the Oklahoma Route 66 Association about the turn of events. But newspapers did contact author Michael Wallis for a quote. He spoke for all of us when he pointed out that "the road itself is a living museum" and Route 66 fans don't want the alignment tampered with. But, if a section is going to be ripped out, it is better to have it someplace where people can appreciate it than buried in a landfill or discarded by the side of the road as a heap of rubble.

So, although ODOT’s Neal McCaleb took credit for the good deed of donating roadbed, we knew it was Oklahoma Route 66ers who set the stage. We never tried to make public our role. We deliberately let ODOT have the publicity win.

I admit at the time I did feel a little guilty about hijacking the pavement from a possible movie. But I was more than okay with the outcome.

The Aftermath

Oklahoman News Article about the protest

March 29th, 2000

On June 27th, a number of Association members along with members of the State Historic Preservation Office met with several officials from the Oklahoma Department of Transportation Planning Division.

During the Spur 281 protest, our Association requested to be put on the environmental impact early notification list for any projects that might affect Oklahoma Route 66. I believe Melvena Heisch of SHPO (State Historic Preservation Office) is the one who actually got us on the list. As a result, when ODOT began considering some projects for Lincoln County, we were notified. Hence the June 27 meeting.

Now, for the first time, we were being asked by ODOT to a meeting. It was heady stuff!

During the meeting, they were quite interested in finding out what our priorities/concerns were about the Road. They admitted the furor raised over the Spur 281 section was one they did not wish to go through again. Our Association President, John Ackenhausen, made it very clear that where old paving still exists, its preservation was our first concern. Same with the truss bridges. But if the road had already been paved over, then preserving buildings/roadside structures was foremost.

We stressed the Road was a tourist attraction, our unique bridges were rare along the Route, and travelers really enjoyed them. The old bridges, like the old paving, are hallmarks of being truly on 66.

During the meeting, I discovered what I thought was a fascinating distinction between the Historic Preservation community and members of our Association. For preservationists, if a structure cannot be salvaged, it should not be replaced with something similar. It would be dishonest, like Disneylanding the 66 experience. From the Association's perspective, it would be nice to replace a too-narrow truss bridge with a wider truss one—it would maintain that time travel feeling.

Both views thought if either of the options was not workable, then perhaps putting in an interesting-looking bridge would be preferable over a vanilla one that drivers simply zipped across.

No promises were made at the meeting—it was, after all, just to notify us that ODOT was planning on doing some work. But now they knew what we felt about 66. There were no surprises—and that was the whole point.

The rest of 2000 in the rearview mirror

Lucille Hamons passed away August 18. The Learning Channel documentary was set to air December 15, 2000. December 15, 2000. I’ve no idea how many people saw it, but it can be seen today on YouTube (embedded below.) Our protest leads the documentary.

The protest segment is at 06:22

Looking back on the protest, although it was a defeat at the time, it was a victory too. It set the stage for a better relationship with ODOT. And, of course, the Smithsonian has authentic Oklahoma Route 66 roadbed.

As for the movie Coyote Flats? It was never made. Tompkins now has a revised version called Buffalo Gap. He’s hoping to find funding and may have the ear of some folks in the Cherokee Nation.

A version of this story will appear in the revived Route 66 Pulse by Mother Road Enterprises.

The Oklahoma Backstory to the Smithsonian’s Section of Oklahoma Route 66 Roadbed