A Modest Proposal

This appeared on Sunday, April 1, 2007

Although I am certain he means well, the new legislation that state Sen. Andy Dinniman, D-19th, of West Whiteland, introduced at a sparsely attended session of the Legislature last week seems to me to be, well, shall we say, a trifle odd.

His legislation, SB 90210, is termed the ”Chester County Open Space Creation Act of 2007.“ When you get past most of the legislative gobbledygook that these documents always include (”Whereas …“ ”Be it therefore resolved …“ ”The General Assembly of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania hereby enacts ...“ ”The term ’Dinniman‘ shall refer to the all-knowing, all-seeing, all-powerful Legislator from Exton …“) what it comes down to is that Sen. Andy is tired of seeing open space in Chester County simply preserved; he now wants to actually make more of it.

Which I admit is a pretty nifty idea on its face. But somehow draining Marsh Creek State Park Lake and filling it in with prime topsoil from Carbon County appears to pose some engineering obstacles that might prove nettlesome, to say the least.

To his credit, Dinniman is optimistic about his plan.

"What a worthy goal this extensively researched legislation aspires to," the county‘s lone Democratic senator said in prepared comments. "For far too long, the waters of Marsh Creek Lake have taken up too much room, when that acreage could instead be a fertile plain among the landscape of Uwchlan Township, giving homeowners a place to walk their dogs, provided they are leashed.

"We all know that we can‘t just sit idly by while developers rape and pillage our hills and valleys and meadows and compost farms," Dinniman continued. "We‘ve got to be pro-active about this. What better way to start creating new open space than by also creating a massive civil service project that would bring new jobs to the underemployed in northern Chester County. Like, those so-called ’soccer‘ moms I see sipping Starbucks at Exton Square in the middle of the day. Don‘t they have a game to go to?"

Regarding the environmental impact of draining a 535-acre lake, Dinniman stated: "Impact, schmimpact. We‘ll grow grass there, and in my book green is good. Except for that moldy stuff that forms on my dog‘s teeth when we don‘t give him the right snacks."

At this point, it appears the biggest fallout over Dinniman‘s bill has been the introduction by state Rep. Carole Rubley of another piece of legislation, seemingly put together to keep her potential rival from getting the lead in the fast-developing Open Space Race.

Rubley, R-157th, of Tredyffrin, said her bill, HB 4-01-2007, the ”Even Better Chester County Open Space Creation Act“ would tackle two problems at once — making more open space and reducing rush-hour traffic.

"I know it would be expensive to tear down the entire Great Valley Corporate Center and return it to the farmland it once was," Rubley said. "But come on! How many cars would that take off 202 at the worst time of day, and how many more ears of corn could it put in the stalls at the West Chester Growers‘ Market? You do the math."

Me, I‘m reserving judgment on the entire thing.

P.S. Check the date on this posting.

Five Miles of Bad Road

This appeared Oct. 29, 2006

If you look at Route 100 as it winds through West Vincent and East Nantmeal and South Coventry, it doesn‘t look ominous. Just a red stripe on the page, with that benign circular ”100“ posted on its spine.

But earlier this month, that stretch of Route 100 that runs north from Ludwig‘s Corner to Pughtown swallowed another human being, as it has with sad regularity over the years.

This time it was 17-year-old Austin Dilanni who skidded on the wet road as he tried to make the curve of the road just north of Horseshoe Trail. The senior at Bishop Shanahan was pronounced dead at the scene.

There are bad roads in Chester County, and there are dangerous intersections, too. But none stand out in the minds of people who drive it every day, or who have read these pages about its hazards, like that run of Route 100.


Since 2001, the 4.85 miles of highway between Route 401 and Route 23 has claimed seven lives -- two in 2002, one in 2003, two again in 2004, one in 2005, as well as Dilanni‘s this year.

I got those figures from Gene Blaum, the man who has been the spokesman for the local district of the state Department of Transportation since the very idea of transportation became popular. The numbers are just statistics to Blaum; he‘s very aware of the fatalities on Route 100, and spent a few moments with me talking about the tragedy of Dilanni‘s death.

Dilanni, you see, was a hockey player at Shanahan, someone Blaum‘s own children were aware of. Blaum guessed he had been coming home from practice in West Goshen that night and lost control on the S-curve that had become slick with rain..

There have been attempts made to calm the situation on that stretch of Route 100. State Rep. Curt Schroder, R-155th, of East Brandywine, has taken charge of the situation as best he could to try to get changes made to the road‘s structure, and township officials have spoken about the need for safety enhancements there, but there is only so much politicians can do, even in Chester County.

I received an e-mail from a man last week, obviously distressed about the situation on Route 100, given Dilanni‘s death. Couldn‘t we publicize the nature of the road there to warn drivers and alert residents to the dangers?

We‘ve been doing that for years, I responded. I don‘t know what more we can do, I thought.

Then I remembered the weekend trip I made to the Laurel Highlands of western Pennsylvania.
Driving aimlessly and enjoying the fall foliage, I found myself at the summit of Laurel Mountain.

Along the side of the highway was one of the largest road signs I‘d ever encountered -- a warning about the dangerous hill ahead that seemingly came complete with exclamation points. Pull over now! Check your brakes, it ordered truckers! Go slow, it warned the rest of us! This is a long, windy, steep hill that is going to eat you alive if you‘re not careful!!

So I was.

Perhaps that‘s what we need just north of the Ludwig‘s Corner Fire Co. -- a 20 foot tall sign that tells drivers about the danger ahead, about the chance that Route 100 won‘t just be an annoyance today but a full-fledged tragedy. Something with big red flashing lights.

It can‘t hurt. Because that snake of a road should not swallow another soul.

Roadside Shrines

This appeared May 7, 2006




Another fatal car crash last week brought another roadside tribute.
This time the makeshift shrine appeared on Pigeon Creek Road in South Coventry, the site of an accident that claimed the life of a 17-year-old Owen J. Roberts student one week ago today.
Over the years, the custom of creating memorials to a loved one killed in crashes has taken root across Chester County. One recalls seeing them on North High Street across from the West Chester Golf and Country Club, the site of two fatalities last August, as well as at the intersection of New and Gay streets outside St. Agnes, where a young motorcyclist was killed that same month.
The flowers and photos and letters that marked those memorials were gone within a few weeks after the accidents. But driving along the county's roads, a driver's eye might still catch sight of a shrine that has stood for years, and whose presence is a mystery to all but those loved ones for whom it is a marker of pain and of remembrance.
I have in mind one such site, at an intersection I pass through regularly.
At the spot where Valley Creek Road becomes Quarry Road as it crosses Boot Road, just past the so-called "twin tunnels" in East Caln, stands a white cross dedicated to the memory of two young men who did not know one another but who died in the same accident in November 1991.
Richard Cabott, then 23 years old, and Gregory Brownback, then 24, died because a 26-year-old Exton man had too much to drink that night and ran through the stop sign at the intersection, taking the back roads home to hide his drunkeness from police.
Cabott was a passenger in the drunken man's car; Brownback was driving his 1989 GMC pickup home.
I first noticed the cross after meeting the families of the victims of that crash, and writing the story of their anger and pain over the loss of life. For years I lost track of it, not having any reason to pass by the location, but now have come to see it regularly and view it as a stark reminder of loss.
The cross is well-kept and sturdy. It is planted well into the ground, giving you the sense that it is not coming down anytime soon.
Some states are taking action against such shrines, seeing them as safety concerns and a distraction to drivers. The folks at PennDOT say they have no regulations as to how long roadside shrines stay up - temporary ones with flowers and photos generally are removed by the families of the dead soon afterwards.
Crosses like the one paying tribute to Richard Cabott and Gregory Brownback may never come down; only if they become a safety hazard will officials take action.
I've thought hard trying to understand why the memorials go up in the first place. What draws the crowd to the scene of a tragic crash? How much grief can be eased by the placement of a cross at a crossroads? Why tributes only to those who die violently?
Then I remembered my visit to Cincinnati last month.
Driving back to my sister's house after an errand to the local grocery store, I took a right turn when I should have continued straight, and stopped a block away at a nondescript two- story building.
I gently left the car running and crossed the street so I could see a dark window close to the corner of the building. I stayed for only a moment, turned and left.
Seeing the place where my mother died always connects me to her, even if I don't leave flowers.