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Save Our Bridge!
How a small town went up against PennDot over an even smaller local monument—and won.

HE'LL BUY THAT FOR A DOLLAR: Local canoe outfitter Rick Rasmussen (opposite) offered PennDot $1.06 for the Mortonville bridge — and it might have been his if it weren't for the insurance premiums. © 2005 JOHN WYNN www.wynnphoto.com

After 30 years, the consensus in the tiny village of Mortonville was that something had to be done. And fast. Their tiny bridge — which had outlasted 180 years of weather, wars and modern transportation milestones — was literally being shaken apart by the 40-ton trucks crossing it daily.

Enter the East Fallowfield Township Historic Commission, which took up the cause of the Mortonville bridge four years ago, setting in motion a dispute that has helped change the way PennDot does business.

"We've been among those who've said, 'No, you can't do this. There has to be a better way,'" says commission chair Paula Coyne. "And it appears they've finally decided to listen."

Coyne found an ally in SAVE, Inc., a Kennett Square advocacy group whose 3,000 members include some of the region's wealthiest, politically savvy individuals. Theirs was another key voice in a running tiff between the mighty PennDot bureaucracy and a Chester County town so tiny it isn't on most maps — one that eventually came to a happy resolution.

As of now, a plan is being readied that will strengthen and widen the existing bridge. If all goes smoothly, construction will begin in 2008. For at least a year, the bridge will be closed. Anyone wanting to cross Brandywine Creek will face as much as a 13-mile detour. Some would say that's the only negative thing to come out of this whole David-and-Goliath saga.

"What's happening here is a success, so a lot of people will take credit for it — and that's fine for us" says Andrew Warren, executive director of PennDot's District 6. "SAVE has been part of it. I think they assume too much of a good thing. But they have had an impact."

Mortonville's narrow, 230-foot-long stone bridge was built in 1826 to take Strasburg Road over the west branch of the Brandywine Creek. PennDot will maintain the historical character of the site by carefully texturing newer parts of the bridge to look old. But what the state has in store beyond that is hardly the update one would expect. Typically the agency adheres to the highest engineering standards possible, then uses stonework, landscaping and even site-specific works of art to make what's new and improved seem quaint, scenic or — as with some stretches of the Blue Route — so peculiar as to draw your eyes away from a road.

What's coming to Mortonville is something quite different indeed. And that's the way everyone wants it.

When the new bridge opens, two vehicles driving in opposite directions, be they Hummers or Minis, will still have to slow down to pass comfortably. For the first time in its history, PennDot is deliberately turning an old, inadequate piece of roadway into a new, inadequate piece of roadway.

And chances are this is just the beginning.

For the next few years, cases like Mortonville will be more than a blip on PennDot's radar screen.

"From a statewide standpoint, our focus has shifted to bridges," says Garry Hoffman, Pennsylvania's deputy secretary of transportation. "We're looking at our bridges from a more rigorous asset-management standard. We want to ramp up [spending] to $450 million to include $100 million in preservation-type treatments. Mortonville, and a whole lot of other bridges, will be examples of that."

BRIDGE SO FAR: SAVE's Dee Durham (seated) and the East Fallowfield Township Historic Commission's Paula Coyne, perched near the Mortonville bridge, which is slated for renovation in 2008. © 2005 JOHN WYNN www.wynnphoto.com

There are currently 2,720 bridges in District 6, the region that includes Bucks, Montgomery, Delaware, Philadelphia and Chester counties. Of that number, roughly one in four are either functionally obsolete (so antiquated they're an obstacle) or structurally deficient (falling apart, or in danger of doing so). That doesn't mean one out of every four bridges is on the verge of collapse. But it does mean that about 650 are in bad shape.

PennDot doesn't actually fix bridges. It inspects them, hires engineers to design improvements, handles community and government approvals of designs, awards construction contracts and monitors construction. The agency is pretty good at handling emergencies. When elevated portions of I-95 are damaged by a severe accident, or when bridges are washed out by the flash-flooding that has plagued the region over the last few years, PennDot can repair or replace those bridges in a matter of months or even weeks.

But when it comes to the structurally deficient or the functionally obsolete, PennDot takes its cue from the Delaware Valley Planning Commission, which prioritizes all major roadwork in our region. Bridges that aren't high on the list can stay open for years, with height or weight restrictions imposed. In some extreme cases, PennDot closes the bridge entirely. Of the 75 bridges with posted limits in District 6, 29 are in Chester County, with 12 in Montgomery County and two in Delaware County. Of the 17 that are closed, five are in Chester County and four are in Montgomery County.

From now through 2008, PennDot expects to spend $360 million improving as many as 150 bridges, providing the process goes smoothly — and it can take the agency awhile to get the job done. Once PennDot commits to repairing or replacing a bridge, the basic approval and design process typically takes about two years.

And then there's Mortonville.

Four years ago, Rick Rasmussen was all set to buy the Mortonville Bridge for the bargain price of $1, plus 6 cents sales tax. And, no, it wasn't a scam.

In an effort to rid itself of hundreds of obsolete bridges throughout the state, PennDot came up with the Adopt-a-Bridge program. Under this initiative, after a modern bridge renders the old one unnecessary, the latter is closed and a community organization (typically a county or township historical society) assumes responsibility for its preservation.

Rasmussen liked the look of the 1826 span. He'd admired the scenic appeal of Mortonville since 1985, when he opened a canoe rental and outdoor recreation business on the southeast bank of the river. In the 1990s, he'd been part of a citizens group that had advocated saving the bridge because it and some of 19th-century buildings nearby are on the National Register of Historic Sites.

Rasmussen thought the bridge might make a great fishing pier, or offer room to expand his business in some way. He already owned land on the creek surrounding the bridge, which he uses as a boat and picnic area. All said and done, $1.06 for the bridge was a steal.

At public meetings with PennDot officials, Rasmussen was told construction of the new bridge would disrupt the peaceful community for a year or more. But he was willing to put up with that if the result would bring a better bridge. While a new, wide, thoroughly up-to-date span was erected adjacent to the old one, the latter would stay open to allow canoers easy access to his business. Doing roadwork while keeping roads open — and avoiding the detours that could have negative impacts on local commerce and lifestyle — was the way PennDot did business (or tried to) in the 1980s.

Then it came to Rasmussen's attention that the span would require a wider access road, thus forcing the demolition of an old mill and millrace at the southeast corner of Strasburg and Laurel roads. It would also bring traffic closer to the front door of his business. On the seemingly positive side, the new bridge would provide improved sight lines. But there was a catch: When a road is clear and open, drivers tend to go faster.

As it is now, there have been no reported accidents involving the Mortonville bridge in at least 30 years. The old span was built at a time when the widest vehicles around were horse-drawn buggies. It's so narrow that any sensible driver is compelled to slow down, especially when another car is coming the other way. That's seen as a good thing to those living nearby.

There are other ways to slow drivers — signs, flashing lights, oversized guard rails. All of these were popular with PennDot in the previous decade, when it was reasonable to assume that most drivers would take heed.

Rasmussen was beginning to think a flashing light might be a good idea when something else prevented him from being the first man in the state to adopt a bridge — and it had nothing to do with safety or quality of life. He couldn't afford to insure the thing.

"It was just too much for me," he says. "I got the impression from PennDot that if I didn't adopt it, they'd just demolish it and take it away."

So, in 2002, Rasmussen joined forces with the Fallowfield Township Historical Commission's Coyne, who'd been opposed to PennDot's plans since 1980, when the agency first expressed interest in replacing the bridge.

"It is a beautiful bridge and a vital historical resource," Coyne says. "If you slow down when driving across it, you can see the name of the bridge builder on a stone set into the western side. You get a wonderful view of the creek looking west. On the eastern side is an old mill with the millrace still visible. To demolish it and replace it would do irreparable damage to the character of Mortonville and the entire region."

In the early '80s, Coyne's commission successfully fought an early PennDot plan to replace the bridge with a new span. "They set up a pattern in which they would have all these meetings and say, 'We have to do this right away, but it has to be done this way and no other.' And when any of us would disagree, they would let the project drop and go away for a few years," Coyne recalls. "Then they'd come back and say, 'You'd better let us have our way or nothing.' And if we objected to that, they'd go away again."

Chuck Davis, the engineer in charge of District 6's bridges, says there was nothing calculated or deliberate in PennDot's handling of the Mortonville bridge. "There are priorities based on levels of urgency," he explains. "We were informed about Mortonville by the govermment of East Fallowfield. The project was important from the start. If we seemed to go away, it was because we had other, far more urgent matters demanding our attention."

Both Davis and Coyne agree on one thing: It should not have taken 30 years to come up with a plan — or more accurately, a consensus that would shape a plan — for Mortonville.

In the '90s, Coyne headed off more complicated plans until the agency came up with a replacement strategy that would build a new bridge but "turnback" the old span. Coyne stuck to her guns: The old span should be fixed, not abandoned. She'd heard about SAVE, an organization that had advocated for a modern English roundabout at the intersection of Old Baltimore Pike and Route 41 north of Avondale. In the last decade, roundabouts, with broad sight lines and curving approaches, have been presented as an efficient traffic-calming alternative to timed stoplights in complex intersections.

Founded in 1997, SAVE has since expanded to embrace a number of causes, including open space and farmland preservation and the protection of covered bridges. The organization has clout: George Strawbridge Jr. and W.B. Dixon Stroud are among the honorary board members, and artist Jamie Wyeth was a sponsor at a SAVE fundraising shindig.

Dee Durham, SAVE's executive director, says PennDot's response to the Mortonville bridge was indicative of an agency that has been fending off tort liability for years. Translation: Like any state agency, PennDot doesn't like lawsuits.

"They tend to direct road and bridge improvements within a very narrow focus of looking solely at 'traffic needs.' And they attempt to minimize liability by building to maximum recommended engineering standards, even if those maximums aren't warranted," says Durham. "This can have extensive, undesirable secondary consequences."

With the Mortonville bridge, says Durham, PennDot was practicing a policy of "demolition by neglect."

"This isn't something specific to Penn Dot," she points out. "It happens all over the country, when a community wants to preserve a structure that is old and at risk. The agency has meetings. Nothing is resolved. Meanwhile, the structure continues to deteriorate until it is beyond saving. Then the agency comes back and says, 'You have to demolish this structure to make way for what we want.'"

PennDot's Warren denies that the agency has done any such thing in Mortonville — or any other project under its control. "It is true that we don't have resources to fix everything that needs to be fixed. That's a reality," says Warren. "But saying that we would just let something fall down — I don't think that's accurate and I don't think that's fair."

Warren freely admits that PennDot does everything it can to avoid lawsuits. "Shame on the public agency that's so cavalier in its oversight of public tax dollars that it doesn't take into account potential liability standards," Warren says. "Having said that, it is also PennDot's policy, both in District 6 and statewide, that we are not totally driven by maximum standards. While we may start at that point, we look at each issue individually. There are conditions that exist in a place such as Mortonville that allow for some leeway or interpretation of absolute standards."

That leeway came to fruition last summer, when the parties compromised on what will be the new-but-not-completely-improved Mortonville bridge. The compromise, Durham says, is indicative of new trend in state government called "context sensitivity," in which secondary environmental consequences of government policy also are considered before action is taken.

PennDot bridge engineer Davis says the agency has always been context sensitive in the way it replaces or repairs historical spans. "Everything we do is geared toward the site and the needs of the people who live near it."

The current understanding is that the existing bridge will be strengthened and widened in such a way that its western facade will remain intact, thus preserving its historical character. The eastern side will be widened, by exactly how much has yet to be determined. Depending on your perspective on things, it will either be too narrow or not quite wide enough.

"It will look so old you wouldn't know it was new," says Davis. And at the very least, that might just encourage drivers to slow down and enjoy the scenery.

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As seen in Main Line Today February 2006 - Copyright 2006