This stretch of road is one of the scariest I’ve ever been on. Here’s a little history about it.
When GEN David H. Petraeus ‘74 comes to West Point to attend his 35th Reunion this afternoon, he also will attend a ceremony for the re-naming of about a mile of County Route 107 in Cornwall, NY, currently known as Quaker Avenue, in his honor. GEN Petraeus was raised in Cornwall-on-Hudson, graduated from Cornwall High School, and then entered West Point, just eight miles away. Now Quaker Avenue connects to Highway 9W and has exit signs that are very prominent, but a more interesting section of road to re-name in the general’s honor would have been a lesser-known stretch of two-lane highway. Specifically, that section between West Point and Cornwall-on-Hudson of what is now known as New York Highway 218, the construction of which was a cause célèbre in the early 20th Century.
Traveling north from Washington Gate along 218, it is exactly one mile to Lee Gate, now permanently closed as a post-September 11th security measure, with large boulders marked with reflective tape and positioned to reinforce the decorative steel gate. Continuing north, one negotiates another mile of curving, twisting road, sometimes in relatively benign terrain, at other times clinging to the side of Storm King Mountain, with only a stone wall preventing one from plunging to the Hudson River fall below. This is also the section of the highway that experienced a major washout a few years back. After that one mile, there is a large, flat, angled rock incorporated into the stone wall. Perhaps it is a neglected historical marker worn smooth; more likely, it is a marker never completed, due to lack of time, funding, inclination or appropriateness. It could have been pressed into service as a marker for GEN Petraeus.
The next mile again is varied, although always twisting, with the mountain on one side but with some flat areas on the other, with no stone wall required. At other times, however, the drop off beyond the wall is over 200 feet. At the end of this mile, a large rock extends noticeably over the roadway to announce the last, short climb to the highest point on the road before the long descent into the “lower village” of Cornwall-on-Hudson a mile away.
Near the highest point, one finds a miniscule parking area between the road surface and the damaged stone wall on the river side. It only has enough space for two cars, or three mini-Coopers. Innocent in appearance, this little overlook, with a magnificent view of Bannerman’s Island (actually, Polopel Island) and the Newburgh-Beacon Bridge, has been the scene of at least two deaths in recent memory. The fatalities both were adventuresome tourists who, at different times, climbed over the wall to some rock outcroppings on the other side and fell to their deaths below, some say blown off by gusts of wind. A third death occurred from an avalanche in a snowstorm, but that is another story. Some time ago, chain link gates were erected just beyond Washington Gate and at Cornwall-on-Hudson to close the road when significant rain or snow increases the danger of slides, but there is nothing to dissuade wall climbers.
From the village entrance, it is about three miles to the junction with Highway 9W (the newer, upper road over the mountain) and the end of Highway 218. It is that earlier distance of four miles—from Washington Gate to the village limits—however, that most concerns us. When this short stretch opened in October 1922, it was described as the “new world’s most difficult engineering project” and “America’s boldest and most picturesque mountain roadway.” As a portion of then-State Route 3, it was touted as “the last link in an unbroken river highway between New York [City] and Albany.” But it wasn’t easy.
Discussions began as early as 1904, but by 1913 little had been accomplished. The federal government was concerned about providing a right of way through the West Point military reservation. New York State suggested digging a tunnel through Storm King Mountain, while the newly-formed Palisades Park Commission favored the “outside” route eventually adopted. A new survey was ordered that occasionally involved lowering men and all of their surveying equipment on ropes down the side of the mountain. At other times, a small cannon borrowed from West Point was used to shoot cans of paint against the mountain so that the colored splotches could be used as survey points. When final approval was received, a quarry of the Storm King Stone Company at the base of the mountain had to be condemned. By 1916, work was begun, but the stone company would not grant access across its property, so some machinery had to travel down the mountainside, negotiating dense woods in the process, and cement had to be packed in by mule.
Avoiding damage to buildings down by the river from rocks displaced by the extensive blasting required was a major concern—as was removing debris from the lines of the West Shore Railroad and repairing damaged rails and ties. When the nation became involved in World War I, skilled labor became in short supply, and the cost of necessary supplies and materials escalated. The four miles of road eventually cost one million dollars, and the anticipated opening in July 1922 had to be postponed. When the roadway did open in October, with little fanfare, the expected boon to the fortunes of Cornwall (the “upper village”) and Cornwall-on-Hudson did not materialize. What did materialize were traffics jams, as anyone with an automobile and a free afternoon wanted to try the new route. Another result: the bandstand that proudly stood in the middle of the intersection at the center of the “lower village” (Cornwall-on-Hudson) had to be moved to a safer location at the side of the road. Clearly, Murphy’s Law already was in effect in 1922, but perhaps the completion of this portion of the road represents a degree of difficulty that GEN Petraeus, as a division commander and then as overall commander in Iraq, would understand. And appreciate.
Actually, the original concept, presented to the legislature in Albany by State Senator William J. Larkin, Jr., was to rename this portion of Highway 218 in honor of GEN Petraeus. New York State, however, does not name state facilities for living persons.
Your humble servant, J. Phoenix, Esquire
Did you know that a number of previous Gray Matter essays may be found at www.westpointaog.org? Click on “Publications” and then scroll down and click on “Gray Matter e-Newsletter.”
Dysthymia 