Engineering and Politics on the Mississippi and the Colorado In the years 1927 to 1929, the role of the federal government in building public works was transformed. No longer would the government sit idly by as great floods killed hundreds and made hundreds of thousands homeless; no longer would a vast wilderness remain barren for lack of the most basic resource—water. Piecemeal private and local efforts had proved insufficient in preventing suffering or promoting development. These years were the turning point on both the Mississippi and Colorado Rivers. The battle took place in Mississippi and Louisiana, California, Nevada and Arizona, and especially in Washington, D.C. "A Tale of Two Rivers" shows how America harnessed two of its mightiest rivers and put them to work for its citizens. The projects—the Mississippi's system of levees and floodways and the Colorado's Hoover Dam—constitute vastly different engineering efforts. Their tale is epic, at first one of folly and failure, then of unprecedented personal drama and human achievement.
How America Got Wired The delivery of electricity to homes, businesses and factories has perhaps transformed society more than any other engineering achievement. "Electric Nation" documents how electricity became a part of every American's life. In the early 1880s, Thomas Edison moved from Menlo Park, New Jersey, to Pearl Street in Manhattan to build the world's first central electrical generating station. Its goal: to light a few blocks in the city, including the offices of J. P. Morgan and The New York Times. Edison succeeded, launching the electric-lighting era; power plants spread to cities worldwide. Edison's virtually unknown prodigy, Samuel Insull, created the modern electric utility in Chicago. Insull consolidated small electric power plants into Commonwealth Edison, then led the industry to make electricity affordable to almost everyone within reach of its lines. Despite Insull's model, most private utilities did not wire rural areas, claiming it too costly. Yet electricity had come to be viewed as a necessity. If private companies refused to bring electricity to rural Americans, the government would. The Tennessee Valley Authority was born. Its leaders, engineer Arthur Morgan and lawyer David Lilienthal, helped complete the job started by Edison a half century earlier in wiring America.
Eleven major bridges unite New York City together and with the rest of the nation. One engineer was responsible for more than half of them, yet hardly anyone knows his name. Othmar Ammann came to America as a graduate of Swiss engineering schools and learned bridge building from the reigning bridge engineer, Gustav Lindenthal. As his protégé, Ammann worked on the Hell Gate Railroad Bridge, an arch bridge of unprecedented strength and beauty. Lindenthal had plans for an enormous rail bridge across the Hudson River, but they were rejected as too expensive. Ammann proposed a lighter, less expensive span for automobiles and trucks. In a painful parting, he left Lindenthal and built the landmark George Washington Bridge, a span twice as long as any suspension bridge in the world. Ammann went on to build the Bayonne, Triborough, Bronx-Whitestone, Throgs Neck and Verrazano Narrows. All that commemorates his accomplishments is a modest bust in a bus terminal at the east end of the George Washington Bridge. Ammann cared little about honorifics. For him, the fact that his bridges were all built on time and within budget was honor enough.
A New Way of Engineering In the post World War II years, urban highways divided neighborhoods; nothing stood in the way of their construction. In Boston, the Central Artery cut through downtown Boston and was so disputed that it was never fully completed. Boston was left with an ugly green monster, an elevated highway in the heart of its historic and business districts. By the 1970s, city planners wanted to tear it down and build an underground road, but the existing highway was so vital to the city's transportation that closing it down for any length of time was unfeasible. The solution to this dilemma became known as the Big Dig. A local engineer named Fred Salvucci, whose own grandmother had been displaced by an earlier highway, championed a complex plan that resulted in a transportation renaissance in Boston and a renewal of much of the city's infrastructure. Engineers liken its construction and design innovations to those required by the Panama Canal. It required engineers to build a new road underground while the old highway functioned above it. Salvucci vowed that past mistakes would not be repeated. Community interests would be accommodated; no one would lose his home. Billions were spent on mitigating a myriad of concerns. The Big Dig's cost will approach $20 billion before its completion. Is the Big Dig the new way engineering projects must be planned in the 21st century? Its advocates say it is not too expensive for the benefits the city will receive. Will other cities adopt the Boston model? Can our nation pay for Big Digs in other cities? Can it afford not to?