Looking for Beauty in Infrastructure

If you look around East Tennessee (and many other parts of the United States), you can often find remnants of an ancient and lost civilization. Marked by their bold architectural styles and enduring construction methods, the shadows of a long-forgotten way of doing things linger on in seeming permanence. Fancying myself an amateur archaeologist, I ventured into these places to see what makes them such landmarks, and why they stand out in our world today.

Once the lifeline of a community, now a bridge to nowhere - Pentax K1000 - KG200

My first stop was this old bridge. This has always fascinated me, even as a child I would always look for it when we drove past on the new bridge a little upriver. Bridges like this looked like something from a cowboy movie, or the type of bridge I might find on a model railway.

Some research led me to a website dedicated to lovers of bridges and tunnels: Central Holston River Bridge, Sullivan County, TN

This is the first time I learned that this bridge is over 120 years old, and the first time I learned of its great importance to the community. Learning all of this led me to some interesting questions:

• Do we even notice infrastructure today?

• Are we aware of the influence of timeless design and character in building today?

• Is the America of today even able to make these things anymore?

The first and most obvious objection to this line of reasoning is questioning why anyone should even care. Build a bridge where we need one, build it as cheaply and quickly as possible, and use it till it collapses and is replaced.

That is certainly the contemporary view, but I think we can do better. I think that when we travel abroad, or to our older cities, we take time to enjoy and appreciate architecture and design of infrastructure that is somehow compelling to the human spirit. When you look at the Brooklyn Bridge for instance, who can deny the feat of human ingenuity, the strength and determination of the laborers who built it, and the vision and pride of the architects who designed it to be not only beautiful and inspiring when built, but to last for generations, and continue to inspire them.

Not as straight, but still very narrow. - Pentax K1000 - KG200

The Central Holston Bridge is an excellent foil to the example of the Brooklyn Bridge, but I think there are great lessons to be learned in comparison. For example, the Brooklyn Bridge is a parallel of the thoughts and values of New York at the turn of the century. Innovation, empire, the conquest of nature, and the trifecta of transportation: rail, road, and pedestrian. It spanned their great body of water and connected the largest city in the world even more conveniently to itself. It was a symbol of grandeur, development, and elevated the standard of living for those on both sides of it. This marvel of public works was a testament to their commitment to beauty, functionality, and forward thinking.

Now consider our hometown bridge. It is just as much a testament to the values of our people at the same time. This bridge has an elegant simplicity. It is well built, made with pride, and has lasted decades with zero maintenance. It was a one lane bridge, connecting two communities that could be quite isolated otherwise. It landed right at a church parking lot, a symbol and practical reality of the religious devotion of our local population. The bridge itself is a straight and narrow path over troubled waters that leads to sanctuary. This bridge isn’t engraved, or exuding any Victorian opulence, its beauty comes from its practicality, and humble devotion to service of a humble people. It was made to last, but unlike its much more famous counterpart, while beloved, it was abandoned as the values and needs of a community changed.

I challenge any local to name the bridge that replaced Central Holston Bridge. What do you feel when you see it, do you think of anything at all when driving across? Just because our needs have changed, our town is small, and our values have shifted, does that mean that we shouldn’t be building things with meaning, in ways that tie together our past and future, and inspire us? Pragmatism matters, undoubtedly, but to say beauty should never be considered, is in my opinion, settling for less than we deserve.

The Plug - Pentax K1000 KG200

Here is another interesting example. At South Holston Dam, if you ever look over toward the lake from the top, you’ve undoubtedly seen this thing. I’ve jokingly referred to it as the “lake plug” which, if pulled, would drain the lake in a looney tunes-esque fashion.

Why is it blue? Why does the structure look old? You can look at it and tell it was made a long time ago, without the context of the dam around it, and not from lack of maintenance. This giant piece of utility infrastructure has elements of a design style. One could even go as far to say it’s somewhat aesthetically pleasing.

If we had to build this again, today, in 2025, would anyone suggest that it be blue? That costs money and doesn’t do anything for its function. Would anyone go as far to suggest the support pillars have a somewhat art-deco shape to their structure?

The post offices, train stations, and factory warehouses our ancestors populated and used are now celebrated as venues for weddings and ballroom dances. Even the lake plug looks somewhat unique and interesting, compared to some of our structures of today.

Burger Bar - Pentax K1000 KG200

This is perhaps the most inconveniently shaped restaurant in the area. It has essentially zero parking. The seating is not ideal. The kitchen is mostly in the open.

Why is this such a popular place to eat hamburgers then? Because people love the good old days. They love a classic American meal, made with pride the old-fashioned way, in a place that isn’t necessarily convenient, but is true to the ideals of what is being sold. You might not consciously be aware of the design influences when eating a hamburger, but on some level we’ve all felt it, restaurant atmosphere. It is silly to some to suggest, but the experience of connecting with the past is palpable in the decisions we make.

If someone wanted to open a burger restaurant today, would they tile the outside of the building? Would they buy a neon sign? Would it even be downtown or accessible by both walking and driving?

Rummaging around our historic downtowns is a great experiment in anthropology. The old rows of brick buildings stand as a reminder of your history. Perhaps your grandparents or great-grandparents worked or shopped there. Living in and working with what they’ve left us can inspire us to live up to their ideals or make us consider their visions. We are the inheritors, custodians of this place until we also pass it on. The choices we make, and the lives we live, truly matter, and what we do or don’t do to improve our homes, towns, and infrastructure will impact our future descendants as much or more than our ancestors have impacted us.

When we choose to remove all meaning, we leave nothing for the future to pick up on from where we’ve left off.

Another MidCentury Landmark: The Moonlite - Pentax K1000 KG200

When we explore all these concepts, it begs the question, what are our priorities when we are building the towns and cities we want to live in?

The modern ideal is to make the least possibly expensive, most functional and modular, and perfectly neutral structures that can rise and fall multiple times in a lifetime, to suit an ever-changing society that has no unified vision for anything.

I’m not saying every bridge should cost $10 million, or that we should demolish all our strip malls and start fresh. But would it kill us to think that after we are gone, someone will inherit this world we have made, and that whatever whims we have at the moment may be unknown to them?

The messaging of some modern design is that our priority simply isn’t the future, and that we possess even a rather low opinion of the present. If I were born in 2050, and explored the ruins of what we’ve built now, would I be left with the impression that we are a people that value beauty, craftsmanship, or prudence? This is why we must take care of what we’ve been given and find inspiration in the things we make.