The state of Maryland sought to unload the demolished waterway. A bid was made by the newly formed Washington and Cumberland Railroad, which intended to drain the canal and lay railroad tracks along the towpath and canal bed. Ironically, it was the canal’s arch rival, the B&O Railroad, that was awarded control of the C&O after promising to restore it to operation. By 1892, the canal was back in business, almost exclusively as a conduit for coal. But it remained a losing proposition, and after a disastrous flood in 1924, D.C.’s Evening Star reported that “it is doubtful whether the historic Chesapeake and Ohio Canal will ever again be operated.” It never was.
Ideas floated around about what to do with the canal. In 1926, District of Columbia Commissioner J. Franklin Bell proposed that the U.S. government take over the property for use as a roadway and for power lines from a proposed hydroelectric plant at Great Falls. Neither the plant nor the road materialized. Within a decade, the canal had become “a crumbling, half-filled ditch,” according to The Washington Post.
Bell’s idea would be resurrected in 1936, when D.C. Traffic Director William A. Van Duzer proposed to Congress that the canal be converted into “a modern, through-traffic highway,” much like the George Washington Memorial Parkway being constructed across the river. Others lobbied for recreational uses. Pleasure barges built specifically to carry sightseers abounded on the canal in the late 19th century, and towpath walks had become a popular outing. Finally, in 1938, the federal government acquired the property, announcing plans to refill the canal for boating, stock the water for fishing and clear the towpath for hikers.
In 1940, for the first time in 16 years, water flowed again in the Great Falls section of the canal. The transformation, said Thomas Settle of the National Capital Parks and Planning Commission, had given Washington something “more beautiful and more spectacular than we realized.”
A canal or a highway?
The highway idea would not go away, however, and in 1949, U.S. Rep. J. Glenn Beall of Maryland proposed in Congress that the canal be turned into a “180-mile, water-level auto and bus highway.” Beall’s proposal languished until January of 1954, when editors at The Post backed the project, rationalizing that “such a parkway would…open up the greatest scenic asset in this area—the Potomac River—to wider public enjoyment.”
William O. Douglas, then an associate justice of the U.S. Supreme Court, railed at the endorsement. An inveterate outdoorsman, he had often walked the canal, which was easily reached from his home in the District. “It is a refuge, a place of retreat, a long stretch of quiet and peace,” Douglas wrote in a letter to The Post, “a wilderness area where we can commune with God and nature, a place not yet marred by the roar of wheels and the sound of horns.” He challenged Post editors to join him on a hike along the canal and experience its wonders firsthand. The editors accepted the dare, and in March of 1954 they joined Douglas and his conservationist entourage in walking nearly the entire length in eight days. The editors relented, although not entirely, still believing that at least a limited stretch of parkway would be beneficial. None of this swayed the Department of the Interior. Two months after the headline-grabbing hike, Secretary Douglas McKay approved the long-proposed Chesapeake and Ohio Canal Parkway.
As continuing congressional debate stalled the project, Justice Douglas mounted more call-to-action hikes until, finally, in 1961, President Dwight D. Eisenhower declared the C&O Canal a national monument. Still, the designation did not entirely prevent parkway construction. So in 1970, Douglas, now nearing 72 years of age, once again marched along the towpath in support of a bill to make the canal a National Historical Park, thus ensuring its preservation. Signed into law in 1971 by President Richard M. Nixon, the new park began at Mile 0 in Washington, D.C., where the original water gate connected the canal to the Potomac—a feature that inspired the name of the complex that will be linked forever to Nixon’s downfall.
Troubled waters in today’s park
If visitation numbers are any indication, the park, dedicated to William O. Douglas in 1977, has been a resounding success. Each year, nearly 3 million tourists and neighbors traverse the canal, enjoying its more than 19,000 acres and exploring its 1,365 historic structures, which account for 5 percent of the historic structures in the entire National Park System. And now, with the canal’s recent link to the Great Allegheny Passage trail system in Pennsylvania, visitors can hike or bike all 318 miles from Washington to near Pittsburgh, completing a journey that the original canal directors could only dream of.
Still, all is not well with the “Grand Old Ditch.” Today’s park managers must contend with the same vicissitudes that plagued their predecessors: storm damage and a lack of funding. Major floods in 1972, 1985, 1996 and 2008 created demands for repairs that stretched far beyond the operating budget; one analysis conducted by advocates found that the park’s 2007 budget of less than $10 million covered only 37 percent of the park’s assessed needs. Meanwhile, the preservation of historic structures goes wanting, and millions of dollars in flood damages await repair.
Park officials have been encouraged by the public’s response to efforts to save the canal from further degradation. In particular, dedicated groups such as the C&O Canal Trust and the C&O Canal Association have donated time and money to help maintain the park’s unique attractions—and to keep them open for the enjoyment of patrons. Through these joint public-private efforts, the hope remains that the canal will persevere beyond its bicentennial in 2028, allowing future generations to fully experience one of the nation’s treasured possessions.
Mark Walston is an author and historian raised in Bethesda and now residing in Olney.
