The Mohawk Trail that's still a trail
Getting back to the roots in Western Mass.
Like a lot of people, I finally got around to writing the first draft of my will during the pre-vaccine days of the pandemic. And in that draft, I included an unusually specific provision—a reward for services rendered in the event that someone posthumously used my name to promote something that would have pissed me off. Here’s how it would work. Let’s say I died, and in a few years, the state built a highway through my favorite park and dubbed it the “Miles Howard Memorial Parkway.” In my will, I set aside a cash gift for the person who tracks down the decisionmaker behind such a misguided project and hurls a large milkshake at them. This is a new kind of public humiliation popularized in the U.K.—Nigel Farage got “milkshaked” back in June—and this is the fate that awaits anyone who misappropriates my name after I’ve passed.
You might think this sounds paranoid, but misusing someone’s name in the service of something that might have upset them is super common. Most of us know Storrow Drive as that awful, congested roadway that chokes off Bostons’ Esplanade Park from the heart of the city. But what many don’t realize is that Helen and James Storrow, the green space advocates for whom the road is named, hated the idea of roads cleaving their way through public parks. Drive further west into Massachusetts, and you’ll find another case of moniker misuse. You know that stretch of Route 2 that meanders over the Berkshires, before making a harrowing hairpin descent into North Adams? This twisting and reliably busy road is known as the Mohawk Trail. It was New England’s first scenic byway; launched in 1914. It follows the rough trajectory of a pre-colonial trading route that was used by Indigenous groups, including the Mohawk people. The road features illustrated signs depicting an Indigenous man—presumably a Mohawk man—striking a sun salutation pose against a glowing and mountainous backdrop.