BOSTON — In his 2000 guidebook Boston A to Z, Thomas
O’Connor offered a dour assessment of the city’s project to ease
traffic by routing major thoroughfares underground and underwater
commonly known as the Big Dig, writing, “old roadways are closed,
new access roads are built, road signs are changed, drivers are
confused, traffic jams are endemic, delays are routine — but
authorities assert that when the Big Dig is finally completed the
results will make it all worthwhile.”
Though the Big Dig officially wrapped up in 2003, the day when
the “results” would all be “worthwhile” has seemed light years away
since the evening of July 10 when the life of 38-year-old newlywed
immigrant Milena Del Valle was snuffed out in front of her
horrified husband as twelve tons of concrete crashed down on their
Honda sedan from the ceiling of the I-90 Connector tunnel. In the
past, notoriously jaded Bostonians tended to make bitter light of
the failings of the Big Dig. The most shocking aspect of the
reaction to the tragedy in Boston was the lack of shock.
The general mood throughout the city since Del Valle’s death,
however, has more closely mirrored a 1985 song by British
troubadour Morrissey, “that joke isn’t funny anymore, it’s too
close to home and it’s too near the bone.”
As I have expounded upon elsewhere at length, in denying Gov. Mitt
Romney’s repeated attempts to gain some semblance of supervision
over the Massachusetts Turnpike Authority (MTA), the independent
agency running the Big Dig, Massachusetts Democrats — with an 87
percent majority in the state legislature — essentially knitted
Romney a radiation suit for use during what populist-Left economist
Max Sawicky deemed “Massachusetts Democrats’
mini-Chernobyl.” Having spent the last three years damning the
fiscal and safety policies of Big Dig administrators, Romney now
has Lexis-Nexis on his side. Unless the Governor drops the ball,
those who have opposed his attempts at reform will reap the
whirlwind.
Still, the Big Dig disaster is bound to have implications beyond
the realm of 2008 politics, where pundits treat Del Valle’s life as
if its primary value was how it would strengthen or weaken Romney’s
bid for the presidency.
Touted as the largest public works project in the nation’s
history, the Big Dig, according to former MTA chairman Matthew
Amorello, rivaled “anything in the history of the world built by
men.” That it is such a mess financially (a $2.5 billion project
authorized over Reagan’s veto in 1987 that ballooned to nearly $15
billion) and structurally (large and small leaks throughout,
falling debris, a collapsed slurry wall and, now, murderous falling
ceiling panels) does not bode for public works enthusiasts’
aspirations.
“You start from the point where the Big Dig project has cost
exponentially more than anybody was ever told it was going to,
which in and of itself shakes public confidence and promotes
criticism,” Massachusetts House Minority Leader Brad Jones told me.
“Then when you see what you got for what you paid — the leaks and
the bolts and the associated failure issues — that only compounds
the lack of public confidence, not only in this project, but the
next time public officials anywhere come back for another project
of any magnitude.”
As if on cue, within days of my conversation with Jones, Harry
Reid invoked the now deadly Big Dig specter to argue against the
nuclear waste repository at Yucca Mountain. “It’s the same kind of
thing, a big hole, the same kind of deal,” Reid argued. An
editorial in the Boston Phoenix called for a federal
investigation, thundering “we were all canaries sent into a $14.6
billion coal mine.” Andrew Cline has suggested naming a tunnel after Del Valle as “a reminder
of how much we risk when we take the government’s word on
faith.”
If earmarks weren’t consistently used in such a dishonest way at
the federal level, the ghost of the Big Dig might prove problematic
for legislators seeking support for similar projects.
Unfortunately, there is little accountability at the federal dollar
spigot. Constituencies that would never countenance wasteful
pie-in-the-sky plans if the brunt of the costs would have to be
carried locally have few qualms about accepting federal largesse
for identical plans. Indeed, it seems boosters of the Big Dig
specifically sold the project as a money maker for the city.
“The hope for thousands of construction and related jobs in the
1990s is a vital element in the coalition supporting the project
and shows that Bostonians are once again turning to their
government to secure economic goals for the community,” Lawrence
Kennedy wrote in his 1992 book Planning the City Upon a
Hill.
Nevertheless, what political figure with long-term ambitions
outside the Bay State is going to take similar gamble on a monster
public works project — financial windfall or no — with an example
like this? Romney is looking good right now seizing control of an
out of control mess, but it is a moment in time not easily
re-created. Politicians seeking to divine a lesson from nearly
twenty years of Big Dig history must realize that at a statistical
level they are more likely to end up caught in a mess than playing
hero in the aftermath. Likewise, few politicians have Romney’s
supremely cool head or a proven methodical approach to problem
solving.
“It is a delicate balancing act, because it’s difficult to come
out and say, ‘You should have no confidence at all,’ create a panic
when you want to be calming and reassuring,” Jones agreed. “I think
the Governor, both by past experience and temperament and
personality, is someone who has the ability to do that.”
None of this takes away from the simple fact that the failures
of the Big Dig have been painful to friend and foe alike in
Massachusetts.
“It has been very dispiriting,” Jones said. “On paper [the Big
Dig] is obviously a tremendous feat of engineering. Now I’m left
like a lot of people sort of scratching my head saying, ‘We built
the pyramids and they’ve last for such a long time, but with modern
tools and technology we can’t build a tunnel that’ll be hold up and
be safe?”
