SOME THINGS NEVER CHANGE.

I never lack for opportunities to reflect on the same things.  "Maybe the best thing for urban neighborhoods is for Wise Experts and their Urban Renewal to go away.  Those hero projects of the 1960s and 1970s tended not to turn out well."

Years ago, Chester, Pennsylvania bragged "What Chester Makes Makes Chester" for passengers on The Pennsylvania Railroad and motorists on the nearby superhighway to see.  The sign came down in 1974 as the American High unravelled.  Chester no longer made much, and that made for a sadder Chester.

Chester was declared financially distressed in 1995 under Pennsylvania's Act 47, placing it under state oversight. Yet even with decades of supervision and millions in aid, the city's fiscal crisis persisted.

In the early 2000s, a new vision emerged. State leaders proposed revitalizing Chester by turning it into a regional destination. The plan revolved around a few key pieces: a soccer stadium on the waterfront, some speculative housing and office development, and, crucially, a pair of new highway ramps to connect the area more directly to I-95 and the Commodore Barry Bridge.

This significant transportation investment, officials claimed, would “enhance access” and “unlock economic development.” If you could just make it easier for drivers to get to Chester’s shoreline, the thinking went, prosperity would follow.

In 2012, the Pennsylvania Department of Transportation (PennDOT) completed construction of the two new ramps for $77.1 million. The goal was simple: allow motorists to exit I-95 a half mile sooner, delivering them directly to Route 291 and the stadium area.

If it's your hero project, it's "unlocking economic development."  None dare call it road socialism with no benefits to trickle down to the community.  Never mind that's how it turned out.

Chester wasn't chosen for this investment because of its location or because ramps were what the community needed. The community didn't even ask for them. Chester was chosen because it made a compelling story — a poor, predominantly Black city with visible need — which elevated the competitiveness of the funding application. Never mind that the project didn't match what residents needed. It aligned well with federal grant narratives.

PennDOT received awards from engineering associations for the project. State officials from both political parties cut the ribbon and celebrated the investment as a turning point. As PennDOT District Executive Lester C. Toaso explained at the time, “These new ramps are going to enhance access and travel within the City of Chester and complement the city’s economic redevelopment and revitalization efforts along the waterfront.”

Over a dozen years have now passed. For the residents of Chester, little changed.

There was no boom. No rush of development. No resurgence of jobs, housing, or basic services. A $4 million supermarket promised as part of the plan never materialized. Nor did the “village” of housing and offices envisioned in planning documents. What did get built were training fields, a riverwalk, and facilities that mostly served the soccer team — not the locals who lived just blocks away.

The consultants got to wet their beaks, and the politicians got to brag about appropriating money for "infrastructure." For all I know somebody got a Minimal Publishable Unit in Environment and Planning.  The residents of Chester?  More like "piddled on" than "trickled down."

The Chester ramps are not an isolated mistake. They are the predictable outcome of a transportation funding system that rewards appearance over impact.

Federal programs pay for big construction projects. They offer generous matching funds — in this case, 80% federal, 20% state — but only for the kinds of infrastructure that conform to their narrow definitions of access and mobility. Cities are pushed to design projects not to meet their own needs, but to qualify for federal support.

To justify those projects, communities are often portrayed in marketing terms. In Chester’s case, the story became one of transformation: distressed city, untapped potential, catalytic infrastructure. Chester made a compelling narrative that aligned well with federal grantmaking goals. It didn't matter that the ramps weren’t what the city asked for, or that they wouldn’t address the needs of people living there. They made for a strong application.

This wasn’t just a bad investment for Chester. It was a bad investment for Pennsylvania.

And that, dear reader, is how the infrastructure crumbles, while the professional and managerial class types put more action items on the old c.v.

The real tragedy is not just that the ramps didn’t help. It’s that no one is particularly bothered that they didn’t.

The project received awards — not for improving lives, but for being built. The engineering and contracting societies that gave PennDOT their accolades were, in effect, rewarding the agency for directing public money into their industry. There is no accountability built into this system. The metrics of success are about dollars spent and concrete poured, not lives improved or communities strengthened. Once the money flows, the professional class — engineers, contractors, consultants — considers its job done.

Politicians moved on. Contracts were fulfilled. The city filed for bankruptcy. The ramps remain.

What the government subsidizes, it gets more of.  In Chester, the government subsidized cheating on market tests.  The projects failed their market tests all the same.

What Chester residents needed was a grocery store, small business investment, safe neighborhoods, and honest engagement. None of those were on offer through the federal-aid program.

When the federal government controls the purse strings and transportation holds the lion's share of infrastructure dollars, every struggle starts to look like a transportation project. Legacy funding programs — designed for a different era — continue to dictate what qualifies for investment. The result is that communities are forced to conform their needs to outdated funding silos rather than being empowered to solve problems on their own terms.

Hunger becomes a problem of traffic access. Disinvestment becomes a problem of connectivity. And solutions that have nothing to do with streets or ramps get recast as infrastructure so they can compete for funding. In Chester, that dynamic produced a pair of ramps that served nobody’s true needs, but fit neatly into a transportation budget.

If cities like Chester are going to recover, they don’t need another highway ramp.

Nor do they need a local politician pointing to all the construction jobs "created" for local residents, or any of the other symbolism over substance stuff the professional managerial types love to tout.  The best way for government to deliver those grocery stores and small business investment might be to focus on transparent government with professional law enforcement, and otherwise to go away.