On the one hand, it was a bucolic, glass-walled, red-meat Mecca with unobstructed water and city views. On the other hand, both the Cuyahoga River and the city of Cleveland were increasingly dark, smelly and bereft of life. Moreover, travel to and from the restaurant was the kind of creepy, nail-biting experience that only a golem could love: a dim and bumpy ride to an isolated peninsula in the Flats.

Such were the contradictions that, by the middle of the 20th century, defined Jim’s Steak House. But through most of the restaurant’s life, negatives and setbacks hardly seemed to matter. In fact, in the eight years after its founding in 1930—when Cleveland and the Flats were still bustling—Jim’s Steak House served 280,000 steaks. Untold thousands of quality meals would follow until the eatery finally shut down in 1997.

“Jim” was James Kerkles, a Greek immigrant who arrived in the US in 1905. In 1930 he and his wife Hilda opened their restaurant on West 9th Street. They relocated to the Flats’ famous Collision Bend within a year, occupying a building that previously housed the Lumberman’s Club restaurant. (Ironically, the Lumberman’s Club had just moved downtown.) Jim and Hilda’s timing was ideal: The Eagle Street Bridge had just opened across the street and visitors would be able to view the newly completed Terminal Tower across the river. But like the two arteries leading to Jim’s (Scranton and Carter Roads) there were plenty of potholes ahead. On June 15, 1939, Kerkles died at the age of 53. From that point on, Jim’s Steak House would, in effect, be Hilda’s Steak House. The following year, the decision was made to make Collision Bend more navigable, which necessitated the restaurant’s demolition.

The new Jim’s opened within two years, only a few dozen feet southwest of the previous location. Accordingly, its address jumped from 1782 Scranton to 1800 Scranton. Such progress! Hilda later remarried and by the end of World War II she and her nephew Ray Rockey were the meat and potatoes of Jim’s Steak House. Hilda managed the money—keeping the restaurant in the black while hiring only white women as waitresses and clothing them in all-white uniforms. Ray handled most of the day-to-day operations, working constantly and living in an apartment above the restaurant. "It's like taking care of a baby that never grows up," Rockey once said.

The formula worked: Blue collars from the Flats, white collars from downtown and wet collars from the river and nearby fire station filled Jim’s during the day. At night couples, partiers and glitterati swilled Johnny Walker Black ($0.75 in 1950) and devoured strip steaks ($4.50 in 1950). The Goodtime ferried diners to and from Cleveland Indians games. Heavy food was de rigueur: red meat, no soup, no salad (except head lettuce) and no vegetables except onions (which were fried). 300 to 400 people was a decent day’s attendance.

In the 1960s the building was remodeled, with giant glass windows offering diners a more panoramic view of the city. Weeping willows and birch trees (planted over the years by Hilda) added to the ambience.

Hilda died in 1974 at age 75 and Ray Rockey assumed full control of what was still a thriving operation. But like graffiti emblazoned across the Flats, the writing was on the wall, and a lot of it spelled “competition.” By the late 1970s myriad entertainment options had popped up on both the East and West Banks. The Flats had always had niche bars and eateries (Pirates Alley, Otto’s Grotto, Harbor Inn, Flat Iron Café), but this was different: The area actually was becoming a destination of choice—not just for pubby drinking and dining joints like Fagan’s and the Cleveland Crate and Trucking Company but for high-end eateries such as the Watermark and Sammy’s.

The worst body blow landed in 1991 when the city closed the Eagle Avenue lift bridge for a two-year renovation. In a lawsuit, Ray Rockey claimed that, as a result, Jim’s lost 65 percent of its business. Rockey died in 1995 at the age of 71, three years before the Ohio State Supreme Court awarded the restaurant $483,000 in compensation. By that time the bridge had reopened (1993) but Jim’s had shut down (1997). The bridge closed for good in 2005. New occupants of the restaurant space—the River House, the Aqua club, the Mega Nightclub—soldiered on until 2011 when the building was demolished.

Readers responded en masse to a May 2020 Cleveland.com article on Jim’s Steak House. Virtually everyone heaped praise on the restaurant. However, the most vivid account may have come from Bruce Tyler in Cleveland Heights who recalled, “As restless 9-year-olds, [we] ran out back on the lawn toward the river before the food arrived. We watched in awe as an enormous ore boat negotiated the tight river bend. The water was an unhealthy shade of brown, with some iridescence on the surface, and rising bubbles would stretch a bit before they popped, as if trapped in goo. I thought about this sight last year when we kayaked on the river around the same location and saw blue water, not brown, and saw herons in the shallows. Thank you environmentalists everywhere.”

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The S. S. Canadiana was originally built in 1910 to ferry passengers from Buffalo, New York to the Crystal Beach Amusement Park in Crystal Beach, Ontario. It made the circuit up to six times a day for over 40 years. However, by the 1950s revenue declined. Hastening its retirement, a fight broke out onboard the Canadiana on May 30, 1956. Dubbed “The Crystal Beach Boat Race Riot”, the initial fight between teenagers started two days earlier at Crystal Beach Amusement Park before eventually continuing onto the Canadiana’s voyage back to Buffalo. The Canadiana retired from the Crystal Beach circuit later that year.

After retirement, the ship was eventually bought by Jim Vinci of Cleveland in June 1968 for $3,600. Jim Vinci had opened his restaurant, Diamond Jim’s, in the Flats two years prior in 1966. Despite a bomb going off next to Vinci’s car at the restaurant in 1967, Vinci shrugged it off, intent on building a nightlife empire in the Flats. He claimed the bomb was a case of mistaken identity and kept expanding. His next step was the conversion of the Canadiana into a floating restaurant.

After putting a reported $500,000 into the boat’s restoration, Vinci cited a heart attack and difficulty meeting city building codes for the eventual stagnation of the Canadiana’s conversion. Finally, around 11am on February 17, 1982, the Canadiana sank to the bottom of the Cuyahoga River at its mooring at West 3rd Street and Stones Levee. Water reached all the way up to the first deck of the three-deck ship. It was apparently quite the spectacle. The Cleveland Plain Dealer quoted a customer of Jim’s Steakhouse who, having watched the scene unfold over lunch, exclaimed, “This is like Disneyland. Let’s refloat the ship tonight and do it all over tomorrow.”

When asked what he thought had caused the boat to sink, Vinci said that the Cleveland Electric Illuminating Co. was dumping potash into the river which harmed the structural integrity of the ship. In response, CEI said that they did not use potash nor was potash used in producing electricity. Whatever the cause, the Canadiana was never to become a Flats destination.

For the next two months the ship sat at the bottom of the Cuyahoga River while Vinci insisted he would soon begin salvaging the boat. However, by April, no attempts had been made and the situation was becoming dangerous. Collision Bend, near where the boat sat, necessitated shippers to make an almost 90-degree turn when navigating the river. The power needed to make that turn was said to be able to generate enough suction on the Canadiana that it might drag it out into the river creating a dangerous navigational hazard. Vinci was unable to come up with the $250,000 to move the ship and relinquished it to the Army Corps of Engineers to begin the long process of refloating and moving the boat. Finally, on June 21, 1983, over a year after it had originally sunk, the Canadiana left Cleveland for good when it was towed to Ashtabula to be refurbished by the “Friends of the Canadiana.”

Two years after the Canadiana left Cleveland, its former owner, Jim Vinci, and his assistant Edward Doubler, were found shot in the back of the head in Diamond Jim’s on March 29, 1985. There were no signs of a break-in and no cash or valuables had been stolen. David L. Hicks, a detective at the scene, was quoted in the Cleveland Plain Dealer saying, “It was definitely a hit on Vinci.” The case was never solved.

As for the Canadiana, it was eventually stripped for restoration in 1988 and towed to Port Colborne, Ontario, about ten miles west of Crystal Beach, for drydocking. By 2004 the restoration project had run out of funds and the ship was scrapped. Parts of the Canadiana were saved including the engine, which was displayed at the 50th anniversary rally of the Western New York Gas & Steam Engine Association, as well as some of the interior such as a wooden buffet now at the Port Colborne Historical and Marine Museum.

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Even people who live nearby may not know about Duck Island. Among suburbanites, the name is even less likely to resonate. What’s more, if you do a Google Images search you’ll get pretty pictures of an island off the cost of Maine. Some of these photos include ducks, but none of them are Cleveland’s Duck Island.

So where is Duck Island and what does it have to do with ducks? The answer to the first question is that Duck Island is a small community (perhaps one square mile) between Tremont and Ohio City. Bisected by Abbey Avenue, Duck Island is bordered by Carnegie Avenue to the north, Train Avenue and Scranton Road to the south and east, and the RTA Red Line rapid tracks to the west. For municipal planning and management purposes, Duck Island is considered part of Tremont. The answer to the second question is that Duck Island has nothing whatsoever to do with ducks (although you may see an occasional duck sign or banner). Most folks believe that Duck Island got its name during Prohibition—a place where bootleggers would “duck” the law.

But Duck Island’s profile is rising rapidly. In fact, it might be hard to find a Cleveland locale whose popularity has increased more swiftly. Plans are underway for large “ultra green” housing developments at West 20th and Lorain; West 20th and Abbey; and West 19th and Freeman. Toney new homes dot Columbus Road and West 17th, 18th and 19th Streets. Abbey Park, located at the corner of West 19th Street and Smith Court is earmarked for a major facelift. Gateway Clinic on Abbey Avenue has become a haven for quality pet care. Several new breweries are on the books. And to the cheers of myriad residents, St. Wendelin Catholic Church on Columbus Road reopened its doors in 2012—two years after being closed by the Catholic Dioceses of Cleveland.

To be sure, a number of residents are squeamish about Duck Island’s burgeoning popularity. Concerns about inflation, noise, parking and population density are common and largely valid. Fortunately, organizations like Tremont West Development Corporation, the Duck Island Block Club, the Duck Island Development Collaborative, Cleveland Neighborhood Progress and Kent State University’s Cleveland Urban Design Collaborative are working hard to build figurative bridges. That’s a good thing because Duck Island has become too hot to not trot: It’s equidistant between Tremont and Ohio City; a short drive, train ride or walk to downtown; and a hop/skip/jump to riverfront destinations like the Towpath Trail, Scranton Peninsula and Merwin’s Wharf. Plus it has killer views of the city.

Like Tremont and Ohio City, Duck Island is an old neighborhood. Most of its original housing stock dates to the late 1800s. These homes were inhabited primarily by blue-collar workers who staffed steel mills, factories, warehouses and river-shipping interests in the Flats. In fact, the geography of Duck Island is such that, until the early 20th Century, Tremont residents could not walk north or east without first descending into the Flats. In 1887, however, the Central Viaduct, was constructed. Initially, the Viaduct consisted of two bridges: The first structure (more than one-half-mile long) extended from Jennings Ave. (now West 14th Street) to Central Avenue (now Carnegie Avenue). It followed the same basic path taken by what is now Interstate 90. Deemed unsafe, the bridge was torn down in the early 1940s. The second structure—the Abbey Avenue Bridge—continues to bind Tremont and Ohio City, with Duck Island smack in the middle.

Even with the bridges, Duck Island retained most of its isolated, blue collar status throughout the 20th Century. That sense of sequestration was exacerbated by the fact that, over the years, Duck Island was alternately claimed and disowned by Ohio City and Tremont. In the mid 1920s, moreover, Duck Island became even more isolated on the west when a deep trench was dug to accommodate railroad tracks for passenger trains serving the new Union Terminal complex. A half-dozen city blocks were removed—thus separating Duck Island from Ohio City. The only bridge subsequently erected to cross the divide was on Abbey Avenue.

Beginning in the 1970s, populations declined precipitously throughout the area. Businesses closed and even fewer people than usual wanted to move to a disadvantaged neighborhood with elderly housing stock and close proximity to a downtown with little to offer. However, Duck Island might have been rediscovered sooner, were it not for residents’ extreme suspicions about redevelopment. This mindset peaked in the 1990s, when residents staunchly opposed any initiatives that smelled even vaguely of gentrification. Rosemary Vinci, a community leader with a frequently ambiguous agenda, urged residents to reduce density by acquiring neighboring properties and demolishing dwellings. Vinci was a former strip club manager who, at the time of her death in 2008, was being investigated alongside her superiors, Jimmy Dimora and Frank Russo. Vinci also led opposition to a development next to the West 25th Street Station along Columbus Road south of Lorain. Rosemary’s father, by the way, was James Vinci, reputed organized crime figure and owner of the famed Diamond Jim's in the Flats.

Vinci or no Vinci, change is coming to Duck Island, including the kind of mixed-income, high-density residential development Rosemary so vociferously opposed. The plusses and minuses of urban renaissance will continue to be debated, but Duck Island’s unified wall of resistance is beginning to quack.

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The Smead Rolling Road was a mechanical device built into the roadbed of Eagle Avenue to help haul wagons to the top of the cliffs framing the Cuyahoga Valley in the days before sufficiently powerful trucks were developed. Vaguely reminiscent of the mechanics behind San Francisco's cable cars, this contraption lasted a brief time before being abandoned and later demolished when the tracks for the Cleveland Union Terminal were installed across Eagle Avenue's route.

Cleveland was founded in 1796 at the mouth of the Cuyahoga with Lake Erie to take advantage of the portage between the Great Lakes system and the Ohio and Mississippi rivers to New Orleans. This portage, where Akron is today, was a short land route for carrying boats that linked these water systems via the Cuyahoga River and promised a strong economic future for the young village.

In the early nineteenth century, the potential of the portage route was realized by the construction of the Ohio & Erie Canal, which accelerated Cleveland's rise as an important western commercial city. The canal entered the city alongside the river and ended near its mouth at Lake Erie, ensuring that all the heavy cargo coming to Cleveland via the canal, river and lake would arrive down at the water level, eighty feet below the city. Railroads, which tended to employ the long grades of the Cuyahoga's tributary streams to enter the valley and its docks, further concentrated the arrival of heavy freight below where the population lived, worked, and shopped.

Before trucks came to have sufficient power to traverse the steep grades of the river banks, it was difficult for horse-powered wagons to supply produce to the city. To address this problem, in 1906 inventor Isaac D. Smead patented his "rolling road," a electric-powered device to pull unharnessed wagons up Eagle Avenue from the Flats to Ontario Street, right at the popular Central Market.

In the nineteenth century, "Colonel" Smead had been a major figure in the heating and ventilating business, at one point reputed to be the leading manufacturer of such equipment for public buildings in America. The Panic of 1893 led to his bankruptcy and he turned to other engineering pursuits. He designed the rolling road as an electric-powered moving belt, to which wagons could be attached. The wagon's team of horses would be unharnessed and walked uphill while the wagon made the trip up the rolling road at three to six miles per hour. The former process of moving wagons up by horsepower alone was said to take twenty minutes to an hour, while Smead's invention cut it to two minutes.

While it appears to have operated satisfactorily, it wasn't long before improvements in internal combustion engines powered trucks sufficiently to render it obsolete, when it was abandoned and its remnants dominating the center of Eagle Avenue for years. Writing in his memoirs, The Ginney Block, Edward D'Alessandro told a tragic story about his youth and the remains of the rolling road. A gang of his friends and he were racing on sleds down Eagle Avenue. The youth in the lead slid out into the intersection with Canal Road and was killed by a passing truck. D'Alessandro, who would later go on to lead the Cleveland Public Library system, was able to swerve his sled into the rolling road's foundations and escape a similar fate.

In the 1920s the Terminal Tower complex on Public Square was being built and its Cleveland Union Terminal passenger station in the lower sections was designed to bring trains through the valley. This wiped out Eagle Avenue, which henceforth traversed a bridge over the tracks. That bridge lasted into the 21st century, when much of it in turn was demolished and thus Eagle Avenue no longer connects Ontario Street with the Flats. But for decades, between the Smead Rolling Road and the subsequent bridge, Eagle Avenue was one of the city's more engineered roads.

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Irish immigrants flocked to Cleveland after the potato famine in 1848. Along the Cuyahoga River in Ohio City grew a concentrated Irish neighborhood known as Irishtown Bend. It was so named because of the Irish shantytown located along one of the curves of the Cuyahoga River. This neighborhood centered on Riverbed Street, but ranged from West 25th Street eastward to the Cuyahoga River, and between Detroit Avenue southward to Columbus Street.

Irishtown Bend was located in the heart of Cleveland's industrial infrastructure. A significant number of Irish worked in the shipping industry that thrived along the Cuyahoga River as part of the extensive Great Lakes trading network. For Irishtown Bend, the shipping industry came in the form of ore docks used to load and unload the massive freighters that traversed the Great Lakes.

Although essential to Cleveland's industrial well-being, trade, and Irish population, the Cuyahoga River proved to be its own worst enemy. Cuyahoga literally means crooked river, and it earned a sinister reputation because of how treacherous it was to navigate, particularly in a 500-foot freighter. In 1901, Cleveland discussed straightening the Cuyahoga River to alleviate the problems of navigating it. The first detailed study did not begin until 1912, and work did not occur until the mid-1930s, continuing intermittently into the 1950s.

When discussion of altering the Cuyahoga River began at the turn of the 20th century, the fate of the river and those who depended on it became untenable. Proposed plans involved cutting land to make river bends wider, or completely re-rerouting the river. The possibility of eminent domain threatened the homes and livelihoods of those living and working along the river.

The approval of an improvement plan in 1929 called for the widening of the river at Irishtown Bend, which required the demolition of the shanty homes erected on its hillside. Dredging of the river did not occur at Irishtown Bend until 1938, but even after this initial alteration, the Plain Dealer reported that Irishtown Bend was still a nuisance. By the mid-1950s, what was left of Irishtown Bend's residential area was either dilapidated or abandoned, and the area was razed in 1958 to prepare for a second attempt to alter the river.

River improvement was not the only reason for razing the Irishtown Bend slums, however, as a $10 million public housing project had also been approved in an attempt to revitalize the neighborhood. The highlight of the housing project was a pair of 16-story buildings called Riverview Towers, which still prominently stand. Unfortunately, the housing project did not fulfill the proposal's intent to revitalize the neighborhood. While the entire housing project was intended to attract residents of diverse stages in life, young and middle-aged suitors mistook the project as one exclusively for elderly residents.

Local magnate Jeffrey P. Jacobs planned further development of Irishtown Bend in 1989 but a geographical survey revealed the remainder of undeveloped land at Irishtown Bend was too unstable for any further development. In 2019, federal funds enabled the stabilization of the river bank and the transformation of the Bend into a riverside park to proceed.

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Prior to its absorption into Cleveland Electric Illuminating Company (C.E.I.), Brush Electric Light & Power Co. developed the equipment used for Cleveland's first electric streetcar line. The line was operated under the East Cleveland Railway Co., with the streetcars being powered by a Brush-developed generator. Not everybody was excited about the success that these innovations and developments brought to their inventors. Heavily involved in the city's street railways, Marcus Hanna saw the need to respond to his rivals' actions. Recognizing the immense profitability associated with street railways, Hanna famously referred to his control of such lines as his own savings bank. In order to preserve his lucrative position, Hanna quickly recognized the need to develop along with his rivals. He therefore commissioned the building of a new powerhouse to generate power for his own electric streetcar line; the Woodland Ave. & West Side Street Railway Co. (W&WSSR).

The Viaduct Power House was built in 1892 on the west bank of the Cuyahoga River. C.E.I., who powered the east-side rival of Hanna's west-side line, responded by building the Canal Road Station in the Flats in 1895. Thus situated on opposite sides of the Cuyahoga River, just across from each other, these two streetcar powerhouses were the only such facilities of their kind in Cleveland.

Hanna granted the commission for the Viaduct Power House to architect John N. Richardson, formerly of the renowned firm Cuddell & Richardson. The Scottish-born, Cleveland-based architect was regarded as one of "the most important and innovative architects in Cleveland during the 1880's." As part of Cuddell & Richardson, he designed many of Cleveland's architectural gems including the Franklin Castle, St. Joseph's Franciscan Church, the Perry-Payne building, and the Bradley building. Richardson designed the Powerhouse in the Romanesque revival style; built to resemble the European factories of the time with gabled roofs, arched windows, and thick window sills made of stone. The original structure was built in 1892, and was the first power plant dedicated to providing electricity to streetcars in Cleveland. However, the 1898 absorption of Hanna's W&WSSR into the Cleveland Electric Railway Co. (CER) resulted in a significant 1901 addition, nearly causing the Powerhouse to double in size. Despite this expansion to meet the demand of more streetcar lines, the powerhouse did not thrive long thanks to the rapid rise of the automobile. Cleveland's streetcars officially gave way to the automobile in 1920 when the CER permanently ceased operation, and the Powerhouse closed.

Throughout the 1990s and 2000s, the old Viaduct Power House, restyled "The Powerhouse," acted as a turnstile for several comedy clubs, restaurants, and even retailers. As of 2012, the 70,000 square-foot edifice serves as a mixed-use entertainment complex still rooted in its foundation as an industrial facility. The most recent addition to the Powerhouse is the Greater Cleveland Aquarium. Funded by Jacobs Entertainment at a cost of $33 million, it was designed by the New Zealand-based company Marinescape, which has a reputation for refurbishing preexisting structures as aquariums. Paying homage to the Viaduct Power House's industrial past, the aquarium incorporates exposed brick walls, coal tunnels, smokestacks, and steel girders into its decor.

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If there were huge, disease-carrying mosquitoes flying around your house, or if you were told that the Cuyahoga River—steps from your front door— was haunted by Indian spirits, would you stick it out in Cleveland? One man did, becoming Cleveland's first permanent white settler. His name was Lorenzo Carter. Not destined to face the "wilderness" alone, Mr. Carter was later joined by his wife Rebecca and their nine children, as well as by other pioneers who, following Carter's example, decided that they could make a life for themselves in the new settlement.

Lorenzo Carter (1767-1814) left his home of Vermont and arrived in Cleveland on May 2, 1797, a little less than a year after Moses Cleaveland's surveying party had laid out the town and promptly headed back to Connecticut. Carter decided to make Cleveland his home and built a small log cabin on the east bank of the Cuyahoga River. Despite the hardships the swampy, malarial Cuyahoga brought to his family, Carter made a living trading furs with local Indians, farming, and running the Carter Tavern, which served as an inn and tavern as well as an informal town hall and community meeting place. Carter also ran a ferry service across the river and served as Cleveland's first constable. Had Lorenzo Carter and his family decided not to stick it out in Cleveland, the city might not have developed as quickly as it did. He died in 1814 and is buried alongside Rebecca in Erie Street Cemetery.

As time went on, the story of Carter and his family started to fade from the city's memory. Unlike Moses Cleaveland, no statue was ever erected to honor him. In 1976, however, members of the Cleveland Women's City Club commissioned the building of this replica of Carter's cabin. Its interior was open to the public and contained items that would have been found in the original cabin. Visitors could look inside to get a glimpse of what life was like for the first permanent settlers of Cleveland. Like Carter's original cabin, the replica is now gone, demolished in 2021 for a new boat slip after falling into neglect.

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Anyone who has lived in Cleveland for a while knows that a certain rivalry exists between its east and west sides, separated as they are by the Cuyahoga River. What most people don't realize is just how far back in history the rivalry goes, or that in the 1830s the building of a new bridge over the river sparked violence between residents of Cleveland (east) and Ohio City (west).

By the 1830s, Ohio City—a separate city until it was annexed by Cleveland in the 1850s—was falling behind its more prosperous neighbor on the east bank of the Cuyahoga. Ohio City residents became enraged when a Cleveland syndicate that included Cleveland's future mayor John W. Willey constructed a bridge on Columbus Street in the Flats to connect the new Cleveland Centre and Willeyville subdivisions. The new bridge took a southerly route that bypassed Ohio City's main commercial district on what is now West 25th Street. Given that this new bridge was far superior to the floating bridge further north that had previously been the only span connecting the two cities, Ohio City rightfully feared a drastic decline in traffic and goods moving through their city. Incensed, they decided to boycott the bridge. Cleveland retaliated by removing their half of the old floating bridge.

On October 31, 1836, an angry mob of Ohio City residents marched to the Columbus Street Bridge intending to destroy it. Cleveland's Mayor Willey and a number of Cleveland residents met them and fighting broke out, leaving three men seriously injured before the County Sheriff put a stop to the violence. The courts eventually resolved the issue, allowing for both bridges to be opened to traffic.

The old Columbus Street bridge was replaced by an iron bridge in 1870. After that, a double swing bridge—then the world's first—took that bridge's place. Later, in 1940, WPA workers installed a steel lift bridge on Columbus Road. This bridge underwent a substantial restoration in 2013-14.

Speaking to your typical Clevelander it becomes clear that while the original Columbus Street Bridge may be long gone, the rivalry between the east and west sides of Cleveland remains firmly in place. But perhaps a bit less violently.

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The story of the Cuyahoga River fire of 1969 - the event that sparked pop songs, lit the imagination of an entire nation, and badly tarnished a city's reputation - is built more on myths than reality. Yes, an oil slick on the Cuyahoga River - polluted from decades of industrial waste - caught fire on a Sunday morning in June 1969 near the Republic Steel mill, causing about $100,000 worth of damage to two railroad bridges. Initially the fire drew little attention, either locally or nationally. The '69 fire was not even the first time that the river burned. Dating back to the beginning of the twentieth century, the river had caught fire on several other occasions.

The picture of the Cuyahoga River on fire that ended up in Time Magazine a month later - a truly arresting image showing flames leaping up from the water, completely engulfing a ship - was actually from a much more serious fire in November 1952. No picture of the '69 river fire is known to exist.

Throughout much of Cleveland's history, water pollution did not trouble the city's residents very much. Instead, water pollution was viewed as a necessary consequence of the industry that had brought prosperity to the city. This attitude began to change in the 1960s as ideas associated with what would become known as environmentalism took shape. In 1968, Cleveland residents overwhelmingly passed a $100 million bond initiative to fund the Cuyahoga's cleanup. Also, by this time deindustrialization was somewhat alleviating the pollution problem, as factories closed or cut back operations. Ironically, the city and its residents were beginning to take responsibility for the cleanliness of the river in the years before the infamous fire of 1969.

The '69 fire, then, was not really the terrifying climax of decades of pollution, but rather the last gasp of an industrial river whose role was beginning to change. Nevertheless, Cleveland became a symbol of environmental degradation. The Time article contributed to this, as did the notoriety of Cleveland Mayor Carl Stokes. Stokes, who was the first black mayor of a major city when elected in 1967, became deeply involved with the issue, holding a press conference at the site of the fire the following day and testifying before Congress - including his brother US Representative Louis Stokes - to urge greater federal involvement in pollution control. The Stokes brothers' advocacy played a part in the passage of the federal Clean Water Act of 1972. In Cleveland, a number of Cleveland State University students celebrated the inaugural Earth Day in 1970 by marching from campus to the river to protest pollution.

Even though it has been misunderstood, the 1969 Cuyahoga River fire did help bring about positive change. The river's water quality improved during the following decades, and business investors capitalized on this by converting parts of the Flats' abandoned industrial landscape into an entertainment district featuring restaurants, nightclubs, and music venues.

Much of the industry that both made Cleveland rich and caused its river to burn may never be coming back, but Clevelanders are meeting this challenge by reshaping their city to reflect its current realities.

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