Fifty years ago today, Bedford County supervisors did something radical. They called on state regulators to make the water in Smith Mountain Lake “clear enough for drinking.”
At the time, that was something of a fantastical suggestion. The Roanoke River that flowed into the newly formed lake was essentially an open sewer.
It really had been an open sewer until 1952. That’s when Roanoke built its first sewage treatment plant. Before then, the localities along the river pumped their waste into the waterway because they had nowhere else to send it. By 1967, though, the small plant was overwhelmed, and sometimes, had no choice but to let untreated sewage wash downstream. Factories likewise dumped their toxic waste into the river.
That’s just how things were in those days. The Environmental Protection Agency didn’t exist then and the State Water Control Board barely did; Virginia law exempted most industries from any regulation. Then two things happened. The first was the 1960s, a turbulent time for lots of things, including the rise of the environmental movement. The second was Smith Mountain Lake. In 1966, the new lake filled up – and people who had looked forward to swimming and boating were horrified to find out how nasty it was.
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Come the spring of 1967, as a new lake season approached, there was a public clamor to clean things up – a clamor loud enough that it reached the office of Gov. Mills Godwin. The conservative Democrat at first denied he was hearing any complaints about the lake. Then Roanoke doctor James Comer revealed he had written the governor weeks earlier to warn that “the likelihood of serious illness and even death to anyone swimming in this river and lake is considerable.” Godwin backtracked and ordered a report on the lake. It was in that context that Bedford supervisors upped the ante by demanding the lake water be made clean enough to drink.
The report from the State Water Control Board said reports of the lake’s contamination were “greatly exaggerated.” Nevertheless, it described sewers in Roanoke and Salem regularly overflowing into the river and the sight of “unsightly, putrescent and even odorous” raw sewage floating above Hardy Ford Bridge. It also said there wasn’t a practical way to fix the problem unless all wastewater was treated first – which seemed preposterous at the time. Now people were even more unhappy than they were before, especially if they happened to be downstream from Roanoke. Bedford County remained the most agitated, because it saw economic-development potential at the lake. Officials there clamored for more state regulation. State officials weren’t keen to provide it. When Bedford County asked the state health department to run tests on lake water so they could have data to present to the 1968 General Assembly, the health department refused.
That 1968 session was dominated by a push for what really were fairly modest changes to state law. Even those were fiercely resisted by the chairman of the State Water Control Board, who just happened to be the former speaker of the house. Even out of office, Blackburn Moore remained one of the most powerful people in Richmond. He also had written the original state laws that exempted most industries and still looked out for them. “Do we want to stop growth of industry?” he asked. Pollution remained de facto policy.
Then two more things happened. Richard Nixon was elected president in 1968 and Linwood Holton was elected governor in 1969. Both were Republicans, but both championed environmental causes in ways that would shock our modern sensibilities. Nixon created the EPA; New standards for water quality soon came down. Holton’s inaugural address is best remembered for his progressive views on civil rights but he also devoted a significant chunk of it to the environment. He vowed to make cleaning up state waters a “top priority.” Those weren’t empty words.
Holton installed a new majority on the water board. It was one of his most decisive actions. Moore was out. In came four new appointees. All were in their 30s. Three were identified with environmental causes. One was even a woman. It really was a new day in Richmond.
The new board chairman was Noman Cole Jr., a no-nonsense engineer from Fairfax County. He immediately put communities on notice that if they didn’t upgrade their sewage treatment plants, state action would follow. Smith Mountain Lake suddenly became the board’s top issue – which meant the Roanoke Valley’s unwillingness to upgrade its facilities became the top issue. The problem was a typical one for those days: Roanoke Valley governments simply wouldn’t cooperate with each other.
Cole groused that his board had become “the Roanoke coordinating board.” “Some of you apparently haven’t spoken to each other until you come down here,” he complained. “It we had many more places like Roanoke, we’d be in continuous session.” Meanwhile, the head of the Bedford Chamber of Commerce, W.H. Walton Jr., held up a jar of lake water that contained “black floating solids.” Cole lashed out at Roanoke officials: “If I were a voter in that area, I’d hang you all by the toenails.”
Cole figured there was only way to get the Roanoke Valley’s attention. The board slapped a moratorium on new sewer hook-ups in the valley. That worked. Facilities got upgraded and, in time, the lake cleared up.
How clear? Clear enough that in 1999, a treatment plant near Moneta started pulling water from the lake for drinking water – exactly what Bedford supervisors had called for in 1967. In March of this year, the $14 million Smith Mountain Lake Water Treatment Plant opened in Moneta, tripling the capacity – with a potential to sextuple it. That water now goes into two different systems – the Bedford Regional Water Authority, which pumps it as far as Forest, and the Western Virginia Water Authority, which pumps it to customers in Franklin County.
On Thursday, officials from throughout the region will hold a delayed ribbon-cutting ceremony. Cole died in a skiing accident in 1997, two years before he could see the first glass of drinking water from the lake, but Holton remains a vigorous force even at 93. Today we should all hoist a toast of clear drinking water in their honor. This day wouldn’t have happened without them.
