All Photos found herein are enhanced from original Chuck White photographs from the Route 1 Project.
THE ROUTE 1 PROJECT
Every great expedition begins with a map. In 2017, Motherlode left Norwood, Massachusetts, bound for Mile Marker Zero in Key West, Florida. The plan was to spend two months traveling the entire length of U.S. Route 1 to its northern terminus at Mile Marker Zero in Fort Kent, Maine, documenting the road, the people, and the places along the way. Ten years later, it is clear that the real destination was never Route 1 at all. It was the unexpected conversations, forgotten histories, remarkable artists, and hidden communities that transformed a highway into a cultural map of America.
The 100 plus miles of the beginning of Route 1 were walled with personal belongings as if these inanimate objects were lining up and waiting for a parade to arrive.
In June 1954, photographer Berenice Abbott set off from New York with two companions to drive the length of Route 1.
Beluthahatchee was Stetson Kennedy's sanctuary, where Woody Guthrie wrote songs in the fight for justice that made American folk history.
Arriving just in time for the 20th Anniversary of the Celebration of Gram Parsons music in the Okefenokee Swamp.
All of a sudden my passenger door came open. He said, "If you don't see how that could work maybe you should give this booklet a little read."
A gracious lady from the local vineyard looked at me quite matter of factly and spoke, "There ain't no music in Soul City."
They opened the restaurant/bar smack dab in the middle of the neighborhood they called home back when Sleezy P Martini hatched the heinous plot to take over the world.
The Folklife Specialist took me down into the vaults in the basement of the Library of Congress. Alan Lomax's films, manuscripts, maps, photographs, letters from Woody Guthrie.
I saw poverty in Augusta, Georgia but I think West Baltimore was the most hardcore living I witnessed. I think I get the Deer Tick song now.
PENNSYLVANIA
PHILADELPHIA
They are out there – they just didn’t cross the radar. The girl that sold me my hair goop suggested that I might have some luck just north of where I was staying in Glen Mills.
The Court Tavern wasn't just a club—it was New Jersey's proving ground, where generations of underground bands learned that legends are built one loud night at a time.
A city stacked on a hill with the best view on Manhattan from across the river. It was the gritty home of ol' blue eyes himself.
Then it was off to find the heartbeat of the Bronx and I found the proper neighborhood and some fine acts at the An Beal Brocht.
He said, "You're from Boston. I can tell from your accent. I'll fight your whole table. I just got out of jail."
House parties or living room concerts had become all the rage. The Silks offshoot Lady & the Cowboy came across my social feed that morning.
It was “Spinal Tap meets Waiting for Godot"
Chuck White who has collected musical oddities from the musical world like P.T. Barnum collected freaks, held court.
JJ Gonson was making a run at an old ballroom just outside Davis Square where many of the ghosts of Green Street Station now haunted.
Halloween was fast approaching. Why say why? Why not say why not? Strymish always supplied great tips.
We had turned Portland inside out a couple of years prior when we shot the pilot for "Searching For The Motherlode."
What was supposed to be a symbolic run to finish the tour ended up being the greatest discovery. Ground Zero for the Acadian and Celt settlers. Home of the Wabanaki Confederation.
"Why did you start way down there. Mile Marker Zero on Route 1 begins in Fort Kent, Maine - not Key West, Florida."
