When the coal mines of Vulcan, W.Va., gave out in the early 1960s, the only legal route by which to enter and exit the town was a swinging bridge too narrow to accommodate a vehicle. The 200 remaining residents pleaded with the state to repair the bridge, but no action was taken, and in 1975 the bridge collapsed, leaving the residents hemmed in between a river to the west and impassable mountains to the east, reduced to using a hazardous gravel road owned by the Norfolk and Western Railway. Still state officials were reluctant to rebuild the bridge, noting the limited traffic it would carry and the competing priorities in the state.
So the residents of Vulcan wrote to the Soviet embassy in Washington, requesting foreign aid. Soviet journalist Iona Andronov arrived on Dec. 17, 1977, to survey the problem. “He was sincere,” said resident John Robinette. “The Russians said they would keep an eye on the bridge and see if it were built. If not, they would.”
Within an hour the state announced it would do the work, and today a one-lane bridge connects Vulcan to the outside world. “Our government was afraid the Russians would build the bridge,” Robinette said. “They were embarrassed into it, and nothing will convince me otherwise.”
https://www.futilitycloset.com/2020/10/21/results/
...............................................................................................................................................................
Vulcan, too, sits in a straight line between the Tug Fork River and the tracks. The only legal way in and out of the town is the Vulcan Bridge, which connects residents to the unincorporated community of Freeburn, Kentucky — also in Pike County.
Just like the Nolan Toll Bridge, the Vulcan Bridge was originally built in the early 1900s to assist the local coal business. With a bridge, workers in Vulcan — which was a thriving coal camp — could walk to work in Kentucky’s mines instead of rowing across the river. Eventually, the Norfolk & Western Railway established a passenger stop on its line running through the town, meaning more workers could access the mines.
By the 1970s, though, trains traveling through weren’t carrying passengers or workers anymore, only coal and other resources. The mines across the river needed fewer workers, not more, and most of the bridge’s use came from day-to-day activities by the residents of Vulcan.
In 1974, the wooden bridge gave way to rot and collapsed.
For the 50 or so families in Vulcan, the only way in and out of the town without the bridge was by a narrow, rocky right-of-way sitting on the top of a small cliff and owned by the railway.
For a year following the collapse, John Robinette, a former carnival worker, bartender, notary public and the self-proclaimed mayor of Vulcan, tried working with legislators to repair the bridge.
He spoke to the county, with no luck. He reached out to lawmakers in both Kentucky and West Virginia, with no luck. He tried working through the governor’s office to receive federal help, but again, had no luck.
He was told time and time again that there was no money available to spend on the bridge, according to reports in the Gazette at the time.
Finally, in 1976, growing increasingly frustrated with what he saw as American bureaucratic run around, Robinette took his community’s problems overseas.
He wrote to the Soviet Union and detailed the situation in Vulcan — the bridge, the state’s lack of funding and, in his opinion, the country’s lack of concern. His first letter — sent to the Soviet Embassy in Washington D.C. — went unanswered by the Soviet government, at first. Eventually, though, he was contacted by Iona Andronov, a Soviet journalist interested in hearing Robinette’s story in person.
On Dec. 16, 1977, Andronov set foot in Vulcan for the first time. Within hours of the Russian’s visit, according to news reports, word came down from then-Gov. Jay Rockefeller’s office that West Virginia would begin working with Kentucky immediately to build a new Vulcan Bridge.
Charles Preston, of the West Virginia Highways Department, speculated to the Gazette at the time, “that somebody in Washington said, ‘do it and shut this guy up.’ The story was embarrassing. It became an international incident.”
Even with the assurances from the state government, Andronov said he reported to Soviet authorities after his visit that a bridge could quickly and easily be built. The Russians, he said, would have built the bridge if the state “had not kept its promise.”
To Robinette, though, the source of the funding for the bridge didn’t matter as long as it got done — and soon. “If the Russians call tomorrow and say they’ll build a bridge, I’ll say go ahead,” he told the Gazette on Jan. 4, 1978. “It’s first come, first serve.”
Two years later, on July 4, 1980, the 300-foot bridge opened — costing a little over $1 million (almost $4 million in today’s dollars), with the price split between West Virginia and Kentucky.
Robinette and Vulcan’s residents celebrated the opening of what they called “the bridge the Russians almost built” with illegally imported Russian vodka and an American flag hung high.
https://www.wvgazettemail.com/news/plight-of-nolan-residents-stirs-memories-of-bridge-the-russians-almost-built/article_56195b5b-c866-57b3-b5b2-c5d3131e671b.html
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vulcan,_West_Virginia
https://www.nytimes.com/1978/12/16/archives/stranded-mining-town-awaits-bridge-connection-for-miners-impetus.html
https://www.nytimes.com/1991/07/22/us/west-virginia-roads-a-bumpy-legacy-lives-on.html
