Photo by Molly C. McNeal
The first time I stood at the head of the old Municipal Dock in Baton Rouge, I felt as close to being part of the bustle of the Mississippi River as a landlubber could. This T-shaped concrete pier located just south of downtown reaches three hundred feet out from the levee so that in high water, the river rushes beneath it. At low water, the batture sprawls wide, decorated with willows and flotsam from faraway places.
The view is a 180-degree panorama encompassing two Mississippi River bridges—the massive I-10 crossing looms nearly overhead while the old Huey P. Long bridge is visible to the north. Directly across the river stands the expansive industrial sculpture of the Port of Greater Baton Rouge; a broad reach of working waterway stretches south. Ambient sound includes the growl and rumble of freighters, tugs, and barge tows. River breezes blow incessantly. The wide-sky sunsets are often spectacular.
The old Municipal Dock welcomes visitors who might notice a few mysterious elements: metal rails embedded through the head of the dock; several staunch, metal bollards perched like sentinels along the edge; a great, rusted metal frame with gears and bars rising on the downriver side, resembling (in low water) a tall, industrial doorway. Painted across the concrete deck are the barely legible white letters (artist unknown) of stanzas from John Lennon’s song, “Imagine.” Lennon was writing about peace, but the invitation to imagine is still relevant, especially to appreciate this century-old structure that began operation in 1926 and was never intended to become an attraction.
Baton Rouge was (and still is) the farthest point upriver on the Mississippi with a deepwater channel maintained by the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, rendering it navigable by deep-draught, oceangoing ships. Standard Oil took advantage of this in 1909, constructing a large refinery with modern wharves north of downtown—at a time when Baton Rouge’s riverfront consisted of little more than mudbanks and a few wooden wharves. In 1922, responding to urging by the Inland and Coastwise Waterways Service (often referred to as the “Federal Barge Authority”), that was pushing to increase waterway traffic, the city agreed to build a modern public dock. A well-engineered concrete and steel structure was designed by James W. Billingsley, a civil engineer from New Orleans who specialized in river terminals and coastal infrastructure; the first shipment arrived at the dock in August,1926.
Photo by Molly C. McNeal
This first real public dock for Baton Rouge, capable of servicing barges and oceangoing ships and transferring cargo “intermodally”—from rail to water and water to rail—was a source of great community pride. “An important contribution to the new industrial era,” crowed the local State Times newspaper.
For nearly thirty years, the public dock functioned almost as planned. Barges and small oceangoing ships were accommodated, notwithstanding river levels that could fluctuate by as much as fifty feet between high and low water. A locomotive steam crane mounted on rails ran along the dock’s river-facing edge; a second static crane, floating wharf, and electrified escalator system serviced barges from the downriver platform of the T. An enclosed shed rose above the spine of the long pier, leaving a perimeter broad enough for cargo—bulk commodities, iron and steel, automobiles, food, and general merchandise—and workers to circulate. The new dock’s design was cutting edge enough that teams of civil engineers and municipal planners from other river cities visited, to learn how it withstood the river’s relentless currents.
Not long after its opening, the dock served as a staging ground for rescue efforts during the Great Mississippi Flood of 1927, and also received flood refugees being transported to safety. A scheduled packet line began operation for twice weekly service between the dock and New Orleans, and in 1932, the USS Constitution—also known as “Old Ironsides,” moored there to receive visitors. Small cruise ships, too, occasionally anchored at the Municipal Dock.
Photo by Molly C. McNeal
From the beginning, however, the dock had an inherent problem: it had been built in the wrong place. Standard Oil’s facility was located at a site where the river’s deepwater channel swept directly past; the Municipal Dock was not. The deepwater channel crossed the river a little to the south of Standard Oil and flowed towards the west bank—where the Port of Greater Baton Rouge now stands. Seemingly, the dock’s planning committee had failed to consider this immutable fact of the river’s hydrology—the need for access to the deepwater channel for dependability. Constant silting at the dock became an ongoing problem which required incessant dredging, except during the two or three months of high water each year, adding great expense to the dock’s operation.
It became evident to business and legislative leaders that the Baton Rouge region could support an effective inland port but not at the site of Municipal Dock. Construction for the Port of Greater Baton Rouge began in 1954, eclipsing the Municipal Dock’s utility. By 1963, the dock was formally retired from service. Through the ensuing decades, the leaders tried repeatedly to attract a rent-paying tenant. A parade of businesses expressed interest: a restaurant housed in the 1927 steamboat Robert E. Lee, which would be perched on the T-head; an office for a tour boat company; the office of a marine repair company; a casino mooring; two separate creative mixed-use developments.
Nothing panned out.
Over time and disuse, the old dock became dilapidated, overgrown with tendrilling vines and batture flora. It also developed into a mysterious and forbidden venue, a destination for trespassers. Many of these adventurers—high school and college students, underwear-clad fraternity pledges, homeless people, musicians cutting edgy videos, photographers taking advantage of the unique environment—tell tales of sneaking onto the long pier. They would have crossed the levee, tiptoed gingerly along the thin, corroding metal gangway and rotting wooden bridge connecting the dock to the levee, and slipped through a locked gate to emerge onto the T-shaped wharf standing stoutly above the river.
The rusting walls of the long metal shed became a gallery of graffiti, inside and out—some so dense and brilliant it resembled stained glass, according to former Baton Rouge, now New Orleans-based artist, Denisse Reno. Somewhere along the way, John Lennon’s anonymous acolyte lovingly painted the words of “Imagine.”
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Photo by Molly C. McNeal
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Photo by Molly C. McNeal
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Photo by Molly C. McNeal
The old Municipal Dock endured as an offbeat destination and a chamber of commerce eyesore until 2017 when, finally, it was incorporated into the development of The Water Campus, a research center dedicated to the study of coastal restoration and sustainability, housing LSU’s Center for River Studies, The Water Institute of the Gulf, and other entities. Cleared, cleaned, and safety-railed, the dock was transformed to become the front porch of a striking metal and glass building that cantilevers beyond the levee, the Center for Coastal and Deltaic Solutions.
Walkways along either side of the building lead visitors to a balcony overlooking the open deck and the river vista. Weathered, old wood stairways serve as both steps down to the deck as well as seating for occasions when the old dock is transformed into an events venue. Signage with historic photos and explanations tell the old dock’s story.
It definitely takes a little imagination for visitors to appreciate what the dock was, and the role it was intended to play. But it takes little effort to wander the length of the pier, marvel at the river’s bustling activity, and instantly feel a part of the history of the great Mississippi River.
Details • DETAILS • Details
The Estuary at the Water Campus
1110 River Road, Baton Rouge
For walkers and bikers, the old Municipal Dock is accessible from the Mississippi River Levee Bike Path levee-top trail. For visitors arriving by car or bus, a free parking lot is directly across the River Road. Walk up the ramped driveway to walkways along each side of the Center for Coastal and Deltaic Solutions building.
