World’s Longest Traffic Light
WORLD’S LONGEST TRAFFIC LIGHT – July 10, 2024 – Slipknot, Nebraska, USA
(Author’s Note: To view an award-winning, dramatic telling of the story by the Paden brothers, visit this YouTube link: Video)
The Slipknot City Council meeting began as usual in the tiny room behind the Post Office. The space contained very little besides a few chairs and filing cabinets, but it was the official site for all official Slipknot operations. Present in the room was Ed Bowers, Slipknot’s only police office and postal employee. Councilwoman Misty Maas sat closest to the window. She owned Misty Dream Cakes, the only restaurant in town. Newly elected mayor, Frank Zucker, held an open laptop.
“First item of business is to show pictures from my trip,” Frank announced. He clicked through shots taken during his three-week cross-country RV tour. Ed and Misty remained an appreciative audience as Frank described the most interesting sites. “We passed a lot of places advertising the biggest or best something or other. Like the world’s biggest oyster or frying pan. It got me thinking that we could have something like that for Slipknot.”
“You want the world’s biggest frying pan in Slipknot?” Ed asked skeptically.
“Not the biggest frying plan. Something else. Something else we could talk about and be known for. Something to put us on the map. I always said I wanted to be mayor not for the glory of it but because I wanted to do something big. I think this could be it. Wouldn’t it be great to hear something like, ‘Slipknot, home of the world’s largest rainbows’?”
“You think we have the biggest rainbows?” Misty asked. “I don’t know, I saw a pretty big rainbow in Colorado last year.”
“The rainbow thing is just an example. We’d need to come up with something specifically for Slipknot. We’d put it on a sign and on the internet. People passing through on the highway would stop to eat at Dream Cakes or buy souvenirs at the Snack Mart. We’d make shirts to advertise what’s special about us.”
“Sure, I get it,” Ed replied. “Did you have in mind to build something? Building supplies aren’t in our budget. Practically nothing’s in our budget.”
“It would be better to think of something that already exists in town,” Frank answered. “What’s unusual that we could be proud of?”
“We don’t have any lakes or rivers, so anything involving water is out,” Misty replied.
“And we don’t have any special buildings,” Ed added.
“What about interesting food items?” Misty suggested. “Maybe someone has a huge Cheeto or corn cob. Or maybe a potato that looks like somebody famous. Folks would go crazy for a Taylor Swift or Trump potato.”
Frank shook his head. “I don’t think a potato’s going to do it.”
“Tommy Potts is good with wood,” Ed suggested. “He could make us the world’s largest spoon. Or maybe a giant toothpick.”
“Who’s going to pay for the wood? You already said we don’t have a budget. And where would we put a big spoon?”
“It could go in my restaurant,” Misty replied.
“I think we’re better off with something that already exists. Think harder. What’s unique about Slipknot?”
“There’s the traffic light,” Ed replied.
“Which one?”
“The broken one. The light’s been red for fifteen years. That’s got to be unique.”
Frank’s face brightened. “You’re right! Folks in big cities love talking about traffic jams and getting stuck in their cars. They’d want to see the world’s longest traffic light.”
For the past fifty years, Slipknot owned two traffic lights – a high number for a town of only 230 people. The working light sat over the main highway running through town. The other one was installed at the intersection of the most populated residential streets. The second light was a show of optimism that the town would grow. The population had hovered around 230 ever since.
Slipknotians got used to the two lights until suddenly the less important one stopped switching. The signal for one direction remained green, the other direction red. The glitch was blamed on an unseen lightning strike or a heavy rainstorm.
As the only city employee, Ed Bowers was responsible for repairs. He knew how to change the lightbulbs but was mystified by the inner circuitry that made the colors change. Fixing it meant a complete replacement or calling in an expert from the neighboring city of Sideways, population 15,000. There was no money in the budget for either option.
Since everyone in town understood what happened to the light, Ed implemented a cheap and simple solution to inform anyone who might be visiting. He hung a handwritten sign from the light with a chain. The sign read, “Treat Red Light Like Stop Sign. Go When Clear.”
The more the city council discussed exploiting the broken light for fame, the more they liked the idea. They voted three to zero to pursue it.
Frank, the mayor, began thinking up T-shirt designs. He realized that for any “World’s longest” claim to stick, it needed independent verification. Any town could decide to put up a sign, but visitors would only take it seriously if it was certified by a group like Guinness World Records.
Frank was determined and had plenty of time on his hands. He set to work tracking down the right Guinness people. He soon discovered a whole category of records devoted to roads and traffic. One of the head judges for the category was a retired civil engineer named Peter Wagnell. Peter lived in Florida but continued to travel the world to pursue and certify traffic records.
During a phone call, Peter admitted to Frank that he was intrigued by the traffic light claim. He was due to visit California in a couple of weeks to measure a new contender for the longest freeway offramp. He agreed to make a diversion through Nebraska to investigate Slipknot.
“This is the biggest thing to happen around here since I can remember,” Frank confided to Ed. “Not very many towns can claim a world record. This will put us on the map. Give us some pride. But let’s keep it secret until it’s official.”
While Frank kept the important details secret from other Slipknotians, he could not help brag that something huge was about to happen. He advised his voters to be in town on the day Peter Wagnell was scheduled to arrive.
Peter showed up at the Post Office in the evening, driving a camper van. He was tall and thin, with closely clipped gray hair. Everything about him oozed trustworthiness. He was not there for small talk, cute Nebraska anecdotes, or shenanigans. He insisted on seeing the reported traffic light immediately. Frank and Ed provided directions and then followed him there.
“It’s been stuck that way for fifteen years,” Ed explained as they looked up at the light. “That’s why I hung the sign explaining things.”
“When you give us the record, we want you to put something on it like ‘Fifteen years and counting,’” Frank added.
“How do I know it’s been this way for fifteen years?” Peter asked in a deadly serious tone.
“Oh, you have my word,” Ed replied. “And you can ask any of the people who live around here. They’ll swear the same thing.”
“I can’t take anyone’s word. I need undeniable and impartial proof. I can’t give out world records willy-nilly. If I did, they wouldn’t count for anything.”
Ed mumbled something like, “I guess that’s true.” The eager expressions on his and Ed’s faces fell.
“In order to certify a fifteen-year wait, I would need to see continual video proof. How can you be absolutely certain that light didn’t change last night while you were sleeping?”
“I guess I can’t be 100% sure,” Frank conceded.
“Fifteen years is out of the question,” Peter continued. “But I would be willing to monitor the light myself over an extended period. Say twenty-four hours. That should easily establish a record. I can’t conceive of a traffic light set to switch at a longer interval.”
A smile returned to Frank’s face. “So we’d still get the record. That’s the important part. The whole fifteen-year thing is just a detail.”
“Fine. Then I’ll plan on starting tomorrow at noon. Now gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get some sleep so I’m fresh for the entire 24 hours.” With that, Peter walked to his camper van and disappeared inside.
Frank and Ed were left alone, swinging their gaze between the traffic light and the closed van. “You think he can fall right to sleep?” Ed wondered aloud.
“He seems like a pretty focused guy. If he decides to sleep, he can probably drop off like that.” Frank snapped his fingers to show how fast it must happen. “This is good news. Day after tomorrow, we’ll have our world record.”
The mayor smiled at the city’s only employee before describing a T-shirt design showing a traffic light and a stopwatch.
By noon the next day, Peter emerged from his camper van to set up a folding chair and shade canopy. Next to him was a video camera pointed at the traffic light. At his feet sat a cooler containing food and water.
Frank and Ed arrived in time for the official clock to start. Misty walked down from her restaurant carrying a sandwich and slice of pie for Peter. He accepted them without taking his eyes off the traffic light.
Slipknotians anticipated something exciting happening and word quickly spread that the center of the action was at the usually quiet intersection. Spectators asked the mayor what was going on, but he remained playfully mysterious. “You’ll see by tomorrow,” he answered with a sly grin.
Peter looked so important and busy, no one bothered to ask who he was or what he was doing. He was obviously part of the mayor’s big surprise. Most of the town’s 230 residents walked over to stare at Peter and the light. A kind of party atmosphere developed. People brought chairs and picnic dinners. A couple of families lit leftover fireworks from their 4th of July celebrations. The mayor promised anyone who would listen that the real excitement would happen tomorrow. He and Ed were the last to leave. They waved to Peter and wished him a good night. Peter returned an acknowledgment nod in the gloaming darkness.
Peter was still at his station the next morning looking as if he had not flinched in his chair during the night. His important stare remained on the light. Lunchtime approached and a loose crowd reassembled. Peter periodically checked his watch. Onlookers speculated about what might happen and when. Some thought the stranger in town was an artist or movie maker. Others guessed he was a scientist and the traffic light was part of a breakthrough experiment.
While the humans below watched and wondered, hidden away up in the traffic light, countless electrons whizzed around to make the bulbs glow. The fact that the colors never changed meant the electrons were not doing the correct thing. There was some truth to the broken light being attributed to a heavy rainstorm fifteen years earlier. The box surrounding the circuit board controlling the electrons was not properly sealed. Moisture crept in and reacted with a chemical on the board to form a new conducting compound. This created an electrical short, bypassing the switching circuitry.
No one watching from below knew about the conducting compound. This meant they could not know the compound was slowly changing. Over fifteen years, it became less and less conductive. On the morning of Peter Wagnell’s review, the compound was on the verge of no longer shorting out the circuit.
“Are you ready?” Frank, the mayor, continued to ask as he circled the crowd.
Slipknotians nodded and excitedly replied, “We’re ready for anything!”
As noon approached, the mayor checked his watch more frequently. So did Peter. At exactly 11:47 and 16 seconds, the horde of electrons in the hidden circuit board did something unexpected. The short caused by the mystery compound disappeared. Electrons rerouted and activated the switch. For the first time in fifteen years, the light for east-west traffic turned from green to yellow. A few seconds later, it changed from yellow to red and the north-south light changed from red to green.
The humans below reacted as if the traffic light was a UFO. Jaws dropped as onlookers backed up a few paces.
Someone shouted, “Did you see that?”
The question was answered with, “I can’t believe my eyes!”
No one breathed until the lights switched again. After a third change, Slipknotians allowed themselves to believe the world was not ending. A child cheered and clapped. Soon everyone clapped. After a fifteen-year break, the light was back on the job.
The only spectators who appeared disappointed were the mayor, Ed Bowers, and Misty Maas. Peter Wagnell remained indifferent. He turned off his camera and folded up his chair. The mayor hurried over to Peter and asked, “So now what? What does this mean?”
“You appear to have a very normal traffic light,” Peter calmly answered. “I can’t certify you for any kind of record. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way.”
In a matter of seconds, Peter robotically folded his shade canopy, loaded his van, and drove away. The mayor wordlessly watched him go. He had not felt such heartache since losing his favorite Bluetick Coonhound. He would not get to read the speech tucked into his pocket. As he was about to find Ed and Misty so they could commiserate, Tommy Potts, the expert woodworker, grabbed his hand and shook it vigorously.
“You sure delivered,” Tommy cried. “How’d you convince that man to come fix the light?”
The mayor hesitated with an answer while someone else patted his back and said, “I’ve been waiting to see this day for a long time. We’ve finally got two working lights again.”
The mayor quickly recognized the mood of his constituents and shouted, “I’m glad to see you’re all so happy!”
For the next fifteen minutes, everyone in Slipknot peered up at their traffic light like they were watching billboards in Times Square. They clapped for every color change. Ed Bowers wondered out loud how he was going to remove the sign hanging below the light.
The mayor, Ed, and Misty were some of the final people to disperse. They walked together toward Misty’s restaurant for a celebratory slice of pie.
“It wasn’t what we planned, but I guess we got lucky,” Frank, the mayor said. “Maybe that’s a big enough thing for this year.”
“I think so,” Misty replied. “We can take some time to come up with another world record idea. If you ask me, we should concentrate on pies.”
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Keywords: World’s Longest Traffic Light, Guinness World Records