Man wages litter war on Battle Road
Over past year, a ton of trash removed from historic trail

By Leslie Anderson, Globe Correspondent, 7/14/2002

As he picks his way through the grass along the stretch of Route 2A known as Battle Road, Andy Clerkin feels as though he's traveling back through time.

Up ahead is the wooded hill at Meriam's Corner, where Colonists ambushed British soldiers during their retreat to Boston on April 19, 1775.

To his left, he sees open fields. To his right, an 18th-century farm house. Below him, a Diet Coke can, a plastic coffee cup lid, a crumpled cigarette pack.

''Wait a minute,'' he says. ''I missed something.''

Clerkin bends down, snatches the bits of litter with a gloved hand and tosses them into a plastic garbage bag.

''I just can't stand seeing litter. Period.''

Neither can most of the 1 million visitors who tour Minute Man National Historical Park each year. Since it was established by Congress to ''preserve, selectively restore, and interpret portions of the Lexington-Concord Battle Road,'' the national park has rid the 5-mile stretch of highway of modern-day blights ranging from cocktail lounges to a car dealership.

But the beer cans, dirty diapers, and other castoffs from the heavily traveled highway have been harder to fix. That is, until Clerkin came along.

Since spring of 2001, according to park officials, the 50-year-old computer programmer from Bedford has collected some 400 bags of trash in his spare time. That translates into an entire ton of cans, hubcaps, lightbulbs, Slim Jim wrappers, and other relics of today's throwaway culture that would have stymied the soldiers who marched the same Route 227 years ago.

''He really is a hero to our staff,'' said Melissa Saalfield, the park's public affairs officer. ''They have so much to do as it is. We have nearly 1,000 acres, many of which we have to keep mowed. There's a lot of forest that we need to prune. We need to repair stone walls.''

Saalfield said that litter in general has declined at the park since a new policy went into effect several years ago requesting visitors to take their refuse home with them. As part of the ''Leave No Trace'' program, which has been adopted at parks throughout the country, trash barrels were removed everywhere except in the visitors center's restrooms.

The exception to the decline in litter is Route 2A itself.

''It's just gone through this beautiful transition from a commuter road to a park,'' Clerkin said. ''But people still treat it like a commuter road. It really irritates me to see people with this mentality that it doesn't matter where you throw something. It's particularly galling at a historic site like this.''

Raised in Lexington, Clerkin learned early on about the confrontation between British soldiers and Colonists on Battle Green that began the Revolutionary War.

''I was so steeped in the history of April 19. You had the parades. You were out of school. It was the biggest thing besides Christmas,'' he recalled.

As an adult, Clerkin enjoys walking the Battle Road Trail in early spring and imagining what the soldiers experienced two centuries earlier. ''The leaves aren't out yet, but there's something so beautiful about that time of year,'' he said. ''But you walk along and see this litter. I said, `I just have to do something about this.'''

At one time several years ago, according to Saalfield, two dozen volunteers from the 66th Logistics Squadron at Hanscom Air Force Base would pick up trash along Route 2A. The volunteer program ceased when the squadron was relocated from the base.

''Then one Monday morning last spring, we noticed about 60 bags of trash that had been collected,'' Saalfield said. ''Our first thought was that the group was back. No, it was the outstanding work of one man, Andy Clerkin.''

Clerkin said he contacted the park's volunteer coordinator, who supplied him with trash bags, traffic cones, and an orange safety vest.

''People suggest getting the Boy Scouts, but it is a dangerous road,'' he said. ''There are areas where there is very little shoulder.''

Clerkin devised his own equipment to ward off poison ivy - two socks with the toes cut out that cover his wrists from the end of his shirtsleeves to the tops of his heavy leather gloves. ''You learn techniques,'' he said. ''It's a dirty job - no way around it.''

On a recent Saturday morning, he found ripped-up bits of a pornographic video catalog strewn along a quarter-mile of the highway.

''I can't really mention some of the stuff,'' he said. ''I've found a cellphone, videotapes, audiotapes, CDs, hubcaps. Some of the worst offenders right now are water bottles and juice bottles. They're not in the Bottle Bill. They're all over the place.''

The cigarette butts are so tiny and so numerous, he leaves them alone. Otherwise, his rule of thumb is, ''If I can see it, it's gotta go.''

Clerkin encounters his share of early morning joggers and walkers while he works. Some take time to thank him for his efforts. ''Other people figure, `Oh, this guy must have done something wrong. He must be a prisoner on furlough.'''

Now and then, he pauses to listen to the crickets and watch the butterflies flitting through the fields. Then, he spots another Styrofoam coffee cup and sticks it in the bag.

''It's something I can really just do,'' he said. ''I think this is the premier park in the country. It makes you feel good to do something.''

This story ran on page1 of the Boston Globe NorthWest Weekly section on 7/14/2002. © Copyright 2002 Globe Newspaper Company. ==========
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