In the Shadow of the Crossroads of America: First Impressions of Indianapolis’ Inner Loop
Two Indianapolis locals sitting in the seats at the Idle overlooking the 65-70 interchange. The park, situated off Virginia Avenue in Southeast Indianapolis, offers a unique view of the sprawling highways and grassy space between them.
Whether it's perpetual construction, offramps-turned-rivers, or harrowing merges, mention driving in Downtown Indianapolis and you'll likely be met with a look of exasperation and perhaps a cautionary tale.
The first time I drove on Interstate 65/70 which carves its way around Downtown Indianapolis, I ended up hopelessly lost. My 15-minute errand turned into a 45-minute mess of onramps and last-minute merges and for a moment, I nearly accepted that a spontaneous road trip to St. Louis was my fate.
Early this summer, after months of avoiding getting tangled in traffic, I returned to the Inner Loop, this time as part of my work with the Rethink 65/70 Coalition as the McKinney Climate Fellow. Equipped with a camera and a baseline of knowledge of the highway’s history, I set out to get a better understanding of not just how to navigate the highway but how it has shaped the city and neighborhoods around it.
This three-part series documents these first impressions along three sections of the Inner Loop: the North Leg, South Split, and Southeast Interchange.
A map marking the areas I visited along the Inner Loop that encircles Downtown Indianapolis. The names are references to the neighborhoods around the three major sections of the highway scheduled for reconstruction: the North Leg, South Leg, and South Interchange.
PART I
The Northwest Gate: Crispus Attucks & Ransom Place
My first stop on this multi-modal tour was the Northwest corner of the Inner Loop. After several wrong turns, including not one but two that swept me back onto the highway, I arrived at Crispus Attucks, a historical, formerly segregated high school. Built in 1927, the beautiful brick building sits on the edge Ransom Place, a Historic District that since the late 1800’s has formed the commercial epicenter of Indianapolis’s Black community.
A semi drives above the “Keepers of Culture” mural on the Stutz Building near the Northwest Gate. The 3D mural depicts eight Black Hoosier artists and entrepreneurs. Splashes of color and public art, like this mural, are sprinkled along the edges throughout the Inner Loop.
When plans for the I-65/70 Inner Loop were first released in 1956, redlined districts, including much of the Northwest corner, were disproportionately targeted for construction. Despite fierce public opposition and community organizing, highway construction went forward carving up the residential area, displacing thousands of residents and effectively corralling the neighborhoods to the southwest side of the highway. Both Crispus Attucks and the New Baptist Church, which sits across from it, are vestiges of what was once a more cohesive, residential area.
Targeting redlined neighborhoods for major, disruptive infrastructure projects is a pattern played out in cities throughout the country, often jeopardizing these areas' economic and social vibrancy in the process Indy's North Leg is no exception.
A 1937 "Residential Security" or Redlining map around Downtown Indianapolis modified to show the route of the Inner Loop.
The highway’s presence along the length of the North Leg was looming and unavoidable— the raised system creating shadowy underpasses, harboring parking lots, and tracing the edges of overlapping construction sites. I felt oddly exposed walking around the highway and met many confused, sometimes curious faces peering out from the perpetual line of car windows funneling to and from the onramps.
This feeling of being out of place as a pedestrian was sharpened with every dead-end path and crumbling sidewalk. Despite this discomfort, being on foot did offer the opportunity to soak in the murals splashed on the sides of buildings and underpasses-turned-canvases, breaking the monotony of chain-link fences and commercial towers.
Eventually, the absence of trees, limited crosswalks, noise pollution, and oppressive heat radiating from the pavement drew me back to my car and down to my next stop: the Southwest corner of the Loop.
The North Leg of the Inner Loop hovers behind the Indianapolis New Baptist Church in the former Ransom Place Neighborhood. When highway construction began, the church, and Crispus Attucks High School across from it, were stranded at the edge of a community.
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PART II:
Southeast Interchange Fountain Square & Fletcher Place
The Southeast corner of the Loop, unlike the North Leg, is recessed, bordered by sloping grassy embankments, each a matof purple thistles and wild plantain. Crossing the highway, I was joined on the sidewalk by runners and cyclists, dogwalkers and people pushing children in strollers. Both sides of the bridge over the I-65 were lined with cafes, small businesses, and breweries, the Indianapolis Cultural Trail stitching the two sides together.
Thistles growing on the embankments under the Virginia St. Bridge.
Dogwalkers, runners, and cyclists were among those on the Cultural Trail as it crosses over the I-65, the only crossing point in the 8.1-mile trail. The Idle’s foliage is seen on the left. This section of recessed highway contrasted with rest of the raised sections and created a more social, cohesive area.
It was the only section of the Loop that I felt invited people to linger. It was not only a corridor to funnel commuters from here to there but a place to meet and spend a morning over a coffee or meal in the evening. I made a point to visit the Idle, a park overlooking the point where I-65 and I-70 intersect. Since its completion in 2018, its bizarre location has attracted national attention and the lookout has weathered its fair share of vandalism. According to Tom Battista who spearheaded the project, the park was designed in response to rapid development in the area and to catalyze community connectivity. It also offers a muchneeded slice of greenspace.
For me, the park was both a place of reflection and unease. The path was dark and cool, a tunnel of foliage that eventually opened to three short rows of stadium seats and a sprawling view of the weaving interstate.
I was soon joined by two other women in their 20’s. Like me, it was their first time visiting the park. Unlike me, however, they had both been born and raised in the city. When I asked them what they thought of the park, they shrugged. “It’s… interesting,” one mused, “It’s what we have and we’re just making the most of it.”
“It’s the crossroads of America,” smiled the other, looking out at the tangle of roads and grass that filled our view.
The sign tucked into foliage at the entrance of The Idle, introducing it as an urban gathering space.
Part III: South Leg
Babe Denny Park and the Southside Neighborhood
As the June sun crept higher, bringing the heat along with it, I moved down to my final stop of the day down at the South Leg. I After the feeling of isolation under the bridge in the North Leg and the bustling businesses and dog walkers of the Southeast interchange, I was curious to see how the South Leg had evolved around the highway.
A patron visits Iozzo’s Garden of Italy in the Babe Denny neighborhood. The I-70 sits roughly 50 yards from the restaurant’s front door marks the beginning of the more cohesive residential area of the neighborhood.
I began in front of Iozzo’s Garden of Italy, a local, family-owned restaurant that sits at the base of I-70 which effectively creates a barrier between it and the patrons it has been serving the community since the 1930’s.
The pillars of the underpass next to Iozzo’s were painted like Roman columns and pastel flowers were splashed on the sloping concrete. Like those in the North Leg, these public art pieces were a reminder that while the sidewalks were empty, there were still stewards of this place, neighbors and residents who care for this space.
Iozzo’s sits near Babe Denny, a park area in the historically diverse neighborhood nestled between the Lucas Oil Stadium and the I-70. After WWII, it was designated as a redlined district, largely due to its significant Jewish and Black populations, which contributed to business expansion and a shrinking residential population. The construction of the I-70 through the area and the Stadium in 2005 accelerated this decline and limited community efforts to revitalize the area.
A semitruck drives along the South Leg, transecting the Southside neighborhood.
A street in Bates-Hendricks dead-ends into the I-65. Residential streets that cross the highway attracted higher speed traffic.
Of the areas I visited, I found Babe Denny park area and surrounding neighborhood the most striking. While other neighborhoods such as Fletcher Place or the North Leg had been severed, leaving a trail of dead ends, they often remained residential or were transformed into commercial areas. This patch of land, however, had been left in limbo.
At first glance, I felt that the neighborhood had neither ceased to be a neighborhood nor transitioned into an active commercial or industrial area. All that was left was a playground, the Bethesda Baptist Church, and a few commercial buildings and scattered houses.
I’ve come to think of the houses that have remained in these fragmented neighborhoods as islands- jutting out from a sea of vacant lots left to fallow or be paved over for parking.
An aerial photo shows a cohesive, gridded Southside neighborhood where Babe Denny is located (1956) prior to I-70 construction.
Babe Denny Park in 2020, in a fragmented neighborhood carved by on and off ramps.
As I was walking back to my car, I met a man whose parents, I learned, had lived in one of these island houses since the 60’s, before the highway was built. They had watched as their their neighbors were displaced via eminent domain, sold their homes, or in one case, left to turn their house into an Air BnB, biding their time before they too could sell.
When asked why they stayed when so many had left, he smiled.
“Wisdom” At my look of confusion he went on, “We have space, quiet, and no crime. We can hop on the highway and we’re downtown in no time. We couldn’t get what we have here for less than $450k anywhere else in the city.”
After a pause, he added, “But this neighborhood is a lost cause. What we need now is to build some kind of economy around here."
At the mention of an economy, my mind flashed to the many For Sale signs I had seen flanking the highway. I wondered what would fill these spaces? How will these neighborhoods evolve? Who will it evolve for?
I thanked him for his time, climbed back in my truck, hopped onto the highway and, tired from the day, drove home.
Two homes near Babe Denny Park along the South Leg look exposed and out of place among chain link fence, parking lots, and grassy lots.
Final Thoughts
From the fragmented neighborhoods and construction sites of Ransom Place to the crisp, gentrifying Fountain Square, to the vacant lots around Babe Denny Park, it's difficult not to see— and feel—how deeply the Inner Loop has shaped the city.
Of course, these photos and impressions just graze the surface of how the city has shifted, adapted, and evolved in response to a highway built for those passing through.
The Inner Loop, and hundreds of urban highway projects like it, continue to shape the culture and experience of people living in their shadows. As they begin to reach their expiration date, I wonder, what will come next?
A neglected sidewalk near Babe Denny Park leading to I-70.
Ringgold Park butts up against the I-65 which separates the Bates-Hendricks and Fountain Square neighborhoods. Bates-Hendricks residents are collaborating with Keep Indy Beautiful and Mader Design to revitalize the park, which had been largely neglected by the construction of I-65.