Rock Island Line: A Community Podcast
- Annika OMelia
- May 16
- 3 min read
Updated: May 22
Why I Chose to Call the Podcast Rock Island Line
When I set out to create a podcast rooted in the life, culture, and pulse of Rock Island, Illinois, the name came to me like an old, familiar song: Rock Island Line. It felt right. Not just because of the geographic tie, but because of everything the phrase has carried through time—music, migration, labor, resistance, and storytelling. It’s a name with layers. It’s a name with rhythm. It’s a name with history.
The Song Before the Train
Before Rock Island Line was a podcast, or even a railroad, it was a song—sung by African American laborers in the Deep South, working on Arkansas prison farms. The song is a spiritual and a protest, a coded message wrapped in gospel rhythms. Its earliest known recording was made in the 1930s by folklorists John and Alan Lomax at Cummins State Farm in Arkansas. The prisoners sang it to keep time with their work, but within its verses was a quiet rebellion, a sharp wit, and hope for escape.
The song spread beyond prison walls. In the 1950s, it was famously recorded by Lead Belly, and then Lonnie Donegan’s skiffle version became a massive hit in the UK—sparking a revival that would influence the Beatles and generations of musicians. The Rock Island Line was no longer just a set of tracks; it had become a cultural track of its own.
The Railroad That Named a City
The Chicago, Rock Island and Pacific Railroad—commonly known as the Rock Island Line—was one of the great railroads of the 19th and 20th centuries. It began in the 1850s, connecting the Mississippi River town of Rock Island, Illinois to the emerging economic power of Chicago, and stretching west and south to Colorado, Texas, and beyond.
Rock Island became the first place where a railroad bridge crossed the Mississippi, linking east and west by rail. That bridge—opened in 1856—was famously struck by a steamboat, leading to a lawsuit in which Abraham Lincoln defended the railroad. The case, and the bridge, symbolized the tensions and transformations of an industrializing America.
For the people of Rock Island, the railroad meant jobs, growth, and identity. It connected our city to the rest of the country. For some, it offered a way out. For others, a way in. For many, it defined what it meant to live and work in the Midwest.
Roald Tweet and the “Rock Island Lines”
The name also pays tribute to the late Roald Tweet, historian, storyteller, member of St. John's Lutheran Church, and longtime professor at Augustana College. His short radio segments, titled Rock Island Lines, aired on WVIK, the NPR affiliate for the Quad Cities. With warmth, wit, and depth, Tweet shared stories of our region’s people, quirks, triumphs, and tragedies. His voice became part of the fabric of the community—a gentle reminder that history lives all around us, in rail yards and river towns, graveyards and grocery stores.
While my podcast is different in style and tone, it aspires to that same sense of connection and place. Rock Island Line is both a nod to Tweet and an invitation to keep the stories going—stories of who we are, how we got here, and where we might be going.
The Line as in My Childhood Telephone
I like the idea of listeners being able to call in and share with the host and guest. "You're on the line" is a throwback to radio shows of my childhood. And... because nothing says fresh new podcast like talk of rotary telephones and trains.
The Line as a Metaphor
Ultimately, I chose the name Rock Island Line because it holds all these meanings—and because it moves.
It’s a line that runs through and connects. It’s a history that shapes our identity but is lost to us, like the influence of an ancestor. It's a symbol for the tracks laid and how we, collectively, can chart the path for tomorrow's generations. It's a call to mobilize, to find momentum, and to move forward.
The podcast is about the people of Rock Island: our challenges, hopes, struggles, and dreams. It’s a place to hear voices. A place for thought, for dialogue, for imagination. And like the train in the old song, I hope it carries something meaningful each time it passes by.
All aboard.
I love you, Rock Island.
Annika O'Melia