Closed on Sundays — legislation on New York Thruway reignites an old culture war

As someone who deplores driving long distances, and especially doing so with tired, hungry kids, I get it. Even as a person who regularly tries to observe a sabbath day of rest, I understand. Many of us have made the mistake—pulling up to a Chick-fil-A on a Sunday, only to remember, “Ugh, they are CLOSED ON SUNDAY.” So, when I read about frustrated Sunday travelers on the New York Thruway complaining that 10 of its newly renovated rest stops now feature Chick-fil-As, well, I was sympathetic. Then, when I learned that New York Assemblyman Tony Simone introduced a bill to ensure that future leases would bar Thruway establishments from closing on Sundays, causing the conservative ecosystem to predictably overreact—even though the bill would not affect the Thruway’s Chick-fil-A’s—it reminded me of a similar culture war that also took place along upstate New York’s most important transportation arteries 200 years ago.  

In the 1820s, New Yorkers built the Erie Canal. Augmenting that spectacular feat of engineering was a stagecoach line that ran from Albany to Buffalo, not far from the path of today’s Thruway. These internal improvements led to the expansion of New York City and turned little villages like Rochester into boomtowns. They also reignited a source of intense cultural conflict in the early 19th century—the seven-day work week. Both the Erie Canal and the main stagecoach line of upstate New York ran on Sundays, sparking intense pushback from Protestants who viewed the seven-day workweek as something akin to the nation giving the Almighty himself a big, fat middle finger. What would God’s response be? The destruction of the United States, of course. As Lyman Beecher argued in a 1829 sermon, the country would meet its end in such a manner that “our epitaph will stand forth a warning to the world.” 

Historians have typically claimed the disruption caused by the expanding market economy is partly why so many religious revivals broke out in the early 19th century, spawning voluntary reform associations that helped fuel the temperance, Sabbatarian, and abolition movements, among others. Attracting far less notice is how businesses were started in the 1820s and ’30s as agents of reform themselves. In upstate New York, this took the form of Erie Canal companies such as the Hudson & Erie (1927) and the Pioneer Stagecoach Line (1828) which proudly advertised that they did not operate on Sundays, and in the case of the Pioneer, only hired clean, moral drivers who did not stop at hotels that served alcohol.  

These businesses were controversial, especially the Pioneer, which functioned as the focal point of the argument over whether the emerging capitalist system should take a day off on Sundays. It generated heated rhetoric reminiscent of South Carolina Republican Sen. Lindsay Graham’s post last week about Assemblyman Simone’s legislation on X, “This is war.” The Pioneer’s supporters labeled newspaper editors who wrote critically of the stagecoach line as “taking the side of infidels.” In response, the Pioneer’s critics responded that its proprietors were “fanaticks” driven by “blind zeal.” Shenanigans ensued, with each side charging subterfuge and sabotage. (One particularly egregious episode supposedly involved individuals driving the horses of a six-day line boat, the Citizen of the Citizensinto the Erie Canal, a booby-trapped towpath bridge, and mysteriously severed towlines.) 

The Thruway Chick-fil-As share a profile with the Pioneer and Hudson & Erie as Christian business enterprises—businesses infused with religion. Such businesses have a long history in the United States, even though thanks to recent controversial U.S. Supreme Court cases involving Hobby Lobby and Masterpiece Cakeshop, they can sometimes seem like a recent manifestation of conservative Christians seeking to impose their values on the public square. Yet, the Sabbatarian businesses of the 1820s differ from those of today in a significant way. S. Truett Cathy incorporated a six-day work week in 1946 for Chick-fil-A as a matter of personal conviction, not a desire for marketplace (or national) reform. The controversy surrounding Chick-fil-A has centered on its chairman Dan Cathy’s definition of marriage and the evangelical recipients of the chain’s charitable donations. As far as I am aware, this is the first time the chain’s policy of closing its stores on Sundays has been a point of contention.  

Business and religion have long been intertwined in North America, to a degree that often surprises not only my international students, but also secular progressive pupils who have grown up in the U. S. The notion that businesses might have a religious ethos is at best odd to some and downright offensive to others. It is useful to remember that the country has been arguing over their existence for well-over 200 years, and America’s roster of religious businesses now includes not only Christian establishments, but spiritual crystal boutiques, botanicas, zen macrobiotic stores, Yemini cafes, and Kosher certification firms.  

Joseph P. Slaughter is an assistant professor of history at Wesleyan University, and the author of “Faith in Markets: Christian Capitalism in the Early Republic” (Columbia University Press).