More than a century ago, in the late 1800s, early 1900s, Utah faced a problem most people simply accepted as normal.
Roads were muddy in the winter, dusty in the summer, and rough year-round. Wagons broke axles. Horses stumbled. Travel was slow. Commerce was limited. Opportunity stopped where the ruts got too deep.
Most people shrugged and said, “That’s just how it is.”
But one legislator refused to accept that.
David Robert Roberts – a young, eager legislator from Cache County in the early 1900s – saw something different.
He believed Utah’s future depended on something most people didn’t consider necessary, or just outright opposed: a real system of roads.
Not just paths between towns, but infrastructure that could connect communities, move goods, and open opportunity.
Roberts pushed legislation year after year. He was mocked. His bills were vetoed. People shook their fists in his face and told him he was wasting tax dollars on (quote) “roads for rich men and their automobiles.”
He was nicknamed “Good Roads Roberts” – and it wasn’t meant as a compliment.
A national proposal to partner with states on building roads promised Utah critical support and funding… but Congress failed to act.
Once again, the path forward was blocked.
Roberts pushed for state cooperation with counties. He pushed for a state road commission. He pushed for maintenance standards, funding mechanisms, and long-term planning.
Time and time again, the answer was not now, too expensive, too disruptive, too far ahead of its time.
But Roberts didn’t stop.
He believed that if an idea is right, it’s worth fighting for.
Eventually, persistence broke through resistance. In 1909, the legislature passed a comprehensive package of road laws that laid the foundation for Utah’s road system.
What had once been ridiculed became praised. What was once controversial became indispensable.
Today, no one questions whether roads were worth building.
In fact, we’re often criticized for not building enough roads.
Roberts understood something that too few people understand in the moment: progress rarely looks popular while it’s happening.
Roberts knew he wouldn’t personally benefit from the roads he fought for. He wouldn’t live to see freeways, or safe mountain passes, or the ease with which Utah families now travel from Ogden to Provo in an hour, fifteen minutes. (Rep. MacPherson, you probably do it in an hour).
But he also knew that the future was worth fighting for—even if the payoff belonged to someone else.
That is the calling of public service.
Every generation inherits the work of those who came before it. And every generation, whether it realizes it or not, is laying foundations for the next.
That was true in 1909.
And it’s just as true today.
Don’t get me wrong – the work we’ll do in this chamber over the next 45 days is important.
But for Utahns, real life doesn’t happen in committee meetings or on the House floor. It happens around kitchen tables, in the carpool pickup line, at business meetings, in the grocery store, and at little league ball games.
So that’s where our focus should be. Our work here is meaningless if we aren’t focused on the people who put us in these chairs.
Utahns want leaders who understand the weight of a family budget, the stress of a leaky faucet, the worry for an aging parent, the pride in a child’s success, and the challenge of making everything fit into a day that never seems long enough.
They want leaders who see them, hear them, and most importantly, who show up for them.
From Beaver to Bountiful, Vineyard to Vernal, Smithfield to St. George, and everywhere in between – we, as your representatives, see you, we hear you, and we endeavor to show up for you.
We know you’re worried about rising prices, housing, and childcare. We know you want your kids to go to good schools, to live in safe communities, and to spend less time in traffic.
We hear your complaints about the increasing cost of living, government red tape, taxes, and burdensome regulations.
To every Utahn listening: what matters to you, matters right here. That’s where this session begins.
The work we do here is for those who call Utah home today, and for those who will call Utah home 5, 10, 50, and 100 years from now.
Utah’s history is shaped by people willing to see beyond the present.
Look at the murals above us, and you can see it come to life.
Jim Bridger gazing across the Great Salt Lake, imagining what lay beyond.
Brigham Young standing in the Salt Lake Valley, dreaming of a capital city and a state built to endure. He probably even said a prayer in hopes that future generations wouldn’t screw it up.
Seraph Young stepping forward with quiet courage, paving the way for women’s right to vote.
And the Engen brothers, hauling timber and hammering nails into their first ski jump, long before anyone imagined what Utah’s mountains and ski slopes would become.
Each of them, in their own way, saw past the here and now—and built something that outlived them.
You see, as a leader, you have to be okay with planting trees you will never have the opportunity to sit under.
That doesn’t mean ignoring the present. But it does mean respecting it enough not to mortgage the future.
Just like the legislators in 1909 who voted to build roads they would never fully benefit from, we face decisions – the results we may never see — the Great Salt Lake, infrastructure, energy, education, housing, land management, and critical minerals.
They demand patience. They demand courage. And they demand a willingness to be misunderstood.
Today, Utah is thriving. Our economy is resilient. Our communities are strong.
So this session, we’ll focus on decisions that strengthen Utah not just for today, but for the Utahns who will live here decades from now.
Future success demands that we think carefully about water, plan for smarter growth, safe and efficient transportation, and build an economy that works for working families.
We will be challenged. Our motives will be questioned. Some will tell us to slow down. Some will tell us to speed up. Others will tell us we’re moving in the wrong direction altogether.
Good Roads Roberts heard all of that. And yet today, no one questions whether roads were worth building.
He also understood that in public service, the most important things we build are rarely celebrated while we’re building them.
Nobody names a building while the foundation is still wet. Roads aren’t praised while machinery is still turning dirt and dust is flying.
Recognition always comes later — sometimes long after the people who did the work are gone.
But the value isn’t in the credit. The value is in the work itself — in knowing that what we build will stand, even if our names never appear on it.
Let us not give up something we want most for something we want now.
Leadership is about responsibility, not comfort.
So, let us run bills for the next generation, not for the next news cycle.
Let us accept that we may never see the full fruit of our labor—and be proud of that fact.
Let us do what is right, even when it is hard.
Because someday, Utahns will drive roads they never think twice about.
They’ll flip a switch without wondering how the power got there.
They will live in a state shaped by choices we made quietly, faithfully, and with conviction.
Every person in this room carries a responsibility that extends far beyond the walls of this Capitol. The decisions we make here ripple outward—sometimes quietly, sometimes forcefully—into the lives of people we will never meet, in years we will never see.
And if we’ve done our job well, those people won’t know our names.
But they’ll live better lives because we were here.
And, Utah will continue to be the best state in the nation.
So Representatives, let’s get to work. Thank you.