Drive west out of Billings on the interstate, past the grain elevators and the scattered light industry of the valley floor, and somewhere before Laurel a road sign will announce Mossmain. There is nothing to see. A frontage road, a scatter of warehouses, a line of cottonwoods, and a short lane bearing the name are what remain of a town that a Billings banker once believed would eclipse Billings itself. Mossmain never had more than a post office and a handful of houses, yet its blueprints once promised churches, a civic center, a publishing house, and boulevards radiating from a central rail hub designed by one of the most celebrated city planners of the twentieth century. It is, in the fullest sense, a ghost town: not a place emptied by disaster, but a place that was never quite filled to begin with (Billings Gazette, “Coulson Park”).
The story of Mossmain belongs less to the familiar Montana narrative of boom and bust in mining or cattle than to a stranger chapter, one in which the state’s own civic ambition collided with the emerging science of urban planning, and lost. It is worth telling carefully, because much of what survives about Mossmain is fragmentary, recycled from a handful of local sources, and occasionally contradictory on points as basic as how far the town sat from Billings.
Mossmain cannot be understood apart from the man who conceived it. Preston Boyd Moss was born September 28, 1863, in Paris, Missouri, and came west to Billings in 1892 after an education at Kemper Military Academy, a year at Harvard, and a business degree from Eastman Business College in New York (Moss Mansion). By the early twentieth century he had become one of the handful of men who built modern Billings from a raw railroad town into a regional capital. He organized the city’s first dial telephone exchange, founded a newspaper that would become the forerunner of the Billings Gazette, and partnered with H. W. Rowley to develop the Billings Light and Water Power Company and the Northern Hotel. He helped finance the local sugar factory and irrigation projects, and he was instrumental in founding the Billings Polytechnic Institute, the school that would later become Rocky Mountain College (Moss Mansion).
Moss, in other words, had already built one city. By the 1910s he wanted to build a second, and better, one nearby. The Billings Gazette later summarized his motive plainly: Mossmain was to be a “city of the future,” designed from its first survey stake to avoid what Moss considered the planning mistakes made in Billings’ own haphazard growth (Billings Gazette, “Coulson Park”). It was an audacious ambition for a man who was, at bottom, a banker and booster rather than a trained urbanist. To realize it, he turned not to a local engineer but to one of the most sought-after city planners in the world.
That planner was Walter Burley Griffin, the Chicago-trained architect who, together with his wife and design partner Marion Mahony Griffin, had recently won the international competition to design Canberra, the new capital of Australia (Jay). Griffin’s Canberra plan was built on axial geometry, sweeping vistas tied to natural landforms, and a strict separation of civic, residential, and industrial zones connected by radiating boulevards (Jay). It was this same visual language, scaled down for a prairie town of perhaps a few thousand residents, that Griffin brought to the plains west of Billings.
Surviving drawings from Griffin’s studio, held today in the Eric Milton Nicholls collection at the National Library of Australia, include a revised town plan for “Mossmain, Montana,” dated 1916, along with an aerial perspective rendering of the proposed community (National Library of Australia). The design, according to those who have examined it, organized the town concentrically, with a rail junction and civic center at its heart and residential and agricultural land arranged outward from it, so that farm families could enjoy full access to schools, churches, and markets without being isolated from town life (Billings Gazette, “Coulson Park”; Kulr8). Aly Turner, fundraising manager at the Moss Mansion museum in Billings, has described the concept as a “Garden City” in the tradition Griffin knew from his American and Australian work, and has said Moss believed the town, if it succeeded, could eventually grow past 100,000 residents (Ktvq). That population figure appears in only one available source and should be treated as an aspiration rather than a documented planning target.
Accounts differ slightly on the town’s intended footprint. Most sources describe a site roughly ten miles west of Billings and several miles east of Laurel (Moss Mansion; Billings Gazette, “Coulson Park”); at least one description places it fourteen miles from Billings, near a proposed junction of the Northern Pacific, Burlington, and Great Northern railroads (Flickr). The discrepancy is minor but illustrates a persistent problem with Mossmain’s historical record: because the town was so short-lived and so thinly documented in its own time, even basic geographic details were transmitted informally, by local memory rather than surveyed record, and small inconsistencies crept in as the story was retold.
For all its architectural ambition, Mossmain’s physical development never advanced much beyond paper. A post office opened at the site, with one source giving the specific date of April 5, 1916, and naming Cora Fleming as the first postmaster (Flickr). That detail, drawn from a single available source, cannot presently be cross-verified against an independent postal record, and should be read with appropriate caution. What can be said with more confidence, because it recurs across accounts, is that the office did not last: it closed in the 1930s, a casualty of the same forces that killed the town around it (Flickr; Kulr8).
Those forces began accumulating almost as soon as Griffin’s ink dried. Moss struggled to attract outside investors to a speculative prairie town at a moment when much of Montana’s homesteading economy was itself beginning to founder (Flickr). The Moss Mansion museum’s own account of the family attributes the plan’s failure specifically to “the war years,” when, in the words of the museum’s history, “P.B.‘s beautiful plans for his city dwindled and died” (Moss Mansion). That phrasing is ambiguous as to which war is meant. Given that Griffin’s revised plan is dated 1916, the immediate disruption was almost certainly the First World War and its associated wartime restrictions on capital, credit, and building material. Other, later accounts fold Mossmain’s failure into the broader collapse of Montana’s homestead-era optimism during the 1920s agricultural bust and the Great Depression of the following decade, and add the Second World War as a further blow to any hope of revival (Kulr8; Kiddle). The two explanations are not strictly contradictory; Mossmain may well have been wounded first by wartime conditions in the late 1910s and then finished off by the deeper agricultural and financial collapse of the 1920s and 1930s. But readers should understand that the surviving sources describe a town dying twice, in slightly different tellings, rather than a single clean failure with one identifiable cause.
One cause, at least, is consistent across every account: the railroad never came. The rail junction at the center of Griffin’s design, the very reason for the town’s location, was instead routed through Laurel, bypassing Mossmain entirely (Kiddle; Billings Gazette, “Coulson Park”). Without a working depot, Mossmain had no economic engine, and Moss’s Garden City was left, in the assessment of one recent newspaper account, as little more than “a few dirt roads and scattered homes” (Kulr8).
If Mossmain has one concrete monument, it is not from Moss’s own era but from the New Deal. According to a Billings Gazette feature on Depression-era public works in Montana, the Works Progress Administration funded construction of the railroad overpass at the East Laurel interstate exit, completed in 1935, in the immediate vicinity of the old townsite (Billings Gazette, “Traces of New Deal”). The Gazette’s account, citing preservation historian Axline, notes that the overpass design was intended to be aesthetically pleasing as well as functional, in keeping with the WPA’s broader practice of building infrastructure meant to outlast the emergency that produced it (Billings Gazette, “Traces of New Deal”). This detail, like several others concerning Mossmain’s later history, rests on a single available source, though the source itself, a metropolitan daily newspaper drawing on a named historian, carries reasonable authority.
Today the old townsite is bisected by Interstate 90 and occupied by warehouses, homes, and, fittingly for a place that never got its promised civic amenities, a drive-in movie theater (Ktvq). Google Maps still marks Mossmain, technically labeled a ghost town, and the road leading toward the drive-in retains the name Mossmain Lane, the only physical trace of Griffin’s boulevards (Ktvq). Montana writer John Clayton, who researched the story for a 2013 feature in Montana Magazine, situated Mossmain within the larger tragedy of the state’s homestead-era collapse, framing a walking tour of the imagined city’s downtown, its Municipal Market, its Civic Center, its tree-lined Institution, as a way of measuring the scale of Montana’s lost self-image in the 1920s (Clayton).
That is, in the end, the real significance of Mossmain. It was never simply a failed real estate venture. It was a genuine attempt, backed by one of the era’s most original planning minds, to build a different kind of Montana town, one organized around civic order and agricultural cooperation rather than the boom-camp haphazardness that produced Billings itself. Its failure says less about Preston Moss’s judgment than about the fragility of any planned utopia set down on a landscape already being reshaped by war, drought, and depression. Mossmain’s blueprints survive in an archive on the other side of the world, in Canberra, the city its architect did manage to build. Montana kept only the name of a lane.
Billings Gazette. “Billings’ Coulson Park Could Have Amphitheater, Bike Track, Dog Park and More in Its Future.” Billings Gazette, 4 Feb. 2020, billingsgazette.com/news/local/billings-coulson-park-could-have-amphitheater-bike-track-dog-park-and-more-in-its-future/article_7f57c374-e82a-5cae-8d53-6c03c0ce82e0.html. Accessed 3 Aug. 2026.
Billings Gazette. “Traces of New Deal Remain in Montana.” Billings Gazette, billingsgazette.com/news/features/magazine/traces-of-new-deal-remain-in-montana/article_92471bbf-2693-52ab-b71f-4cf44646b96c.html. Accessed 3 Aug. 2026.
Clayton, John. “The Story of Mossmain in Montana Magazine.” John Clayton’s Blog, 16 July 2013, johnclaytonbooks.blogspot.com/2013/07/the-story-of-mossmain-in-montana.html. Accessed 3 Aug. 2026.
Flickr. “Mossmain, Montana | Yellowstone County.” Flickr, uploaded by outlawpete, www.flickr.com/photos/outlawpete/10564853216. Accessed 3 Aug. 2026.
Jay, Di. “Urban Planning.” Walter Burley Griffin Society Incorporated, www.griffinsociety.org/urban-planning/. Accessed 3 Aug. 2026.
Kiddle. “Mossmain, Montana Facts for Kids.” Kiddle Encyclopedia, kids.kiddle.co/Mossmain,_Montana. Accessed 3 Aug. 2026.
Ktvq. “The Garden City of Mossmain.” KTVQ, 8 Mar. 2021, www.ktvq.com/news/local-news/the-garden-city-of-mossmain. Accessed 3 Aug. 2026.
Kulr8. “Mossmain: Montana’s Forgotten Garden City.” KULR8, 24 Nov. 2025, www.kulr8.com/montana/mossmain-montanas-forgotten-garden-city/article_b3dbcbe8-d26a-4e32-8f23-1e1790dd9652.html. Accessed 3 Aug. 2026.
Moss Mansion. “Moss Family.” Moss Mansion, mossmansion.com/museum/moss-family/. Accessed 3 Aug. 2026.
National Library of Australia. “[Town Plan], Mossmain, Montana, [1916] [Picture] / Walter Burley Griffin.” National Library of Australia Catalogue, nla.gov.au/nla.cat-vn3661940. Accessed 3 Aug. 2026.