My Park Story: Memories Beyond Measure

This story is part of the “Your Park Story / My Park Story” series. In 2023, we are asking everyone to share your park story as our National Park Service staff and partners also share theirs. Follow the conversation on National Park Service social media channels using #YourParkStory and share your own story using #MyParkStory.

By Chuck Sams, Director, National Park Service

My park story begins in Walla Walla, Washington, at the Whitman Mission National Historic Site. I visited there as a grade school student and heard about how Cayuse raided the mission and murdered Marcus and Narcissa Whitman and eleven others. This story of violence and villainy did not match the stories I had learned from Cayuse, Umatilla, and Walla Walla elders amongst whom I was growing up. I was perplexed.

Other early experiences in parks fostered my curiosity about stories hidden in the land. Our family vacations involved long drives from Oregon to southern Arizona. We visited parks along the way, most notably Grand Canyon National Park. As we hiked across fossil beds, I imagined the high desert as a tropical paradise, as it would have been millions of years ago, when dinosaurs roamed amidst towering trees. The image of a landscape devoid of people, yet teeming with wildlife, captivated me.

In 1989, at the age of 19, I took a two-week vacation with friends following the wedding of a buddy from Naval intelligence training. We had a thirst for adventure but not a lot of money. Our plan was to hit every park, historic site, and monument we could along the way from Maine to Florida. We camped in a van, cooked over campfires, and had a blast.

We spent very little money, and earned memories beyond measure. In Boston, we walked the Freedom Trail, where I realized with awe that we followed the footsteps of men and women whose bold actions and big dreams launched our national experiment. In Battery Park in New York City, we reflected on the immigrant experience in America, and I thought about my Dutch ancestors, the Sams, who arrived in what is now New Jersey in 1752, settled in the Pittsburgh area, and fought in the Revolutionary War.

In Washington, we walked the National Mall and learned from a ranger how the location of our national capital was chosen. I didn’t have the faintest inkling at the time that decades later, I would stand on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial and be sworn in as Director of the National Park Service, the greatest honor of my life.

We visited Gettysburg and spent hours walking around the battlefield where people spilled blood in an unspeakably uncivil war. We went to Antietam, arriving an hour before the gates were set to close. A park worker approached, and we were surprised when instead of telling us to move along and come back tomorrow, he invited us in and gave us a personal tour of the site. We listened in rapt silence as he walked us across the bridge over Antietam Creek and told us about the brothers and cousins who took each other's lives during the Battle of Antietam.

Decades later, I realized that our guide that day had not been a member of the park’s interpretive staff. He was a member of the maintenance crew. As Director of NPS, I see similar moments play out at every park I visit. Everyone at an NPS site—from the person who moves traffic cones to accommodate overflow parking to the staff who process payroll, organize programs, plan trail maintenance, or install exhibits—everyone knows their park or site, inside and out. To its many stewards, that site is hallowed ground, worth the tireless effort it takes to preserve it and tell its story.

Speaking of stories, I’m proud that today Cayuse perspectives are now integrated into the interpretation of the events that transpired at Whitman National Historic Site. The courage to tell hard stories accurately and without flinching is one of the reasons I’m so proud to lead this agency.

I’ve visited over 140 parks and NPS sites since becoming Director. It’s a different experience now—staff recognize me and I always try to meet and learn from as many as I can. But I still savor every moment. Most recently, I hiked with my family along the Brandywine Trail at Cuyahoga Valley National Park. I loved watching my daughter take in the history of the canals and the splendor of the Brandywine Falls, near her mom’s birthplace. The springtime reawakening was underway, and the plants were growing so fast you could practically hear them. It was magical.

Parks are the living memory of our nation, the conscience of America. I’m so grateful that in the current chapter of my park story, I have the opportunity to serve alongside our staff, volunteers, partners, and so many others to protect and preserve them.