Chapter 3:
The Antiquities Act
THE SPECTRE OF RICHARD WETHERILL may well have been
the most important catalyst in galvanizing support for legislation to
protect southwestern antiquities, but the passage of such a law required
the cooperation of a number of disparate elements in the American arena.
The situation at Chaco Canyon fueled advocates and gave them a sense of
urgency about their work. But each faction of preservationists had an
agenda of its own, and as Holsinger's vigilance made Wetherill's
excavation into a symbol instead of an actual threat, the Department of
the Interior, professional archaeologists and anthropologists, and
western legislators all sought to create a law that protected their own
interests as well as the antiquities.
Richard Wetherill provided American preservation with
a fragile consensus. The GLO and its special agents advocated
preservation because they saw him as a hindrance to the process of
bringing law and order to the West; anthropologists wanted the
government to act in order to protect their domain and to enhance their
status with other scientists; and the only real objection western
congressmen had was to a law that granted arbitrary power to the
president without congressional approval. The people with the interest
and the power to orchestrate the passage of a law to protect antiquities
agreed in principle; finding a compromise that served the range of
interests was a more complicated problem.
Theodore Roosevelt's ascendance to the White House
helped elevate conservation to the upper levels of the American social
agenda, and archaeological preservation was only one beneficiary.
Roosevelt advocated a watchful bureaucracy with the power to enforce
concepts of fairness and justice. Policymakers became important under
Roosevelt, and they strove to implement social programs throughout the
nation. With the support of the same people who engineered
Progressive-era policies directed towards natural resources, antiquities
legislation acquired a new significance. It also became part of the
drive to centralize power in the hands of the qualified few.
At the turn of the century, anthropologists and
archaeologists took the lead in creating a climate in which the
government would favor the preservation of antiquities. In the
exuberance that followed the Spanish-American War of 1898, they sought
to give American archaeology the intellectual status of European and
Middle Eastern antiquities, while simultaneously bemoaning the lack of
care American areas received. Initially the cry came from individuals,
but soon professional organizations such as the Archaeological Institute
of America made their presence felt. One of the leading organizations in
this battle was the Records of the Past Exploration Society.
The Records of the Past Exploration Society had the
credentials to make a noticeable impact on the American archaeological
scene. In 1900 the Reverend Henry Mason Baum, the long-time editor of
the American Church Review and an amateur archaeologist who
excavated biblical sites in the Middle East, founded the organization.
Its membership included institutional professionals degreed academics,
respected church leaders like Baum, and other interested people of
means, most with some field experience in archaeology. Headquartered in
Washington, D.C., Records of the Past avidly worked for
preservation.
The Records of the Past journal was one of its
most successful means of attracting attention. Under Baum's experienced
tutelage, it acquired a good reputation among professionals and
interested laypeople. Its authors included eminent archaeologists and
institutional professionals such as Dr. Arthur Stoddard Cooley of the
American School of Classical Studies at Athens, Prof. William C. Mills,
the curator of the Ohio State Archaeological and Historical Society, and
Albert T. Clay, the assistant curator of Babylonian antiquities at the
University of Pennsylvania. These men were acknowledged experts, and
their experience in European, Egyptian, and Babylonian archaeology lent
considerable status to the organization.
In a stance typical of the early years of the
twentieth century, Baum and his peers had patriotic objectives for the
prehistoric ruins of the Southwest. The first issue of the Records of
the Past journal, published in January 1902, clearly articulated
their program. Baum's editorial emphasized "the marvelous prehistoric
ruins of our own country," suggesting that Americans were "apt to ignore
the wonders at our own door in contemplation of the ruins in the valley
of the Nile." [1] He favorably compared the
human experience in the Americas with that of Europe and the Middle
East. An America equal to the Old World in terms of an historic past
could shed some of its cultural insecurities. [2]
Yet the elitism of the educated class placed limits
on the effectiveness of the Records of the Past society. Baum stressed
the importance of preservation, but in the long run, his perspective
obstructed the results he desired. "It is almost unanimously conceded by
those entitled to an opinion on the subject," Baum wrote, "that Congress
should enact a law for the protection of the antiquities of our own
country." Arrogant and lacking concern for competing interests, Baum and
his "entitled" friends presented the guidelines that they thought were
necessary to protect American antiquities. These included placing
control of the excavations in prehistoric ruins in the hands of the
secretary of the interior, a general prohibition on the sale of
aboriginal artifacts, appropriations for the upkeep and maintenance of
the various sites, and penalties for violations of any of the
regulations. [3]
Baum's attitude typified that of Progressive-era
scientists and professionals. To these people, science and government
were tools with which to tame the wilder forces in society. Strong
central government served as the regulator, the great equalizer, that
ensured fair competition and wise use of resources. The qualified few
would manage American society for the good of all. Disparate elements
opposed such ideas, but to scientists and professionals of the early
twentieth century, these dissenters were the very people responsible for
the depletion of timber and mineral resources that compelled regulation.
As irreplaceable as more utilitarian resources, archaeological sites
also required protection and regulation. Although imbued with the belief
that their cause was just, Baum and his friends were only peripherally
aware of the need to compromise to achieve their goals.
Baum's condescending attitude toward people outside
the scientific community became a major barrier. He and his friends were
neophytes in the political arena, where connections and contacts were
more important than the righteousness of a cause. They often approached
the wrong people in federal agencies and to many in Congress, the
leaders of Records of the Past sounded too shrill when they expressed
their point of view. Many of the archaeologists spoke more to each other
than to the public or Congress, and although they made solid arguments,
their tone was patronizing to people who were not part of the inner
circle of the Records of the Past society.
Although he worked tirelessly, Baum frequently
alienated potential allies. In January 1902 Baum announced that
"everyone . . . must feel humiliated over the failure of this Government to
protect the ruins within its territorial limits." Baum's polemic made
him few friends at the Department of the Interior. Given a vast domain
and limited resources, the GLO did the best it could, and Commissioner
Binger Hermann believed that the attack was unwarranted. Baum fared even
less well with the few sympathetic westerners. In June 1902 he offended
western supporters of preservation. Unaware of the role of the Santa Fe
New Mexican in bringing Richard Wetherill's activities to public
attention, Baum announced "that the newspapers of our Southwest are
taking up to some extent the cause of the . . . prehistoric records."
[4] Edgar L. Hewett and others in the
forefront of preservation in the West felt both ignored and usurped.
Differences of opinion within the preservation coalition became
public.
During the summer of 1902, the Records of the Past
society sponsored an expedition to the Southwest. Baum led the party,
which stopped at most of the significant ruins known to American
scientists. Flushed with his new experiences, Baum made judgments on the
archaeological sites he saw. He declared the Canyon de Chelly, Mesa
Verde, and Chaco Canyon regions suitable for national parks status, but
the ruins of the Pajarito Plateau, where Hewett worked, failed to
impress Baum. [5] Others, including the
commissioner of the GLO, had advocated park status for the region, and
with no label other than national park for reserved areas, Baum's
suggestion that the plateau lacked significance seemed inexplicable.
Again Baum's priorities strained the preservation alliance.
During his visit to Chaco Canyon, Baum encountered
Richard Wetherill, who lived near Pueblo Bonito even though the GLO had
suspended his homestead claim, and the individualist ethic that
characterized the frontier directly confronted the institutional
mentality that dominated the East. [6] No
account of their meeting survives, but it must have been contentious.
Wetherill personified everything to which Baum objected, whereas Baum's
self-righteousness and lack of sensitivity to other points of view must
have galled the stone-faced westerner. Baum regarded Wetherill as a
profiteering renegade, and from Wetherill's point of view, Baum's moral
issue was his livelihood. Baum and Wetherill were the opposite ends of
the spectrum when it came to the preservation of archaeological
ruins.
After seeing the realities of preservation in the
West, Baum's resolve was strengthened. From then on, he worked
frantically. Faced with the immensity and urgency of his endeavor, Baum
stepped up efforts to initiate legislation and also arranged practical
activities in the field. In April 1903 Baum learned that unauthorized
people were preparing to excavate in the Canyon de Chelly area the
following summer. Assuming the potential excavators to be on the level
of Richard Wetherill, Baum requested that the secretary of the interior
provide a custodian to guard the ruins. [7]
The ruins were on the Navajo Indian reservation, and the Bureau of
Indian Affairs acted quickly. On 8 May 1903 Charles C. Day became the
caretaker of Canyon de Chelly. The excavations were prevented; Baum's
watchful vigilance began to pay dividends.
The campaign to initiate preservation legislation
also picked up speed. During the winter of 1903-4, Baum and his
associates drafted a bill that protected antiquities upon public land.
In the spring of 1904 they approached Congressman William Rodenberg of
Illinois, and on 2 March 1904 he introduced the bill in the House of
Representatives. Rodenberg sent copies of the draft to archaeologists,
anthropologists, and university presidents all over the country. Their
comments were unilaterally favorable. Conspicuous by their absence,
however, were such western archaeologists as Hewett and Byron L.
Cummings of the University of Utah. Perhaps unaware of their existence,
Rodenberg had not asked them to comment.
As the Senate Public Lands Committee met on 20 April
to consider the companion bill (S. 5603) proposed by Sen. Henry Cabot
Lodge of Massachusetts, the chances of passage looked excellent. There
were bills on the floor of both Houses of Congress; the president of
almost every important university, archaeological association, and
historical society had written to express support for the measure, and
few in Congress opposed it. It seemed that everyone agreed upon the
bill, and Baum must have been pleased with the results of his work. He
knew that other bills on the floor of Congress embodied similar
concepts, but none had the widespread support that backed the
Lodge-Rodenberg bill. [8]
Baum had rushed his legislation every step of the
way, and the time had come to work out the details. The Senate Public
Lands Committee hearing centered around the merits of the various bills.
Each offered different administrative provisions, but on one point, all
agreed. The "legislation should at this time be preservative rather than
administrative. It should not attempt to deal with the things that may
arise in the future," University of Michigan archaeologist Dr. Francis
Kelsey, the secretary of the Archaeological Institute of America, told
the committee, "but should meet immediate contingencies to preserve what
we have." [9] The spectre of Richard
Wetherill, to whom Baum alluded in his testimony, provided cause enough
for the urgency.
Such a short-sighted approach postponed decisions on
the real issues facing advocates of preservation. It failed to take into
account the rivalries among archaeologists and their organizations.
Despite agreement upon the principle of preservation, each of the bills
on the floor of Congress proposed a plan for administering
archaeological areas that assigned responsibility to a government
agency, institution, or professional organization. All the measures had
vociferous proponents, and self-interest and merit became confused.
In early 1904, if all that preservation advocates
wanted was legislation which allowed them to preserve ruins in the
Southwest, any of the bills on the floor of Congress would have
fulfilled their ends. The administrative program of each became the
point of contention. The Lodge-Rodenberg bill made the secretary of the
interior responsible for antiquities on public land, granting him the
power to issue excavation permits to responsible "incorporated" groups.
Its major competitor was a bill that William Henry Holmes of the Bureau
of Ethnology had written. Sen. Shelby Cullom of Illinois, a regent of
the Smithsonian Institution, sponsored it in the Senate, while Rep.
Robert Hitt, also of Illinois, introduced it in the House of
Representatives. The measure resembled the Lodge bill, except that
Holmes replaced the secretary of the interior with the secretary of the
Smithsonian. Bernard S. Rodey, the territorial delegate from New Mexico,
also introduced a measure similar to Holmes's, but it drew less
attention. [10]
From Baum's point of view, material treasures, not
the locations that contained them, offered the great prize of American
archaeology. In his eyes, collections for museums became the objective
for scientists, and he saw his peers as participants in a race to find
prehistoric relics and ship them east. Typical of his era, he perceived
equality among an exclusive group of accredited contestants. Only people
like Richard Wetherill were excluded. As a result, Baum objected to the
Cullom Hitt bill. He thought it a partisan measure that gave the
Smithsonian Institution an unfair advantage in acquiring relics. If it
passed, Baum felt, the Wetherills of the world would be replaced by an
officially sanctioned system of favoritism. The bill "might well have
said, no explorations except by the Smithsonian," Baum reported being
told by an unidentified eminent archaeologist. [11] Despite public expressions to the contrary,
administering archaeological ruins, not preservation itself, remained
the key question.
Again Baum's attitude put him at odds with potential
allies. After previously alienating the commissioner of the General Land
Office, Baum now took on Holmes, the Bureau of Ethnology, and the
Smithsonian. Committed to "equal privileges," Baum accused Holmes of
favoritism. [12] Baum thought that both the
Smithsonian and Rodey bills extended unfair advantages, and in front of
the Senate Public Lands Committee, he vehemently attacked the bills.
Invoking the authority of the professional community, Baum relied upon
the array of letters that supported the Lodge-Rodenberg bill to show its
superiority.
Unfamiliar with Washington politics and the interests
of his competitors, Baum set himself a difficult course. He refused to
consider the merit in other points of view, and a competitive situation
emerged in which the various groups each tried to protect their own
position. Baum's attacks on government agencies splintered the
developing consensus. To the General Land Office and the Smithsonian
Institution, he was an interloper who sought legislation to further his
goals. In contrast, Baum presented himself as a crusading reformer,
ensuring fair access to the fruits of American archaeology. Baum's
credibility became an issue that overshadowed the preservation
question.
A controversy was brewing, and the House of
Representatives became the battleground. The Senate Public Lands
Committee reported favorably upon the Lodge-Rodenberg bill, and on 26
April the full Senate passed it. Little time remained in the
congressional session, and Baum sought unanimous consent for the
measure. The subcommittee that assessed the bill for the House of
Representatives supported his efforts, but the Smithsonian unequivocably
opposed passage. On the second to the last day of the legislative
session, its representatives, headed by the assistant secretary of the
Smithsonian, Richard Rathbun, succeeded in a parliamentary maneuver to
block the bill. They persuaded Rep. De Alva S. Alexander of Buffalo, New
York, to oppose a voice vote that would have permitted immediate
consideration of the bill. By the following morning, the last day of the
legislative session, Baum had shown Alexander the "animus of the
Smithsonian" and he refused to block consideration any longer. [13] The Smithsonian operatives convinced
another representative Robert Adams of Philadelphia, to object. The
session adjourned without hearing the bill.
Baum regarded the efforts to block passage of his
bill as an assault on his efforts and he responded in kind. As the
session ended on 28 April, he attacked Rathbun. After a consensus had
been reached, Rathbun "appear[ed] as a lobbyist to delay passage of the
bill," Baum accused. "The objections [you] offered . . . are trivial in the
extreme." In Baum's self-righteous opinion, Rathbun's actions pointed to
graceless self-interest. Baum's vitriolic attack continued in the May
1904 issue of Records of the Past, where he printed his letter to
Rathbun and pointed a finger at the Smithsonian, holding it "responsible
for all injury done to antiquities on the Public Domain until the final
passage of the [Lodge-Rodenberg] Bill." The Department of the Interior
had done its best for the Lodge-Rodenberg bill, and Baum believed its
support would continue. The Smithsonian was his culprit. [14]
Personalities impeded the effort to enact legislation
to preserve American antiquities. Ironically, western intransigence was
no longer the problem; pro-preservation elements created their own
obstacles to passage. Baum's heavy-handedness fragmented the consensus.
His peers thought the public attack on Rathbun was inappropriate and
support for Baum waned. Preservation advocates found themselves in a
stalemate. Although everyone agreed to leave unsettled the question of
administering the reserved land until legislation was enacted, their
disagreements over the structure of this administration caused the
disintegration of the fragile alliance that favored preservation.
Washington, D.C., administrators and specialists
fought the Lodge-Rodenberg battles. Few of the participants in the fray
had substantial experience in the American Southwest. Baum had visited
the region, but his travels had not given him the ability to understand
the concerns of southwesterners. Many of the other supporters had little
feel for the region, which they believed was full of gila monsters and
Apache Indians. Even William Henry Holmes, who had developed into a
first-class geologist and anthropologist on the F. V. Hayden survey in
1872, had been away from the Southwest for a long time. [15] It remained for Edgar L. Hewett, a
westerner with actual experience in prehistoric ruins and close ties to
the Department of the Interior and the House Public Lands Committee, as
well as the credentials to mix with archaeologists and anthropologists,
to unite the disparate preservation forces.
Hewett, already the primary cultural force in New
Mexico, sat out the Lodge-Rodenberg fiasco. He found himself obsessed
with the remains of aboriginal cultures, but his perspective differed
greatly from that of Richard Wetherill. He too staked out an area, the
Pajarito Plateau northwest of Santa Fe, but he cultivated GLO operatives
and local and territorial officials. In 1900 he alerted the Department
of the Interior about Wetherill's work at Chaco Canyon. At different
times during the summer of 1902, he showed the archaeology of northern
New Mexico to both Rep. John F. Lacey of Iowa, the chairman of the
House Public Lands Committee, and Baum. By 1904 Hewett's ties to Lacey
and W. A. Richards, the new commissioner of the GLO, were firm. An
adopted southwesterner, he understood the concerns of people of the
region and was as comfortable with the specialists as with laymen. He
was also instrumental in turning Santa Fe into a cultural center. Yet at
the time, Hewett's highest degree was a Master of Arts in pedagogy, and
on the national scene, it did not qualify him as an expert.
Hewett understood what the future held, and he busily
acquired credentials to back up his fieldwork. An educator by training,
Hewett rose quickly in the Southwest. In 1898, at the age of
thirty-three, he became the first president of New Mexico Normal
University in Las Vegas, New Mexico. Archaeology also figured in his
plans. Later that year, he helped found the Archaeological Society of
New Mexico in Santa Fe. In 1901 he became both a fellow of the American
Association for the Advancement of Science and a lifetime member of the
Archaeological Institute of America. In 1903, after political Opponents
ousted him from his university post, Hewett began postgraduate work in
archaeology at the University of Geneva under Louis Waurin and the noted
Egyptologist Edouard Naville. He saw that an advanced degree in
archaeology could propel him in the direction he wanted to go. [16]
By mid-1904, support for antiquities legislation
began to galvanize around Hewett. Despite the fact that he lacked formal
archaeological credentials, the GLO and many professional archaeologists
appreciated his efforts on behalf of southwestern antiquities. He dug
extensively, but his educational credentials precluded putting him aside
as a vandal, and his wide knowledge of the region and its peoples
increased his importance. The archaeological profession needed Hewett as
a counterpoint to Wetherill. Few in the West had closer connections to
the federal government or as much field experience.
Hewett's institutional base blossomed in the
aftermath of the Lodge-Rodenberg debacle. Professional archaeologists
sought his opinion on southwestern issues. As if to rectify its earlier
high-handedness, the Records of the Past society appointed Hewett as one
of its consulting editors in January 1905. [17] Even more significant, the Department of
the Interior sought his counsel. In the summer of 1904 Commissioner W.
A. Richards of the GLO turned to Hewett for a report on all aspects of
southwestern archeological areas. Hewett obliged.
Hewett's report provided the first comprehensive look
at southwestern ruins. He identified three river basins that contained
most of the known ruins and subdivided them into twenty districts. He
also provided the first compilation of maps showing the approximate
position of all known sites. Hewett also pointed out many ruins that had
previously escaped attention. Hewett's report appeared objective and
scientific, organized by fact rather than by opinion. It gave
Commissioner Richards a better idea of the scope of preservation
needs.
Increasingly sophisticated as a politician, Hewett
did not favor the administration of southwestern archaeology by any
specific group. The Department of the Interior seemed the logical choice
for administration, but staunchly in favor of immediate action, Hewett
downplayed his choice of authorities. He also avoided the sensitive
question of how to handle collections made in the ruins. He had learned
much from the Records of the Past fiasco, and instead of a prescribed
program, Hewett offered a goal for the legislation: "All measures . . .
should look towards the encouragement of research and the advancement of
knowledge and not toward its restriction." [18]
Hewett was aware of the tension between eastern and
western interests and he tried to offer solutions that satisfied the
needs of both. In a letter he wrote on 14 September 1904, Hewett
proposed archaeological reservations of limited area. "I believe the
scientists and the country at large will favor," he informed Richards,
"a simple measure authorizing the creation of . . . small groups of
ruins, that demand permanent protection, and the establishment of a
system of supervision of all ruins on the public domain and Indian
reservations by the Department of [the] Interior." He suggested that
Lacey's bill from 1900, reintroduced after the Lodge-Rodenberg failure,
needed only one minor change to serve the purpose. Lacey had not
considered archaeological areas that were not included in reservations,
and Hewett believed that some protection for these areas was
imperative.
Although Hewett did not want to end up in the
Baum-like position of telling the GLO how to do its job, he did have
choice comments about the Lodge-Rodenberg bill. Hewett showed that the
hastily written bill seemed tailored to specific situations and that it
did not serve the general interest of archaeologists. It would have
forbidden the excavations conducted by many qualified excavators. The
Lodge-Rodenberg bill allowed only an "incorporated public museum,
university, college, scientific society or educational institution" to
sponsor exploratory work in archaeological ruins. Hewett pointed out
that this language excluded the Bureau of Ethnology, which was not
incorporated, an entity created for the "sole purpose of doing
archeological and ethnological work in this country." [19]
Nor did Hewett believe that the authors of the bill
understood the process of archaeological investigation. The bill
contained a clause that compelled any fieldwork to be "continuously"
pursued until the secretary of the interior deemed it completed. This,
Hewett said, made archaeology an expensive, time-consuming proposition
dependent upon the whim of a government official. It would discourage
even the most affluent institutions, for many excavations would take
decades to complete. The Lodge-Rodenberg bill also made collecting
artifacts in the public domain a misdemeanor. Hewett stressed that this
failed to differentiate between archaeology and vandalism and made all
excavators liable to prosecution, for "under strict construction, it
prohibits the most harmless and commendable pursuits." [20]
According to Hewett, the Lodge-Rodenberg bill was a
disaster. It seemed "merely [to] impose an unfortunate restriction upon
existing powers." It confined archaeological reservations to a single
section of land for each, an area Hewett believed too small. In 1904
temporary withdrawal by the secretary of the interior, upon which there
were no restrictions, offered the primary tool to protect prehistory,
and instead of rectifying the problems of archaeological preservation,
the new bill merely restricted existing options. "In fact, the whole
effect of this bill," opined Hewett, "is to place serious obstacles in
the way of the advancement of Archeological Science." [21]
After taking Hewett's arguments into account,
Commissioner Richards agreed that the Lodge-Rodenberg bill was a
seriously flawed piece of legislation. Hewett's keen eye and
interpretive sense detected severe problems in the bill that had been
buried during the heated emotional conflicts earlier in the year. Seen
in a new light, the bill did little for preservation and the advancement
of knowledge that the existing de facto situation did not cover. Worse,
it imposed new and, to Hewett, unnecessary restrictions upon qualified
archaeologists. On 5 October 1904 Richards wrote the secretary of the
interior to concur wholeheartedly with Hewett's suggestions. [22] Hewett now had the official sanction of the
Department of the Interior behind his efforts.
In December 1904 the Lodge-Rodenberg bill was
reintroduced in Congress, and the lukewarm reception it received led to
a major realignment of preservation advocates. Although on 5 January
1905 the House Public Lands Committee reported favorably upon it,
Congress adjourned before a vote could be taken, and the Lodge-Rodenberg
bill died. Hewett's comments to Richards certainly cooled support at the
Department of the Interior. Baum's attitude and presentation had
alienated many of the supporters of preservation legislation, and when
Hewett and the GLO found his bill seriously flawed, many were pleased.
Baum's power base disintegrated following the demise of the bill, and a
vacancy in the leadership of the movement to preserve American
antiquities appeared. Hewett filled the void. A formidable man, he
nonetheless offered the House Public Lands Committee a more palatable
personality to support. It remained to be seen if Hewett could pull the
fragmented groups together behind any one piece of legislation.
The Baum debacle forced preservation advocates to
reconsider their objectives, and many favored compromise in order to
achieve an early solution. Archaeologists and anthropologists toned down
their actions considerably, and they soon followed the charismatic
Hewett. Looking for some kind of conciliatory legislation, the American
Anthropological Society appointed him to its committee to promote
legislation in favor of preservation. In 1904 the committee had
supported the Lodge-Rodenberg bill as the best available option, and its
members prepared to reintroduce it when Congress reconvened in January
1906. [23] Hewett convinced them to do
otherwise.
To a committee of the organization, he presented his
previous objections and added a new one. The Forest Transfer Act of 1905
transferred the forest reserves (national forests) from the Department
of the Interior to the Department of Agriculture. The transfer imposed a
bifurcated system of administration upon southwestern archeological
areas, for the new United States Forest Service (USFS) assumed
responsibility for ruins on national forest land whereas the GLO still
managed those that remained in the public domain. This made the
Lodge-Rodenberg bill an archaic measure; it no longer addressed the
issues facing all southwestern archaeological ruins. Hewett recognized
the urgency long associated with preservation and did not want the
change in administration to initiate interdepartmental strife in
Washington, D.C. He suggested that the interior, agriculture, and war
departments, the latter of which had jurisdiction over ruins on military
land, separately administer antiquities on the lands for which each was
responsible. Again Hewett effectively worked within the rules of federal
politics, an endeavor at which earlier proponents of preservation had
failed. Instead of favoring one department over another, Hewett proposed
leaving each department in charge of its own ruins. Better a system with
a number of responsible authorities than no system at all.
With Hewett's guidance, a new drive took form. At a
joint meeting of the American Anthropological Association and the
Archaeological Institute of America in Ithaca, New York, on 28 December
1905, Hewett presented a draft of his bill for the preservation of
American antiquities. His measure preserved "the exact spirit" of the
archaeologists' and anthropologists' draft of the previous year and
covered issues of concern to the General Land Office, the Department of
the Interior, and people in the West. The meeting unanimously endorsed
Hewett's draft, and Hewett presented it to John Lacey, who introduced it
in the House. Sen. Thomas Patterson of Colorado followed with an
identical bill in the Senate. [24]
Hewett's bill, titled "An Act for the Preservation of
American Antiquities," and which came to be known as the Antiquities
Act, had broad appeal. It pleased scientists, academics, government
officials, and concerned citizens. The bill rectified many of the
problems that Hewett had previously called to Richards's attention. It
avoided administrative questions beyond assigning departments to guard
ruins on lands they already administered, something presumably within
the scope of their responsibilities. It also included "objects of
historic and scientific interest" among the features that could be
protected. Hewett suggested that the president have the power to
proclaim this new category of federal reservationsthe national
monumentssubject to the stricture that their size "should be
limited to the proper care and management of the objects to be
protected," a drastic change from the restrictive 320- or 640-acre areas
previous measures allowed. [25]
Although the unchecked power that Hewett's bill
granted to the president appeared to compromise western interests, the
bill really only extended executive fiat into a new realm; it granted no
extension of the nature of that power. The Forest Reserve Act of 1891
granted to the president the unlimited power to create forest reserves.
During the late 1890s controversy swirled around uses of that law to
reserve vast timbered areas. In contrast, most archaeological areas were
minute, and although the language of the bill included more than
archaeological areas, few recognized it as a threat to their interests.
The agreed-upon imperative of preservation outweighed existing
concerns.
Hewett was a persuasive advocate, and after powerful
legislative support emerged for the bill, the Antiquities Act became
law. Colorado senator Thomas Patterson's sponsorship of the bill in the
Senate helped allay western fears. With Hewett's growing reputation to
back him, Lacey handled similar suspicions in the House of
Representatives. During discussion of the measure on the House floor,
Rep. John Hall Stephens of Vernon, Texas, asked Lacey if the bill would
permit anything like the powers of the Forest Reserve Act of 1891, "by
which seventy to eighty million acres of land in the United States had
been tied up." "The object is entirely different," Lacey responded, "it
is to preserve these old objects of special interest and the Indian
remains on the pueblos in the Southwest." [26] Lacey's response satisfied westerners, and
the Antiquities Act passed in the House of Representatives. On 8 June
1906 Theodore Roosevelt signed it into law. It seemed that the
preservation of antiquities and private use of natural resources could
coexist.
The situation deceived both Lacey and Stephens. The
following year, Congress forbade the president to create additional
forest reserves in western states without congressional approval, and
the importance of the Antiquities Act increased. [27] It became the primary federal tool in
urgent situations, and beginning with Theodore Roosevelt, it was used in
ways that closely resembled uses of the Forest Reserve Act. Areas far
larger than ever conceived were reserved under the auspices of the Act.
As a result of the compromise Hewett arranged, the Antiquities Act
became the way to protect public land in the United States quickly and
effectively.
Hewett succeeded where other more prominent
professionals had failed, for he had something to offer all the factions
in the controversy. With a perspective that was part westerner, part
scientist, and part government official, Hewett could clearly see the
concerns of each. By seeking "in advance the approval not only of the
committees of the [American Archaeological] Institute and of the
Anthropological Association but also of the heads of the Government
Departments concerned," Hewett deflected professional opposition to the
bill. [28] His work with the organizations
and the government brought him prestige among the people he sought as
peers, and because he sought a Ph.D., he contradicted the inclination of
scientists to regard excavating westerners as profiteering vandals. He
had also helped blunt western opposition to another law granting
unlimited presidential power over lands primarily located in western
states.
Equal parts nineteenth- and twentieth-century person,
Hewett provided the link that earlier attempts to pass legislation to
protect American antiquities had lacked. Narrowly conceived, the earlier
measures provoked controversy within a loose confederation of
supporters. People who supported the idea of preservation had fought
among themselves. In the right place at the right time, Hewett
capitalized on the heightened sense of urgency inspired by the failure
of the Lodge-Rodenberg bill. He consolidated supporters behind one
proposal. He had close ties to all of the appropriate factions and his
unique status as one of the few westerners with credentials and
excavating experience enabled him to speak for the West of the future.
Hewett replaced Richard Wetherill as an image of the West in the minds
of scientists and government officials concerned with American
antiquities.
The initiation of a movement to preserve human
history and prehistory on the North American continent paralleled the
drive to conserve other natural resources. It also embodied a cultural
nationalism that required the forging of uneasy alliances between the
East and the West and between science and government. The passage of the
Antiquities Act was another step away from the individualistic,
nineteenth-century ethic characterized by people like Richard Wetherill.
Progressive sensibilities began to be applied to western land, to make
rules for the greater good. To be a respected professional in twentieth
century America required credentials as well as field experience, and
the cooperative ethic of the Progressive era temporarily subsumed the
individualism of the frontier. The federal government determined to take
a more active hand in the administration and disposition of the public
domain, and if Richard Wetherill planned to harvest upon his homestead
claim, he would have to plant crops. Hewett had orchestrated a solid
fusion where others, with equally good intentions, had failed. As a
result, it became possible to preserve American antiquities.
But the Antiquities Act left many issues unresolved.
Because it was a hasty compromise, drawn up to placate various
government agencies, the new law left administrative questions
unsettled. Recognizing the immediate need for the law, Hewett followed
the lead of earlier preservation advocates. He tabled questions of
jurisdiction and administration so that the proclamation of worthy sites
as national monuments could begin. The only administrative provision in
the act was one that allowed each department to retain responsibility
for lands proclaimed as national monuments. There were no provisions for
funding of the national monuments, effectively inhibiting the
establishment of any system of caretaking. Other crucial questions were
left to be decided at a later date. The Antiquities Act had closed gaps
in the law; in practice, effective preservation had yet to be
achieved.
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