Chapter 6
Science and the Struggle for Bureaucratic
Power: The Leopold Era, 19631981 (continued)
The Pursuit of Bureaucratic
Power
Following the reports, efforts to infuse science into park management
were affected by two underlying factors. Perhaps the more daunting was
that, both explicitly and implicitly, the reports called for a
redistribution of power within the Park Service. A full and committed
response by the Service would have required sizable increases in
staffing and funding for natural resource management, including
research. Ultimately, bureaucratic leadership would be shared with those
advocating scientifically based managementa concept virtually
alien to Park Service leaders and field personnel of the early 1960s. At
the time of the Leopold and National Academy reports, science was buried
in the Service's large and complicated organizational chart, split
between two divisions and receiving little of Director Wirth's
attention. [35] But the Leopold Report's
declaration that all national park management should come under
biologically trained personnel suggested that an extraordinary change in
the Service's entrenched power structure was necessary. In effect,
biologists would have to become full members of the bureau's leadership
culture. This possibilityalong with the National Academy's
recommendations that directorate-level scientific positions be created,
that ten highly qualified scientists be placed in the Washington office,
and that funding for science be increased to ten percent of the
Service's annual budgetconstituted the more formidable aspects of
the potential redistribution of power.
Compounding the problem of sharing power within the bureau was a
second major obstacle: the complexity of ecologically oriented park
management. The Leopold Report repeatedly emphasized the challenges
inherent in attempting to restore the parks to a semblance of primitive
America (efforts akin to what would become known as ecological
restoration). "The implications of this seemingly simple aspiration are
stupendous," it stated, given the "enormous complexity" of both the
ecological communities of the parks and the means required to manage
them. The report's summary statement gave notice that restoration of the
parks to their primitive condition required "skills and knowledge not
now in existence." [36]
Both reports issued in 1963 called for scientifically informed
management with which the Service had only limited experience,
even considering the George Wright era of the 1930s. Decades of
indifference to science reflected the attitude that neither research nor
professional scientific skill was necessary for proper park management.
The lack of experience with complex scientific land management probably
helped foster the Park Service's naive, rhetorical "can do" response to
the reportseven though the bureau at times acknowledged the
reports' warnings about the difficulty of ecological management. [37] It is also likely that the Service was
reacting positively to the National Academy study for the very reason
Howard Stagner later gaveas a means of masking negative feelings
toward the report.
Overall, Park Service leadership seems to have underestimated the
extent of the challenge it faced: the amount of effort necessary and the
degree of change required in its traditional power structure and park
operations. Scientists hired by the Service in the 1960s and 1970s were
similarly challenged. With little or no experience in a bureaucracy of
such size, they confronted the bewildering task of developing an
insurgent science program in the face of management's long apathy toward
sciencean indifference that had not ended with the appearance of
the reports in 1963.
Relating to the factor of complexity, the reports' promotion of much
stronger science programs implied a slower, more cautious pace than
before for many park actions. If research were to become an integral
factor in decisionmaking, it would force greater deliberation over both
long-range planning and daily operations. As Director Hartzog admonished
his superintendents in 1965, they would have to be cautious with their
management and development and be "alert to the requirements for studies
that arise" out of their park programs. When development was
contemplated, each superintendent had to know what effect it would have
on the "ecology of the surroundings" and had to be sure that a
development site was "not of such scientific value as to justify . . .
proposing a different location." Hartzog emphasized that if they did not
know the answer to such questions, the superintendents should ensure
that research was conducted "beforenot after" breaking ground. [38] Such an admonition was, however, largely
rhetorical. Although Hartzog was well aware of the need for prior
scientific studies, most often that need would be ignored by park
management. Easily decreed, it was not easily enforced. The bureau's
leadership would provide lip service to the new science initiative, and
would prove reluctant to share power and to accept substantive changes
in its mode of operations.
In urging that the science programs be headed by a chief scientist
under an assistant director who would in turn report to the director,
the National Academy sought to ensure that science would be "independent
of operational management" in order to promote objectivity in research
and recommendations. The concern for independencea central issue
in the years to followstemmed from the traditional academic and
professional ethic of maintaining the integrity of scientific research
and recommendations. The scientists were to become the chief advocates
for the new ecological approach to park management, and their views
would frequently conflict with the pragmatic, day-to-day interests of
park superintendents, who were accustomed to being in charge of all
activities in their parks. Commenting on the question of independence,
Robert M. Linn, a scientist in the Washington office, asserted in 1967
that scientific research should be separate from management; otherwise,
it would always be "suspect," in that management could "dictate a
prejudiced result." Much in accord with concerns expressed by the
National Academy, he added that scientific research should be "as free
as possible to criticize the parent organization." [39]
The organizational changes in the years after the Leopold and
National Academy reports moved very slowly and erratically toward the
scientists' goals of independence and freedom to criticize. Even
building the basic framework for a credible Park Service science program
was bound to be a lengthy process. The Service could not merely hire
several dozen scientists and with little forethought send them to the
parks to do research and advise the superintendents. Thus its initial
response to the reports included hiring a chief scientist, who was to
design and implement a science program.
Director Wirth stated soon after the academy's report that the
Service's "organizational deficiencies" would be "corrected." He
promised to set up an "identifiable unit" (rather than an independent
unit) of science, having "close liaison with administration and
operating arms of the Service," and having "freedom of communication on
professional matters." In 1964 Director Hartzog established the Division
of Natural Science Studies and named George Sprugel, Jr.a highly
respected biologist with the National Science Foundationto be the
Service's chief scientist. [40]
Sprugel's division included all research scientists in the
Washington office, several of whom were transferred from a branch within
the Division of Interpretation. This action gave science a clearer
identity and an elevated status (from a branch to a division), at the
same time breaking an organizational tie with interpretation that had
been in place much of the time since the early 1930s. Sprugel reported
to an assistant director for resource studies, a new position that
included history and archeology programs. This arrangement, it was
asserted, would allow a dialogue among researchers from different
disciplines. However, it may have served more to restrict the status and
visibility (and certainly the independence) of the science program, in
that science was only one division among three reporting to an assistant
director.
Sprugel sought to establish his programs through systematic research
planning for the major natural parks. He created teams of Park Service
scientists and naturalists that, working with experts from outside the
Service, studied the parks to determine the particular research
requirements of each. Although the scientists wanted short-range
research to address "stop-gap" management concerns, they principally
planned for long-range studies that would address "every feature and
factor represented in each natural area," providing a "basic ecological
understanding" for park management. The first "natural science research
plan" produced was for Isle Royale National Park, followed by plans for
Everglades, Great Smoky Mountains, and Haleakala national parks. By the
late 1960s, the research plans were being folded into more comprehensive
documents, the "resource management plans." Although intended to provide
the ecological component of park master plans, the resource management
planning effort languished in the 1970s without aggressive systemwide
support. [41]
In a move providing some degree of independence, Sprugel was given
direct supervision over all field research scientists, in accord with
the academy's recommendation for control of the research assignments and
protection of the objectivity of the scientists' findings. [42] Thus researchers were not to be under the
authority of the park superintendents. Yet Robert Linn recalled that
placing in a park a scientist who was "directed in his activities and
paid by someone else" was viewed as a "direct threat to the concept of
the Superintendent as the 'captain of the ship' "a factor that
Linn believed led to "major problems" and to "constant pressure" by
management to gain control of the science programs. [43]
In the late 1960s, recalling recent efforts to strengthen the
science programs, biologist Lowell Sumner noted "clear parallels with
the struggle for survival in the natural world." He acknowledged that
the struggle within the Park Service was not "as violent and predatory
as in the animal world"; rather, it was more like the "competition among
plants," in that particular branches and divisions had a "favorable
place in the sun." These plants "overshadowed the others and got the
major share of the funds, as well as major representation on
policymaking and planning committees." Also, in Sumner's opinion,
biology had been "dismembered into 2 camps"wildlife rangers and
scientists. Of the two, the wildlife rangers had the more "favorable
place in the sun." [44]
With the effort to build scientific programs, the Park Service seems
to have made more meaningful attempts to distinguish between "research
science" and what was gradually becoming known as "resource management."
Resource managers (the wildlife rangers) continued to perform the actual
in-the-park treatment of flora, fauna, and other natural elements,
including elk reduction, fisheries management, and firefighting. They
also assisted the scientists with some data gathering and other routine
functions. The wildlife rangers were selected to do natural resource
management either because of their experience in such activities or
because of related academic training, although some apparently had
limited qualifications. Field oriented rather than academic, they
assisted the superintendents in making, as well as implementing,
decisions on natural resource issues. (In the Washington office, the
wildlife ranger division consisted mainly of individuals transferred in
from the big natural parks where they had had experience managing large
mammals.) [45] By contrast, the scientists
had the responsibility for formal research, including preparing research
designs, then gathering data and interpreting the findings.
In Wirth's September 1963 response to the National Academy's report,
he made it clear that research scientists were to play a limited role in
park management. In spite of the academy's admonition that science
should not be "simply an advisory function" and that it should have
"line responsibility," the Park Service director stated that the
researchers' "basic responsibility" was to submit findings and
recommendations, and that their authority was only "advisory." The
scientists would "not make decisions, or give orders pursuant to putting
recommendations into effect." The superintendents, assisted by the
wildlife rangers (the resource managers), would give such orders and
then implement them. There would be little sharing of bureaucratic
authority with the scientists. Moreover, the Service was developing two
organizationally separate biological programsresearch and resource
managementan arrangement that Washington office scientist Robert
Linn would later characterize as "biology divided." [46]
In contrast to the research scientists' rather consistent lack of
common understanding with superintendents, the wildlife rangers
maintained strong ties with park managers. With wildlife and forestry
management combined in the Washington ranger office (as in most field
offices), the rangers not only had a substantial role in resource
management, involving both animals and plants, but also enjoyed much
greater bureaucratic influence than did the research scientists. Early
in 1964, an internal Park Service study recommended reorganizing the
ranger division and renaming it "Resource Management and Visitor
Protection." [47] The very title of the new
unit (a title also adopted in many parks) helped ensure that the rangers
would continue to be in charge of resource management in addition to law
enforcement.
While head of the ranger division in the mid-1960s, Spud Bill, former
superintendent at Grand Teton, soon to be Hartzog's assistant director
and then deputy director, sought to make sure that the rangers kept a
tight hold on resource management duties. In a memorandum on "The Role
of the Park Ranger in Resources Management," Bill asserted to Director
Hartzog that it was "wholly logical" for resource management to be a
"park ranger function and basic responsibility." He recalled that, in
decades past, specialization of national park work in such fields as
interpretation and maintenance had taken these activities from the
rangers, which he feared had diminished their status. But, as the
Service moved toward more intensive management of natural resources, he
was convinced that the ranger should be the principal player. The
strength of the resource management program must "spring from and be
motivated from the program operation level"it was the ranger, the
"man on the ground," who was familiar with the park and who should
remain the "keyman" in resource management. Much later, veteran
law-enforcement ranger and resource manager William Supernaugh commented
that as the parks' resource management programs grew, their personnel
"largely came from law enforcement"the ranger staff. The wildlife
rangers continued, in Supernaugh's words, to be within the rangers'
"empire." [48]
As part of the ranger domain, historically allied with park
management, the wildlife rangers were a steady source of support to whom
the superintendents could turn for advice in the new era of ecology.
Much more inclined than the scientists to make decisions without the
delays and questions resulting from research, the wildlife rangers
tended to act if, in Supernaugh's words, the situation "felt right." [49] Their management style surely suited the
perceived needs of superintendents, who were long accustomed to decisive
action.
This adherence to tradition was almost certainly encouraged by the
wildlife rangers' close association with the Park Service's foresters,
whose leaders remained little influenced by current ecological concepts.
Well after the Leopold and National Academy reports were issued, the
foresters (believing, as biologist Robert Linn later stated, that "all
fire is bad and must be put out") continued to push for suppression of
fires and elimination of certain insects and diseases. In 1966, in a
clear illustration of minimal ecological concern, the acting assistant
director in charge of the foresters and wildlife rangers wrote that
although the Leopold Report's intention was to "restore and maintain the
natural biotic communities" within national parks, these natural
communities have "little justification for retention as national parks
except as they are utilized by man, i.e., the park visitor." Recalling
such attitudes, Lowell Sumner asserted that the "trouble with ecological
considerations" in the parks had been that they were "frequently in
conflict with some of the programs of other Service unitsprograms
such as native forest insect control, filling in of swamplands to
enlarge campgrounds, road and trail building into essentially pristine
ecological territory, or suppression of natural fires in parks whose
distinctive vegetation was dependent on the continuing role of natural
fires." [50]
With the rangers generally representing the traditional perspective
on natural resource management and the scientists much more attuned to
current ecological thinking, discord between the two groups was sure to
arise in the Washington office. In a statement prepared in late 1966 and
issued under Deputy Director Bill's signature, Robert Linn (then acting
chief scientist) observed that "evolving traditions, reorganizations,
realignments, etc." had created the separate wildlife ranger and science
functions, with each group having a "traditional dominion or assigned
mission." Efforts to strengthen the science programs had rapidly
precipitated territorial disputes. In a restatement of his "biology
divided" observation, Linn wrote that "unhappy animosities" and "unhappy
moments" resulted from "conflicts of 'jurisdiction' and conflicts of
opinion." Responding to this problem, in 1967 the Service created a
Natural Resources Committee for the purpose of "creating and/or
maintaining coordination" between the wildlife rangers and the research
scientists. [51]
An internal Park Service statement dated July 1964 (shortly after
George Sprugel became chief scientist) noted that although the Service
had reorganized to accommodate science, funds for research were "so
limited" that even stopgap studies to address "pressing natural history
problems" could not be satisfactorily accomplished. Mainly, Park Service
scientists had to seek support from outside researchers to "initiate and
carry out basic studies" in the parks, and funding had to be "obtained
elsewhere" than from the Service. By 1965 the Park Service's own funding
for research projects had reached only $105,500up almost $80,000
from 1963 but still a minuscule amount compared to the hundreds of
millions of dollars being spent on park development under Mission 66.
The scientific research programs had not, as Director Hartzog observed
early in 1965, "achieved the pace" he had hoped for; rather, they had
met with "mixed results." Hartzog cautioned his superintendents that
research was not a "fringe activity," but a "real and practical
requirement" that needed recognition. Nevertheless, research received
little budgetary support. [52]
Park Service leadership asserted that a key factor in limiting
research funds was that some members of Congress believed that
scientific research was not a proper function for the Service. Sprugel
recalled that during his tenure as chief scientist (196466) a
"budget problem" existed, resulting partly from congressional opposition
to allowing line-item funding for research. [53] Shortly after assuming office in early
1964, Director Hartzog had been bluntly advised by no less than the
chairman of the House Interior Department Appropriations Subcommittee,
Michael Kirwan of Ohio, that research was not any business of the
Service. This attitude prompted the director to avoid use of the word
"research" in budget requests to Congress; he substituted the
designation "resource studies," to disguise the program. In addition to
the monies appropriated for resource studies, Hartzog used his emergency
funds to finance research. Robert Linn recalled the director's use of
"hip pocket cash" to ensure that the research programs continued. [54]
In Linn's opinion, the funding question was one of the chief
problems to "plague mightily the science program." He noted too that
hip-pocket funds "rarely legitimize a program and rarely come in amounts
sufficient for major efforts." Linn claimed that the Park Service had
"never presented effectively" to Congress an explanation for "why
research was necessary to carry out the mandates that Congress gave to
the Service," or why the Service should conduct its own scientific
research. In truth, the failure of Service leadership from Mather's time
on to determinedly pursue scientific research funding reflected a lack
of concern for acquiring an in-depth knowledge of the parks' natural
conditions. [55] At a conference of national
park scientists in the late 1960s, Lowell Sumner concluded that funding
and staffing for research were still "peanuts in comparison to
those of larger and more powerful branches and divisions of the
Service." He quoted a former Park Service landscape architect, Al Kuehl,
who had frequently commented that if managers "think [biology] is
important, they'll find the people and money" to do the work. [56]
Along with the question of funding, the Park Service faced the
persistent problem of controlin Linn's words, "who should direct
the work of the [park] scientists." George Sprugel recalled that even
though he had line authority over the scientists, the superintendents
exerted strong influence over them, and that superintendents and
regional directors often sought to impede efforts to advance science in
the parks. Sprugel remembered Hartzog as "friendly" toward the science
programs, but viewed the director's top lieutenants as difficult
obstructionists, unwilling to tolerate the new scientific approach to
park management. [57]
Exasperated with what he saw as insufficient funding and overall
weak support for his research programs, Sprugel resigned from the Park
Service in September 1966. His departure occurred just over two years
after he assumed the position of chief scientist and more than three
years after the Leopold and National Academy reports declared the need
for strengthened science programs within the Service. But in Sprugel's
opinion, many of the Service's leaders had only "paid lip service" to
the two reports and were "very hardnosed" in their resistance to
science. Representing a new focus in park management, he had felt like
an "outsider" with old-line managers, and it seemed as if he had been
"thrust down their throats" by Director Hartzog. [58]
Announcing the chief scientist's resignation, a strongly worded
article entitled "Science: Sense and Nonsense" appeared in BioScience
and reflected Sprugel's concerns. Sprugel recalled that the author,
reporter Harold Simons, had obtained his information from a highly
placed sourceno less than Assistant Secretary of the Interior and
prominent biologist Stanley A. Cain, who, prior to his appointment to
the Interior Department in 1965, had served on both the Leopold and
National Academy committees. The article characterized Park Service
efforts to respond to the reports of these committees as being "sorry,
at best." The Service had "turned its back on scientific advice." Simons
stated aptly that three years after the academy's report the same harsh
criticism "could be made, along with the same threats, needs, and
recommendations" that the academy had identified. Although Sprugel
himself had "enlivened the scientific approach" to the parks, "all
signs" indicated that the Service had not yet seen the "scientific
light." [59]
Despite such a negative outlook, shortly after Sprugel's resignation
the status of the science programs rose significantly. The Division of
Natural Science Studies, reporting to an assistant director, was
redesignated the Office of Natural Science Studies, reporting directly
to Hartzog. Moreover, in the spring of 1967 Hartzog enticed Starker
Leopold to become Sprugel's successor as chief scientist, thus bringing
into the Service the Leopold Report's principal author. Hartzog had
tried hard to get Leopold to join the Service, pushing the matter even
after an initial refusal. He reached an agreement that while Leopold
served as chief scientist he could continue his work at the University
of California and be stationed in Berkeley. To ensure smooth operation
of the science programs, Hartzog promoted Robert Linn, who had been
acting as Sprugel's replacement, to serve as Leopold's deputy. [60]
Hartzog had long admired Leopold, and no doubt recognized the
prestige he could bring to the Service and its science programs. In what
Hartzog termed a "brilliant address," Leopold had told the
superintendents conference gathered at Yosemite in October 1963 (several
months after his report had been issued) that the Serviceas well
as Congressneeded a "complete overhaul" in its attitude toward
research. He believed the research necessary to manage the parks
"intelligently" was "simply enormous," and that without scientific input
there was no way for "ecological management" to take place. [61]
With the chief scientist reporting directly to Hartzog, the Office of
Natural Science Studies had at last attained for science the kind of
status and independence envisioned in the National Academy Report of
1963a situation enhanced by Leopold's reputation. And, as
Leopold's deputy based in Washington, Robert Linn became "a part of the
Director's squad," or "inner circle," as he put it. Heretofore, Linn
felt, the scientists had had "no real representation on that august
body." [62] At that point, it seemed that
little more independence could be expected as long as science remained a
function of the Park Service.
However, in the spring of 1967, just before Leopold took office, U.S.
Senator Clifford P. Hansen of Wyoming proposed the National Park Service
Natural Science Research Act, which would create a fully independent
scientific wing of the Service. The bill included establishment of a
Commissioner of Natural Science Research, who would have status
approximately equal to that of the Park Service director. Senator Hansen
claimed that the legislation was drafted "in response to some of the
dramatic crises" that the national parks faced, and was "based upon the
findings and recommendations" of the National Academy's 1963 report. [63]
In fact, the academy had only recommended that science be
"independent of operational management" within the Service. Park Service
leaders believed that Hansen's real intent was to wrest decisionmaking
power from the director in order to gain control over wildlife
management issues, particularly the still-unresolved issue of public
hunting of Yellowstone's elk. Acting chief scientist Linn wrote to his
former boss, George Sprugel, asserting that Hansen, reacting to concerns
about Yellowstone, had "dragged out the old [National] Academy Committee
Report" and made a bill out of it, to create a new "agency or
super-agency within the National Park Service." Considering the
potential power of a Commissioner of Natural Science Research, Linn
added that there was "not much room for a war between a Director and a
Commissioner." In his response to Linn, Sprugel evidenced his past
frustrations with the Service, noting that with regard to the bill,
nothing he had seen led him to believe "that tying the hands of the
Director when it comes to a research program might not be to the benefit
of the Park Service." Predictably, however, the bill promised a
situation Hartzog could not tolerate. The Park Service claimed that it
was already "organizing as effectively as possible" to have research
support for park management, and the proposal was never enacted into
law. [64]
Even the independence attained by the science programs under Starker
Leopold did not last long. Leopold resigned as chief scientist effective
June 1, 1968exactly one year after his appointment. Having
accepted the position on a conditional basis and with personal
reservations, he soon realized that he could not satisfactorily address
the needs of both the university and the Park Service. On Leopold's
recommendation, Hartzog appointed Robert Linn as the new chief
scientist. But soon, in 1969, the Office of Natural Science Studies lost
its high organizational status when Hartzog removed it from his direct
supervision and buried it in a cluster of eight divisions under one
associate director. [65]
Thus, within a period of about two years, Park Service science had
risen to a prominence it had never before knownthen dropped back
to a rank-and-file level. Given the timing of these shifts, it seems
likely that the elevation of science was tied to Leopold's personal
status and influence. Once he was gone, the Service quickly lapsed into
customary organizational arrangements. The bureau's traditional
leadership culture had reasserted itself and reduced the visibility of
science and its role in management.
The status and independence of the science program were further
affected when in the fall of 1971 Hartzog suddenly ordered the transfer
of Washington office staff scientists to the regional offices, to become
"regional chief scientists" reporting to the regional directors. At the
same time, supervisory authority over those biologists stationed in
parks was taken from the chief scientist in Washington and turned over
to the regional directors or park superintendents. In the opinion of
Chief Scientist Linn, this move had very likely been spawned by the
antagonism of the more traditional managers, who resented their lack of
control over the scientists, perceived by some to be engaged in research
"hobbies" in the parks. Linn believed that Hartzog had come under
"constant pressure" from the superintendents on this matter. [66]
Linn later recalled that he had not been consulted prior to Hartzog's
sudden announcement of the reorganization, made at a meeting of regional
directors in a hotel near Washington's Dulles Airport. The very fact
that this important restructuring of the science programs was pulled off
as a surprise move indicates that its proponents intended to catch Linn
off guard and force the issue. At a coffee break following the
announcement, the director discussed the matter with Linn, offering to
reconsider if he had any "real heavy objections." In Linn's words, the
"biggest mistake I ever made as chief scientist was not vigorously
objecting." Caught in a sudden power playand no doubt under
tremendous pressure from a phalanx of the Service's directorate seeking
to preserve a long tradition in which superintendents had virtually
complete control in their parksLinn assented. Told that he would
be able to make the selections for the regional chief scientist
positions, and assured by at least one regional director that in reality
"nothing will change," the chief scientist hoped that the situation
would work out satisfactorily. [67] With the
regional directors closely allied with the superintendents (indeed, most
had themselves come from the superintendency ranks), Hartzog's move
greatly increased management's control over science. It was a definitive
rejection of the National Academy's recommendation for a program
independent of operational management.
Although individuals with high academic credentials had been employed
before, the scientists hired in response to the Leopold and National
Academy reports constituted the first sizable number of Ph.D.s to come
into the Service. Academics with little bureaucratic experience and
embodying a challenge to established views of park management, they had
difficulty finding common ground with traditional managers. Their
research could delay decisionmaking and could present ambiguous
conclusions. It could also challenge a superintendent's preferred course
of action. In many ways the scientists were caught between their desire
to do independent scientific research and their need to participate
directly in park decisionmaking. Participation would necessitate working
closely with management during, for instance, analysis of policies,
preparation of park planning documents, and analysis of the potential
impacts of management actions. Such cooperation could rob the scientists
of valuable research time and threaten their independence of thought and
action. [68]
With their goal of independence (a goal seemingly less important to
other research-oriented professions in the Service, such as archeology
or history), the research scientists had been implanted in a bureau with
longestablished modes of operation that rejected the alien concept of an
independent scientific voice. The desire for independence may have
reflected the degree to which scientists wished to be free to criticize
management but it may also have served to estrange park managers
even more. Park Service leadership preferred that science be integrated
with management, in the hope that it would be responsive to the
managers' immediate needs. With regionalization, the goal of an
independent scientific research program (which, as Linn had put it,
should be "as free as possible to criticize the parent organization")
had all but vanished, buried beneath the Service's management
traditions. [69]
Regionalization brought no consistent organizational arrangement for
scientists located in the parks. Each reported either to a staff person
under the superintendent (usually the chief ranger) or to the regional
chief scientist. Such varied reporting arrangements further splintered
the science programs. Attempting to retain some authority and cohesion
in his programs, Linn secured approval for creation of a Natural Science
Coordinating Council, to consist of the chief scientist, his remaining
Washington staff, and all of the regional chief scientists. The council
was to meet quarterly. Yet with the regional and park scientists under
supervisors who had varying degrees of interest in science, even this
arrangement faltered. Within about six months of the reorganization,
Linn learned that two of the regional chief scientists had been told not
to "call Linn." In his view, this marked "the end of a centrally
directed science program." [70] He recalled
that even "simple inquiries to the field" from his office became treated
by superintendents "with distrust and disdain and as an act of
trespass." In addition, Linn stated that park research at a "number of
locations" was "reduced by the encroachment of 'more meaningful'
management activity." Budget allocations for long-range research
competed with the superintendents' desire to use those funds for more
"instant success" with park projects such as "snowplowing, dangerous
tree removal and a variety of visitor services activities." [71]
The frustrations of biologist Ken Baker, stationed at Hawaii
Volcanoes National Park, exemplified the new situation for field
scientists. Baker wrote to his friend Lowell Sumner that "just prior to
reorganization" Chief Scientist Linn had approved his annual operating
budget of $5,200, but that "after reorganization I got $0.00. That's
what I said, $0.00. So here I sit, without any mileage for my personal
vehicle, animal feed, telephone expenses, etc." The Washington office
had passed the science funds to the regional offices, but, as Linn
indicated, the money was diverted to other purposes. Baker described a
similar loss of funds for the Death Valley biologist. With the
reorganization, Baker believed that the chief scientist had become
"nothing more than a figure-head and that Research Biologists have been
tossed to the lions (Superintendents)." Emphasizing the role of the park
superintendents more than the regional office, he wrote bitterly that
the biologists were "under the control of Superintendents. They control
our purse strings and whoever does that controls the Biologist." After
Sumner conveyed this information to Starker Leopold, the former chief
scientist responded that having the biologists dependent on the
superintendents "is not the way I envisioned this program working nor
the way it should work." [72]
The remarks of Linn and Baker on funding pointed to a key problem
for scientific research: the ability of regional directors,
superintendents, and chief rangers to manipulate funds and personnel.
Always quite limited, science funding was generally subject to the
discretion of park management, and more so after the regionalization.
Superintendents could now shift funds with virtual impunity, especially
when it involved the related fields of science and natural resource
management. When a superintendent turned research funds over to the
chief ranger, the ranger could instead use these funds for resource
management (under his control) and thus free up his own resource
management funds for other purposes, such as law enforcement or safety.
As Linn's remarks on snowplowing and tree removal suggested, scientific
research funds not infrequently ended up supporting routine park
operations.
Similarly, Roland H. Wauer, a leading natural resource management
strategist during this era, later observed that the majority of Park
Service scientists found themselves "dealing with resource management
issues rather than [scientific research]." [73] Despite their desire for independence,
scientists were repeatedly drawn from research into resource management.
Among other things, the shuffling of funds and personnel for science and
for resource management and other ranger work seriously blurred the
situation, making it difficult, if not impossible, to track the actual
yearly funding or staffing for science.
Nearly two years after regionalization of the science programs, the
extent of the loss of central control over the programs was made
evident. An August 1973 Washington office memorandum on the "status of
the Servicewide natural science program" pointed out that "attempts" to
"ascertain the scope of ongoing [science] projects and to determine the
actual funding level by Regions" had proved "somewhat unsuccessful." Had
the Service's directorate been truly committed to science, surely it
would have insisted on close tracking and accountability. But, in Linn's
opinion, with the Service's priorities focused on daily park operations,
"long-range promises" for science had done "badly in a marketplace of
instant success." [74]
Reorganizations during the 1970s brought continued fluctuations in
the status of the Washington office science programs. In 1973, under
Hartzog's successor, Ronald H. Walker, and following Linn's departure,
the chief scientist position rose to approximately the same status it
had had during Starker Leopold's tenure, reporting immediately to the
director. But under succeeding directors, more shifts occurred. By 1976
the science office had fallen back to division status, again buried in
the organization as one of six divisions reporting to an associate
director. In 1977 Starker Leopold and Purdue University biologist
Durward L. Allen conducted a review of national park science programs.
With their report and with an order from Assistant Secretary Robert
Herbst that the "scientific program be upgraded and coordinated
throughout the Service," the bureau again came under pressure to raise
the status of science. [75]
As with the Leopold and National Academy reports, outside
authorities once more sought to influence Park Service organization and
effect shifts in power. Leopold and Allen recommended that the position
of associate director for natural science be established, and that the
incumbent operate in effect as the chief scientist. After months of
stout resistance by Park Service leaders reluctant to share authority
with science, this recommendation took effect. In 1978 Linn's successor
as chief scientist, Theodore W. Sudia, was promoted to a new position of
associate director for science and technology. [76] Although the title "chief scientist" was
abandoned, science for the first time had attained the associate
director levelfifteen years after issuance of the Leopold and
National Academy reports.
Overall, during the 1970s, the organizational fluctuations of the
science programs demonstrated that a kind of intellectual and policy
push-and-pull was taking placebetween the dictates of the Leopold
and National Academy reports on the one hand and the traditional mindset
of the Service on the other. As Linn put it, "representation at the top
of the bureaucratic pile" was an "important function" for science, and
the highest levels of the Park Service "MUST include [scientific]
knowledge and concern." But the Service had only very slowly yielded
some of its power to scientists. In marked contrast with science,
perennially favored functions such as administration, design and
construction, and ranger operations had maintained a consistently high
organizational status throughout this period, generally at the
assistant, associate, or even deputy director levels. [77]
Possibly contributing to the instability of the scientists' status
was the revolving-door directorship imposed on the Service during the
1970s. For various political reasons, between December 1972, when
Hartzog resigned as director, and May 1980, when Russell E. Dickenson
took over, the Park Service had three directors: Ronald Walker, Gary E.
Everhardt, and William J. Whalen. These eight years manifested the most
rapid leadership changes in Service history, with an average tenure of
about two and onehalf years, and with each director having his own
perception of science and its role in national park management. Robert
Linn believed that Hartzog's support for science was much greater than
that of his immediate successors, a view seemingly contradicted by the
rise of science under Director Walker. [78]
Clearly, though, science had had difficulty securing sufficient
bureaucratic strength to resist sudden organizational shifts, especially
when the directorship itself was susceptible to rapid turnover. Yet in
1978 in the Washington office, science at last gained the associate
director levelan organizational status it has maintained.
The period of frequent turnovers in the directorship helped bring
about another shift in power within the Park Service's top echelons. As
director, George Hartzog had dominated the Service. But because his
successors lacked his bureaucratic strength and finesse, the regional
directors assumed greater control, in effect filling the vacuum created
by Hartzog's departure. And by the late 1970s the number of regions had
increased from eight to ten, which augmented the regional directors'
overall strength. Richard H. Briceland, who as associate director headed
the science programs from 1980 to 1986 and encountered firsthand the
authority of the regional directors, described the dispersal of power as
"distributed anarchy." He believed it seriously impeded efforts to run
an effective Servicewide science program. Similar to the earlier
observations of Chief Scientist Linn and Hawaii Volcanoes biologist Ken
Baker, Briceland stated that not infrequently he had seen regions or
parks divert funds from scientific research to maintenance or other park
activities. [79]
Briceland also recalled how the regional directors defeated an
effort to elevate science throughout the Service. At a 1986 meeting
Director William Penn Mott, Jr. (who had succeeded Russell Dickenson the
previous year), proposed that science personnel be placed in high
positions of authority, immediately under the regional directors or
superintendents, in all regions and major natural parks. This plan,
promoted by Briceland and others, had been presented to the regional
directors well before the meeting. To some extent it would replicate
throughout the system the status that science had finally attained in
the Washington office.
Revealing his deference to the strength of the regional directors
(and in a democratic management style in startling contrast to that of
the oftenintimidating Hartzog), Mott submitted to their judgment, asking
them to vote on the issue. Unwilling to surrender more authority to the
scientists, they voted nine to one against the proposal, believing that
it "wasn't needed," Briceland recalled. Support for the proposal came
only from Western regional director Howard H. Chapman, who was building
science programs in parks such as Sequoia, Yosemite, and Channel
Islands. This important vote by the regional directors effectively
constrained the scientists' authority in the regions and parks. [80]
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