SOME OF THE PRETTY GOOD GUYS

The preceding accounts have given some idea of how things work in legislative circles. I will now relate a few interesting personal experiences and offer observations on some senators and representatives that I think will help fill out the congressional profile for the reader. I am sure the following will show that they are pretty good guys.

Senator Harry Flood Byrd, of Virginia

The late Senator Harry Flood Byrd was one of my very close friends, as well as a good friend of the service. He believed in and supported the concept of the national park system. He was governor of the state of Virginia when Shenandoah National Park was established before the CCC days. He bought the land with state funds—he believed in pay as you go, and there were no state bonds to provide the money—and transferred the acreage to the federal government. He was also the one who suggested to President Roosevelt that the Blue Ridge Parkway be built to connect Great Smoky and Shenandoah national parks.

He was not on any of our committees, but he was nevertheless always a friend of the Park Service. As mentioned earlier, when Senator Byrd visited Yellowstone National Park to give a short talk at our superintendents' meeting, he stated that we got $1.10 out of every dollar Congress gave us. Later I tried to get the senator to raise it to $1.20, but he wouldn't. Some few years later at the dedication of Cumberland Gap National Historical Park, he reported in his talk that his staff had studied the matter again and the very best they could do was to get it up to $1.15.

Senator Byrd paid for the building of six shelters—one a year—in Shenandoah National Park, along the Appalachian Trail. They were properly dedicated, and each was named after a "byrd," as for example Hawks Byrd Nest. They are built of stone, with shake roofs. Each shelter is some twenty feet long and sixteen feet wide, and one long side has been left open facing a beautiful mountain view.

Director Wirth and Senator Harry F. Byrd, of Virginia, stop for refreshments the second day out on their hike from Logan Pass on Going-to-the-Sun Road in Glacier National Park, Montana, to Waterton Lake National Park, Canada. Courtesy National Park Service.

Senator Byrd got a great deal of pleasure from hiking, especially in the mountains. On one occasion we met in Glacier National Park, in Montana, and hiked from Logan Pass, a 6,600-foot elevation, on Going-to-the-Sun Highway up to Waterton Lake in Canada's Waterton National Park. It took us three days and we camped out two nights. Superintendent John (Jack) W. Emmert went with us, as did Chief Ranger Elmer Fladmark, the senator's son Dick, and his longtime friend, the Speaker of the House of Delegates of the state of Virginia, Blackburn (Blackie) Moore. The first day out we stayed in Granite Park Chalet, one of the old mountain lodges now used as a shelter for hikers who bring their own camping gear. After dinner we sat on the second-story porch wrapped in blankets and looked westward out over the mountainside. As dusk set in we saw a big mother grizzly bear with two cubs come up to within two hundred feet of the building. We were safe on the second floor, but it was a sight the senator never forgot.

Changing over from a car to a snow-cat on the way up to Tioga Pass in Yosemite National Park. California. Left to right: Hil Ohlman, president of the Yosemite Park Company; Superintendent John Preston; Senator Harry F. Byrd, of Virginia; Regional Director Lawrence Merriam; and Director Wirth. Courtesy National Park Service.

The next day we covered about twelve miles on irregular mountain terrain and camped out that night in tents, sleeping on the ground in sleeping bags. It was porcupine country, and porcupines can always smell leather, which they like to chew because of the salt in it. All night long Fladmark, who was a great big man and an excellent ranger, got up and chased the porcupines away. The next day we could see various pieces of wood around the camp with porcupine quills sticking in them. The senator told his old friend Blackie that there was a porcupine in his sleeping bag. He had placed a piece of firewood in it when Blackie wasn't looking. I never could find out definitely whether Blackie Moore was scared or not, but he acted it out in great shape.

Another time I told Senator Byrd that I was going out west for about four weeks and that I planned to be in Yosemite National Park, in California, over Easter. We decided to meet there. In Yosemite the district ranger went up the mountain every two or three weeks in a snow-cat to measure the depth and water content of the snow for the irrigation officials in the valley. When we arrived Superintendent John Preston invited us to go along and we accepted. We got to the top, an elevation of above ten thousand feet, about four in the afternoon and opened the ranger's cabin. It was cold but with a warm sun, and the tops of the Sierras were beautiful to behold. There was snow as far as one could see. We cooked ourselves a nice dinner and went to bed around ten o'clock. The next morning we got up just before the sun came up. We raised the American flag at sunrise and stood in silent prayer for fully five minutes. It was a beautiful sight and God's creations were all around us. We then lowered the flag, put it back in the ranger's cabin, locked up, took the snow findings, and went back down the mountain.

One time Senator Byrd called me and said he would like to see the parks in Hawaii, but he had a problem. Hawaii was a congressional issue just then because its statehood was coming up and also because the military had plans for the area. Byrd was opposed to both, and he was sure the people there would be after him and that this would spoil his trip. Yet, he needed a change and wanted to see Hawaii. He always traveled at his own expense, but in this case he needed some guidance. One of our fine naturalists, Dr. George Ruhle, was stationed on the big island of Hawaii, and we supplied the senator with a ficitious name and asked Ruhle to give him an educational tour of the islands. We told Ruhle his guest was interested in plants, geography, and history and did not want to meet people or be entertained in any way. We also told him that he would learn the visitor's true identity when he met him and that his guest would take care of all expenses. Ruhle took annual leave and met his guest, and he and the senator had a very enjoyable time. The day after the senator left Washington with destination supposedly unknown, however, some newspaper reporter called up his home in Berryville, Virginia, and the maid who answered the telephone told him that Senator Byrd was on a trip to Hawaii. It didn't take long for that information to get to Hawaii, and the newspapers, the politicians, and the military began looking for him. The papers printed notices asking anybody who saw Senator Harry Flood Byrd to please notify the military and the governor. But they never found him. The day before the senator was to return home he telephoned the military and the governor that he was leaving and would be at the airport an hour before departure and that if they wished to talk to him they could see him at that time. Byrd had found Ruhle to be a highly learned person so well acquainted with the entire Pacific area and Asia that he later got him to be his guide on a trip through that part of the world.

It was a sad day for the country when Senator Harry Flood Byrd died. He was a descendant of a long line of Virginia Byrds, and their ancestral home is one of the restored historic buildings in Williamsburg. One of the honors I most highly regard was that of being one of the senator's eight honorary pallbearers. The present Senator Harry Flood Byrd, Jr., is very much like his father: staunch, independent, a true patriot.

Senator Harry F. Byrd, of Virginia, with his constant companion.

Representative Compton White, of Idaho

Representative Compton White, of Idaho, was a member of the Interior Insular Affairs Committee of the House. He had a feeling that the Park Service was always "grabbing land," and if we wanted just a few acres of the public domain in connection with a boundary line adjustment he would give us quite a going over. In one of our planning studies of Joshua Tree National Monument, in California, we decided to eliminate about three sections of land totaling about two thousand acres that we did not need and wanted to return to public land status. A bill was introduced and was called up for a hearing by Chairman Wayne Aspinall. I appeared as a witness and was discussing the bill when White came in to the hearing late. Without checking the text of the proposed legislation, he asked for the floor and started to give the Park Service a lecture on land grabbing. The other members of the committee started to smile, but nobody interrupted him. Finally, Representative John Saylor asked Compton to yield, explaining that the bill before the committee was to eliminate some two thousand acres of land from the Joshua Tree National Monument, not add to it. With that Compton said, "Well, maybe so, but I think they need a talking to like this every once in a while." So we got both the lecture and his vote in favor of the bill.

Senator Milward L. Simpson, of Wyoming

One day I was before the senate committee defending a bill that would allow us to exchange a piece of land that the service had in Maryland for some land that the Potomac Electric Power Company owned on the Virginia side of the Potomac River at Great Falls. The bill provided that any difference in value, as determined by three separately chosen appraisers working together, would require a cash settlement. The land that the power company owned contained an old canal and locks around Great Falls that George Washington had designed and built when he was a young engineer, and to us it therefore had great historical interest.

But Milward Simpson definitely objected to the proposal. Senator Alan Bible, who was then chairman, interrupted the debate and said, "Connie, this piece of land that you are talking about is just outside of Washington. Why don't you take Senator Simpson out and show him the land?" We went the following Sunday, and when we got there Simpson was astounded by what he saw and wondered why such a fine piece of land of such historic value so close to the capital had not been acquired years earlier.

The bill being considered by the committee had been introduced by Senator Byrd at our request, and Senator Simpson wanted to know whether Byrd would object if he helped get the bill enacted. I was sure he wouldn't, and I suggested that Simpson, who had never met Senator Byrd, go and call on him. As I suspected, Byrd was glad to talk with him, for he remembered the trouble the Park Service had with Simpson in establishing Grand Teton National Park. Milward Simpson, as a private citizen and as governor of Wyoming, had been one of the people who toughly opposed establishment of that park. With the help of the two senators, the Great Falls bill went through and the exchange was made, giving the government control of both sides of the Potomac River around the falls.

Representative Charles Bennett, of Florida

In the late forties Representative Charles Bennett approached the Park Service with the proposal to establish a historic site now called Fort Caroline National Memorial, just south of Jacksonville, Florida, on the Saint John's River. It overlooks the site of Laudonnier's Colony of 1564, an early French attempt at settlement within the present United States. The French and Spanish began two centuries of colonial rivalry in North America at this location. Actually, the site of Laudonnier's Colony had been washed away by the river, but the location is known and a replica of the old fort and a visitor center have been constructed overlooking the old site. Although the colony did not survive, it was there fifty years before the first permanent English settlement was established at Jamestown, Virginia.

Legislation authorizing the national memorial was enacted in 1950, and the area was established January 16, 1953. Bennett and his friends put up money to buy the land and some of the authentic antiquities of that period, which were found in Spain and brought back to this country. Most of the development was done during Mission 66. Charles Bennett is a disabled World War II veteran who is deeply interested in early American history. Since the beginning he has donated his regular monthly veteran's disability allowance to the National Park Service for the purchase of meaningful artifacts having to do with our historic heritage.

Senator Ernest Gruening, of Alaska

Ernest Gruening was a delegate to Congress when Alaska was a territory, and then he became one of the first elected senators from the state of Alaska. He was a kindly man and a devoted conservationist, greatly interested in the preservation of our natural resources. He constantly checked with us on all matters he thought would have any effect on our responsibilities and would alert us to coming possible problems. He loved Alaska, the Park Service, and the Fish and Wildlife Service, and there is nothing he wouldn't do to help an agency do its job right. We often consulted him. He didn't always agree with us, but he was nice about it, and I always liked to see his smiling face when he called on me, even though I didn't know what he had on his mind.

Senator Peter Norbeck, of South Dakota

Peter Norbeck was one of the really down-to-earth senators (he owned a well-digging business), and he understood the need for parks at all levels of government. He used to go to all the state park meetings, and in fact was at the meeting in 1921 when the National Conference on State Parks was organized. He was a senator when I first came to Washington in 1928. After I transferred to the National Park Service in 1931, I came into direct contact with him in setting the boundary lines of Badlands National Monument, in South Dakota, before its establishment on January 25, 1939. He was also one of the main supporters of Custer State Park, in the Black Hills of South Dakota. He lived right near that park and devoted a great deal of time to its development and administration. Mount Rushmore National Memorial, also in the Black Hills south of Rapid City, was another project in which he took a great interest.

I do not want to give the impression that Senator Norbeck was interested only in South Dakota. We could call on him for help on any matter affecting the Park Service. Occasionally we had difficulty getting Congress to do anything about small items of legislation that were noncontroversial and important to us. We'd discuss such a proposed measure with him, and when the time seemed right he'd submit it as an amendment to other legislation under consideration and get it accepted, even though it had very little to do with the particular bill before the Senate.

He developed cancer of the jaw, and after one of his treatments at the Mayo Clinic I had an appointment with him in Rapid City. He met me with a car and driver for a journey to Badlands National Monument, where we were going to talk over some boundary adjustments. As we were driving along he told me a little about his life. He had never lost an election but had never carried his home precinct, where, he said laughingly, the people knew him too well. He told me that when he had returned from the Mayo Clinic by train about a week before quite a crowd gathered around the back platform at the Rapid City station to greet him. As he stood looking over the crowd he noticed that a few people were smiling because they thought he looked so well, but the rest seemed sober and disappointed in his appearance. Finally somebody in the crowd shouted, "Senator, why have you been going to the Mayo Clinic?" With a serious expression he answered, "I have a fatal disease." At that remark, those who had looked sad smiled, and those with the smiling faces turned sad. Then somebody shouted, "What is it, Senator?" And he replied, "Old age," and smiled. Then those who were smiling put on their sour faces again, and those who had turned sad smiled once more because they knew he would outlive a good majority of the crowd who had come to meet him. He laughed over this recollection, and we went on about our business, although his recent surgery was very noticeable and he had difficulty talking. He and my father were very good friends, and my father used to drive over from Minnesota to the Black Hills to visit the senator.

Representative William Lemke, of North Dakota

As long as I'm in the Dakotas I should mention Representative Lemke, who was on the Public Lands Committee of the House. He was a typical Dakota farmer and a very pleasant person to be with. In the thirties the Park Service had used some submarginal land funds to buy some 69,000 acres along the Little Missouri River near Medora, North Dakota, which included part of Theodore Roosevelt's Elk Horn Ranch. It was purchased as one of our Recreational Demonstration Areas and our earliest thoughts were to give the land to the state for a state park, but as time went along the historians prevailed and it was retained as a part of the national park system. Representative Lemke wanted it to become a national park, but Director Drury didn't think it qualified, although he considered it a very good sample of the old short grass prairies of the West and thought it was well within the national historic site classification. The difference of opinion between Drury and Lemke became very pronounced. Finally an agreement was reached, and a bill went through Congress authorizing the Theodore Roosevelt National Memorial Park, which was established on April 25, 1947.

I never will forget the dedication. I don't remember just how many people came, but they were far greater in number than we had planned for. A platform had been erected for the dedication ceremony, a big field had been set aside for parking, and a hillside that could have taken care of at least two or three thousand people was available. The event had been pretty well advertised. The ceremony was to take place in the afternoon. People started arriving before sunrise; quite a few cars had come in the day before. The private car of the president of the Northern Pacific Railroad was on the track at Medora, where some of us had lunch. By the time the ceremony was to begin the parking area was overflowing, the seats were all taken, and the hillside was crowded. As we drove up for the dedication a state patrolman told us that cars were parked for at least three miles along the road in both directions. North Dakota is not a heavily populated state, but people had also come hundreds of miles from Montana, South Dakota, and Minnesota, and even from Nebraska and Canada. The farmers and ranchers in that great open country will travel untold miles for a get-together like that. The dedication was a highly successful affair.

About twenty of us were guests at a ranch some twenty miles away, and we needed the state mounted patrol escort to get through the crowd on our way back. It was a typical North Dakota ranch. They served a fine family-style dinner. About eight of us, including Representatives Lemke and Compton White, of Idaho, were put up in one of the old bunk houses, which was quite primitive. Compton White was talkative that night. From about ten or ten thirty on, various guests started for their bunks to turn in, all in one big room. Finally just Lemke, White, and I were left, and then Lemke left us around midnight. By a quarter to one I had had all I could take, and, feeling that I had extended all necessary courtesy, I stumbled off to my bunk, tired as could be, leaving Compton White at the table by himself. He had fed us some wild stories of his life as an old prospector in the Idaho mountains. About six o'clock in the morning people began to stir, and as I looked out of the window I saw Compton White over at the well several hundred feet away in his longhandle underwear. With two pails he was fetching water so that the rest of us could wash and shave when we got up. He had also built a fire in the stove. If he had gone to bed at all he couldn't have slept more than a few hours. It was hard for me to realize that Compton was the same Representative White who, back in Washington, would always give us hell.

Representative John P. Saylor, of Pennsylvania

John Saylor was a congressman of great integrity, a firm believer in the national park system and in the Park Service, and one of our most constructive critics. He was a strong supporter of all forms of conservation of our natural resources. At every opportunity he and his wife would visit the national parks. Though they visited many different parks, they would usually try to stop at Yellowstone, where they had many friends. In the committees of Congress, Saylor was a tower of strength and a recognized practical conservationist in the interest of people and their environment. He was a Republican representing a Democratic district, elected to Congress time after time because of his statesmanship.

Once in Yellowstone he was driving between Fishing Bridge and West Thumb when the driver of the car in front of him opened the window and threw out an empty beer can. John Saylor overtook him, forced him over to the side of the road, and told him to get out and pick up that thing and put it in a trash receptacle at West Thumb. The man started to argue but John's voice was firm and loud enough to bespeak his authority and his size—six feet four inches and over two hundred pounds—which didn't leave much to argue about. The man did ask why he should go back and pick up the can, and John said, "Well, I'm a taxpayer and you happened to drop that can on the one square foot of Yellowstone National Park that I own, and I don't want it there and neither does anybody else." John also told him that if he didn't pick it up and put it in the trash he would take him to the ranger at West Thumb and charge him. So the man walked back and picked up the can, and John followed him all the way into West Thumb and saw him dispose of it in a proper manner. He never did tell the man he was a congressman.

Representative Wesley A. D'Ewart, of Montana

John Saylor and Wesley A. D'Ewart, from Montana, were great friends. Wes D'Ewart was a rancher and a strong supporter of Yellowstone. When he went to Congress he was placed on the Public Lands Committee. But in 1954 he gave up his House seat to run against Senator James E. Murray and was defeated. He was appointed assistant secretary of the interior in October, 1955, by President Eisenhower. It was an interim appointment subject to confirmation by the Senate. Senator Murray, chairman of the Interior and Insular Affairs Committee, wouldn't let his committee confirm the appointment, and D'Ewart went back to ranching, leaving the department July 27, 1956. Even Senator Harry Byrd couldn't get Murray to relent and confirm the appointment. D'Ewart was one of the best assistant secretaries as far as the Park Service was concerned. It was Wes D'Ewart who put on the big push at the cabinet meeting when we presented the Mission 66 program.

A lot could be said about our friend Wes, but I will limit it to one story involving D'Ewart and Saylor at a public hearing in Yellowstone. The businessmen of West Yellowstone were pushing for a high-speed road from Livingston, Montana, up to Mammoth and through the park to West Yellowstone. Wes decided to have a hearing at Mammoth, and since John Saylor was in the park he invited him to sit in on the hearing. When the people from West Yellowstone had finished, D'Ewart introduced Saylor and asked him if he wanted to say anything. John asked superintendent Edmund B. Rogers several questions about traffic in the park, the frequency of accidents, and so forth, revealing that there had not been any fatal accidents on the roads for over four years. Then John told how many people were killed on the Pennsylvania Turnpike in a year, saying that hardly a day went by without at least two or three fatal accidents. He ended by telling them they had a good thing going and had better not get greedy and spoil it. I wouldn't put it past John and Wes, in their love for Yellowstone, to have planned the whole setup. Anyway, that was the last we heard of the proposed high-speed road.

Representative John E. Moss, of California

Representative John E. Moss, of California, is chairman of the Subcommittee on Oversight and Investigations. I am including him here because in my entire thirty-six years of experience in the government, including many appearances on the Hill, I had only one serious confrontation with Congress, and that was with Moss and his committee. I had never met Representative Moss until then, nor have I encountered him since, and he may be well qualified to be included in this chapter with "Some of the Pretty Good Guys," although at the time of the investigation I refer to I didn't think so. However, the investigation had to do with land matters in Death Valley, and it all started with a discontented attorney in our San Francisco regional office, Sid McClellan, who nurtured a grievance of some kind to the point that he wanted to get something on the National Park Service and especially Horace Albright. He started digging into the official files and developed what he concluded was a case of conflict of interest. He took it up with the staff of Moss's committee, or possibly with Moss himself and they also felt he had something. So McClellan resigned from the National Park Service and went to work on the staff of the Moss committee; but of course, that wasn't conflict of interest in his view.

The situation was this: The U.S. Potash Company, of which Horace Albright was vice-president and executive officer, owned land in Death Valley. Much of it consisted of mining claims where the company had in bygone days mined a considerable amount of potash. The company also owned Furnace Creek Inn, the only place to stay in Death Valley. Tom Vint convinced me that our plan for development of the area should be changed; however, there were several questions involved, and so I made a point on my next field trip to go by Death Valley and spend a couple of days there. Lawrence Merriam, the regional director, went with me, as did Vint and some others. On that trip we decided to place the park headquarters building on a piece of property owned by the U.S. Potash Company, contrary to the master plan that I had approved the year before. The state of California, thanks to the Forty-niners, was willing to put up some money to build the new headquarters and visitor center if we could get the land. We consulted Horace Albright, and after some discussion he was able to persuade the U.S. Potash Company to donate the land we wanted. While there we stayed at Furnace Creek Inn for a couple of nights, and of course the regular price of accommodations was considerably more than we were allowed by the government for travel expenses. But the Fred Harvey Company was running the inn for the potash people and also had the concession contract with us at the south rim of the Grand Canyon and at Petrified Forest. The government contracts, which were approved by everybody who wanted to take a look at them (in fact they cleared through the Public Lands Committee of the House of Representatives as well as the Comptroller General), contain a provision that the park concessionaires shall not charge government people on official business more than their per diem allowance. This rule applied to the members of Congress and their staffs, and of course they took advantage of it. The investigation was based primarily on the issue of a conflict of interest, or, to put it more directly, an alleged sellout on my part. The accusation was that Albright, director of the Park Service in the early thirties, had bought me, the director in the fifties, causing me to move the location of our proposed new building to one more advantageous to Albright's company. During the hearing the question of free or discount hotel accommodations was claimed to be an added incentive for me to sell out.

To tell the truth, I never did really know exactly what they were so bothered about. They had hearings in the field and then they came to Washington. By that time I was out of government service and living in New York. They wanted me to come down to testify but they wouldn't pay my expenses unless they subpoenaed me. I told them in that case to go ahead and subpoena me, which they did, and I got my expenses paid. They wrote a great big, long report. I read only part of it and, since I didn't see anything that bothered me, I told Horace Albright I would put it in "file 13" and wouldn't even try to answer it. It was a waste of money. They were a little hard on Horace, claiming that he had tried to influence a government employee, and of course I've got to admit that I have a lot of respect for him and that I consulted him often when I was director. If I had it to do all over again I would do the same thing. Horace doesn't sell out to anybody, and neither do I.

As far as the per diem is concerned, they said I was there for two nights and I only paid for one—why? What had happened, according to my record, was that I gave the inn all of my per diem for two days, but their bookkeeper credited it all to one day and nothing to the second day. When I told the committee this they went into a long huddle and decided to drop the subject. The committee's investigators, who went to Yellowstone as well as Death Valley, got the same treatment as I had because they were on official business, The committee did suggest that the question of per diem and reduced rates to government people on official business should be looked into and some adjustments or changes made.

I must say that Representative Moss was very considerate of me through the investigation, though some of the staff were not looking for facts as much as they were trying to irritate me. Actually, the investigation and the report never even made the newspapers.

Senator Jennings Randolph, of West Virginia

Jennings Randolph was serving in the House of Representatives when we began to talk about Harper's Ferry as an addition to the national park system. Harper's Ferry is a scenic and historic area at the confluence of the Shenandoah and Potomac rivers in the Blue Ridge Mountains. It is important historically because of events that took place there in colonial times, and of course it is famous as the site of John Brown's raid on the United States Armory in 1859. It was authorized as a National Historical Park in 1944 and established May 13, 1955. Representative Howard O. Staggers followed Jennings Randolph when Randolph took a position as an airline executive for a few years. Randolph returned to West Virginia in 1958 to run for the Senate and is now the senior senator from his state. He is an excellent speaker and a very fine person to have on one's side.

On the hill by the Jefferson Rock in Harper's Ferry, there was an old college for blacks named Storer College. It was closed down in the late thirties. With the advent of Mission 66 we did considerable alteration of the old college buildings and turned the campus into a training center for new rangers. We named it after the first director of the National Park Service, Stephen T. Mather, and the dedication took place shortly after I retired. At the same time the service also named the headquarters of the training center, which had been the main building of the old college, Wirth Hall, which pleased me very much. A couple of weeks later I got a letter from Bob Hall, chief of the eastern office of the Branch of Design and Construction, telling how pleased he was to have his name associated with mine on the headquarters building. I wrote him back and told him he was mistaken, that they had a different Hall in mind.

Several years after retiring I had occasion to appear before the Public Works Committee of the Senate as witness in support of a project. Just as I was finishing my statement Senator Randolph came in to give a statement on the project. The senator first praised me and what I stood for in glowing terms, and then he said he would not read his statement and asked the approval of the chairman to file it as a part of the record. He then went on record as supporting my statement, saying that although he had not heard or seen it he nevertheless had such confidence in me that he felt he was perfectly safe in doing so. Fortunately, his statement and mine pretty well followed the same line of reasoning. You can't help but feel very friendly toward a person who has that much confidence in you.

Senator Henry M. Jackson, of Washington

Senator "Scoop" Jackson came to Congress as the representative of a district that included the Olympic Peninsula and sections of Seattle in the state of Washington. Later he ran for the Senate and has developed into one of the real stalwarts of that body. He threw his hat in the ring for the Democratic nomination for president of the United States in 1976.

Olympic National Park, in Washington, contains 93,000 acres and is truly a mountain wilderness, containing some of the finest remnants of the Pacific Northwest rain forest, active glaciers, and the rare Roosevelt elk herd. We went through a very rough period in the forties getting the boundary lines changed so that we could properly carry out the purpose of the park and insure preservation of the elk herd and the rain forest. It was at that time, while he was in the House of Representatives, that I really got to know Scoop Jackson. Although he came from a section of the state that had a big metropolitan area which depended a great deal on timber products, Scoop nevertheless fought for extensions of the park boundary lines. His deep concern and determined efforts were responsible to a large extent for our success. As a matter of fact, Scoop was very upset with Director Drury and me for being too conservative in recommending a boundary line adjustment, and he had a right to be. We were recommending what we thought we could get Congress to approve and not what we really felt was needed. That was the last time I did that.

I spoke of the growth of the national park system during the years that Wayne Aspinall was chairman of the Public Lands Committee of the House, and it must be noted that Senator Jackson was chairman of the committee of the Senate that handled the same bills. He and his committee also deserve a high rating, because all the bills that I listed for Aspinall had to get through Scoop's committee too, and they did.

Lyndon B. Johnson, of Texas

It is difficult to enumerate all that Lyndon Johnson did for conservationist causes from the time he first went to Congress as a representative from Texas in 1937. In the thirties we had CCC camps in his district. I had several meetings with Lyndon and got to know him very well. Our friendship lasted all through his years in Washington, where he served as representative, senator, vice-president, and president. He was interested in and deeply concerned about people, and consequently he was a strong supporter of the National Park Service and, in fact, of all agencies, both national and state, that were dedicated to providing open space for the people and for the preservation of plant and animal life.

He was ably assisted by his wife, Lady Bird Johnson, the leader in a voluntary national program striving for a more beautiful country. At her request I became a member of the Committee for a More Beautiful National Capital. She is a gracious lady and very active in all conservation and human relations fields. She is a trustee of the National Geographic Society and, with President Johnson, she took part in the dedication of the new National Geographic Building in Washington.

I will not try to recount all the instances when I bothered LBJ during the many years he was in Congress or the fewer occasions when he was president. I have already related in Chapter 10 the courtesy he extended to the American Institute of Park Executives and the National Conference on State Parks in 1963, when as vice-president he appeared as a surprise speaker. By the time he was serving his regular term as president, the National Recreation and Park Association was fully formed, consisting of several societies in the recreation and park fields—among them the American Institute of Park Executives, the National Conference on State Parks, the National Recreation Association, the Recreation Society, the Metropolitan Park Commissioners, and the Military and Therapeutic Recreation Societies. In the early fall of 1967 we were holding our first big meeting in Washington, and I undertook on behalf of the NRPA to get the president to address us at our banquet. There were over 2,500 members of the organization present. The election year 1968 was close at hand, and though I made several contacts with the White House, I could not get any assurance of an acceptance because the president's schedule was packed with speaking engagements. We got the secretary of agriculture to agree to address the banquet if the president was unable to make it.

On the day of the banquet I learned that the president was campaigning in New Jersey but was expected back late in the afternoon and was to leave the following day for Hawaii. But there was still no definite answer as to whether he could come to the banquet. About five o'clock, having heard nothing, I called the White House again. I told them my problem, and although they did not commit themselves, they asked what the president and the first lady should wear, which gave me some encouragement. I answered that they could come any way they wished. The man on the telephone said, "I cannot give you a definite reply, but I suggest that you go to your room in the hotel, get ready for the dinner, and wait there for a definite answer." I did. An hour ticked by, and shortly after six o'clock there was a knock on our door. It was a secret service man who came in and started asking questions. Then there was another knock, and it was a lieutenant of the Washington Metropolitan Police Department. They both were asking questions when a third knock on the door announced the hotel's house detective. I figured we were all set.

President Lyndon B. Johnson asked me to come over and visit him on my last day in office, January 9, 1964. The conversation wasn't all as serious as it looks. We were very good friends. Photo by Abie Rowe, courtesy the White House.

The dinner was almost over when we got word from a police officer that the president and first lady were on their way and would arrive very shortly. We met them out on the landing and escorted them to the receiving parlor. They sat down for a minute and President Johnson asked me what he should say. I told him just to be himself and say whatever he wished. We took him on up to the banquet hall, and he got a great ovation. President Johnson was escorted in by Laurance Rockefeller, who was president of the NRPA, and James Evans, a trustee who was master of ceremonies. After the Johnsons had finished their meal, the usual announcement was made: "Ladies and Gentlemen, the President of the United States." Johnson's first remark was that Lady Bird and he were going to build a state park on their ranch in Texas, and right there and then he appointed Laurance Rockefeller chairman of the finance committee and me in charge of plans. That came as a big surprise. Anyway, I took his charge seriously. He gave a very good talk, and the evening was a huge success.

I learned later that the president had already had some contacts with the National Park Service through Secretary of the Interior Stewart L. Udall and also with the state park people, asking them to get together on his park project at the ranch; so I was the third party in the picture. I found there was some disagreement between the federal and state groups as to what should be done. Finally, being unable to get the two agencies together, I proceeded to draw up my own sketch. I sent these plans to my son Ted, whose firm of landscape architects and planners is in Billings, Montana. His people put it in finished form. Laurance Rockefeller liked the plan and helped me present it to the first lady. I also sent a copy to the National Park Service and the state park people. With some minor changes it was accepted, although not entirely by all those involved; but at least the president and the first lady thought it was very good, and the park has been built along the lines of those plans.

I will close these reminiscences about the Johnsons with the letter LBJ sent me when I retired from the National Park Service on January 8, 1964.

Dear Connie:

Your decision to retire as Director of the National Park Service is tinged with sadness for me—and I am sure for the many legions of friends that you have made while building the peoples' parks to their present prominence in our scheme of a better life.

It has been a great pleasure to labor with you and others of your dedication and ability in the public's interest, and I am pleased to learn that you have accepted appointment to the Senior Advisory Board of the National Parks. This way your experience and imagination will still be available.

Thank you for your many years of service and friendship dating back to those days, almost 30 years ago, when we first started building a National Park through Civilian Conservation Corps labor. I hope that some day again we have the opportunity to "walk along the river together."

Sincerely,
Lyndon B. Johnson

The river to which the president referred is the Pedernales, which runs through the Johnson Ranch in front of the ranch house.