Chapter 12:
Advice: Good and Bad
Anyone who has worked in government, whether federal,
state, or local, will know what I mean when I say that a public servant
is subjected to an unlimited amount of unsolicited advice on an
unlimited number of subjects. Some of it has value, but much of it is
absolutely worthless. In a lower-level job one is spared the brunt of
this assault; but as one advances in rank and assumes more
responsibility, one not only gets more advice but realizes how valuable
it can be when it comes from well-informed, judicious sources. In any
case, one has to listen, smile, and thank everyone for the advice
offered.
Some of this advice comes via Capitol Hill, which
introduces additional complications. I have received telephone calls
from members of Congress telling me that they have written me a letter
on a certain matter in stronger terms than they wanted to use but that
this was necessary because a copy was being sent to a constituent. This
kind of letter is not answered in the same vein. It must be answered
honestly, expressing a firm stand on what is believed to be right,
because the reply is usually sent on to the constituent. The rationale
for handling letters received through congressional referral emphasizes
the difference between an elected or politically appointed official and
a career civil service person. The former is obliged to please his
constituents as much as possible, while the latter is charged with
administering the laws in accordance with the policies and regulations
in his department or agency. When the civil service must give a citizen
a negative answer, it must state it firmly but as diplomatically as
possible.
I have been involved in a number of politically
sensitive situations. Some are recounted elsewhere in this book, but one
instance should be related here. A relatively high-ranking politically
appointed officer made a definite attack on the Park Service and on me
for no really good reason, other than to stimulate his ego. He caused
quite a rumpus in the upper echelon of the department, and even though
the discussions took place behind closed doors, the information was
leaked and came to me loud and clear. For a while it was a question
whether the person making the attack should resign. Some time later I
had an occasion to write a letter on the subject, and I pinpointed what
had happened and cleared several people who were thought to have had
something to do with it. Shortly thereafter I got a handwritten note
from a highly placed official of the department, part of which stated:
"You have been one of the 'magnificent bureaucrats' of our day, and I
hope by now that the unfortunate events of last October have been
forgotten. I have forgiven the guilty one, but I have not forgotten. One
should not forget his experiences no matter how unpleasant, because
experiences are the foundation of the road to the future. I believe that
ultimately the nasty attack on the service and on me did more good than
harm.
A lot can be learned from politicians, and I can't
help but repeat a story I heard over the radio a week before the 1976
New Hampshire primary election. Representative Morris (Mo) Udall was
running for the Democratic presidential nomination along with some
eight or ten others. As he approached a gathering of prospective voters
in a meeting room, he heard a lot of laughter. When he got inside he was
greeted by the presiding officer, who said, "I was just telling these
people that you are running for president." Mo replied with a big smile,
"Yes, and I heard all the laughing." That got a loud laugh and a big
hand, and it broke the ice. This bit of humor must have got him quite a
few votes from the people in that room.
Having written about members of Congress and
in-government relationships in other chapters, I will now turn to the
activities of individuals and organizations outside of government. About
two years after I became director of the National Park Service, I
received a letter from an old friend, Joe Prendergast, an official of
the old National Recreation Association. At the time he lived in
Alexandria, just across the river from Washington. He signed the letter
as president of a historical association. He was disturbed about the
possibility that the National Park Service would reroute the George
Washington Parkway along the Alexandria waterfront. His letter resulted
in a meeting in my office, and we talked for about a half-hour. Just
before he left I said, "Joe, I haven't heard of your historical
association; it's new to me. How many members do you have?" With a smile
he told me that he was the only member and that he had the letterhead
run off as a gag. He added that he thought it would help him get in to
see me so that he could go into detail about preserving the historic
Alexandria waterfront. He further said he would be very glad to have me
as a member without dues and he could elect me vice-president. I
declined.
I don't know how many associations there are in this
country, but I dare say we have more organizations concerned with the
conservation of natural and historic resources than any other country in
the world. As director I took out membership in nearly every
organization that might have a bearing on the activities of the National
Park Service. My dues amounted to over $1,200 annually, or almost 7
percent of my salary. It was the best way for me to keep tabs on what
was going on, and it was educational. I learned a lot about people and
their thinking, individually and collectively. Now my memberships are
limited to organizations in which I have a very definite professional
interest and personal association, though these still number over two
dozen.
Private organizations and special-interest groups can
bring considerable pressure to bear on a public agency. One of the
problems we had on Yellowstone Lake will serve to illustrate.
Motorboats of a certain size are permitted on the lake, and all the
launching sites are either at the north end or near Fishing Bridge,
Bridge Bay, and West Thumb. About 80 percent of the lakeshore is thus
left in wilderness. We wanted to keep all motorboats out of the area
south of Frank Island, especially the southern half of the Southeast
Arm. Several streams flow into the lake at that location, including the
Upper Yellowstone River. Over many thousands of years these streams have
formed deltas and small, low islands with sandy shores. On the sandbars
certain kinds of birds made their nests. Much to our concern some
people took great delight in speeding their boats by the sandbars to
make waves and see the birds fly away, and sometimes the waves would
flood the nests. Of course there were other good reasons for keeping
motorboats out of such wilderness regions, but this kind of behavior by
motorboat users, even if unintentional, left us no alternative but to
close the South and Southeast arms to them. Yellowstone Lake is a large
lake, and the closing of these two armswhich amounted to 20,000
acres of water surface with 90 miles of shorelinestill left around
90,000 acres of water surface and 110 miles of shoreline open to
motorboating. Nevertheless, closing the area below Frank Island to
motorboats brought a great deal of pressure on the service from a small
but well-organized group of motorboat owners and even from an assistant
secretary of the department who came from a nearby state. This pressure
made it necessary for the service to hold five public hearings in and
around Yellowstone at considerable expense. Thanks to help from several
national conservation organizations, we were able to hold our ground.
The protesters did not represent anywhere near even 10 percent of the
people who lived around the park or a majority of those who owned
motorboats.
There was another case where a large commercial
company took over a choice camping spot for the entire season, even
though camping was limited to two weeks per camper, by using the names
of some ten people in the company on different applications for camping
permits. They moved in a large, expensive trailer for the summer and
assigned it at different times to some of their best customers as a
business promotion, thus depriving the general vacationing public of
camping opportunities. Of course when the superintendent got wise to
what was going on, he put a stop to it but not without protests. We
bureaucrats were spoiling their business.
The national park system exists for the benefit of
all the people, and it must be so managed that its natural and historic
values will be available, let us say, in the year 2066, when Joe Doaks
and Agnes Hobbleskirt will be born. Such is the responsibility of the
service, or, if you prefer, the bureaucrats. I am sure that the people
who objected to restricting the motorboats on Yellowstone Lake and
those unscrupulous businessmen with their trailer and political partners
blamed the bureaucrats for stopping them. I was a bureaucrat and am
proud of it, and furthermore I am sick and tired of hearing everyone who
runs for political office blame the bureaucrats for doing what is
required of them even when some individuals don't like it.
So much for a very brief analysis of the climate in
which a bureaucrat finds himself and which he must accept as a part of
our governmental structure. If a career bureaucrat is to be successful
he must never forget the right of the peoplehis fellow citizens
and fellow taxpayersto petition their government. He must listen
to all the people, even though he may consider some of their ideas,
suggestions, and demands to be more detrimental than helpful to the
nation as a whole.
I have never before attempted to classify
conservation organizations according to motivation, but on the basis of
long experience in dealing with them I find it tempting. Actually, such
sociological taxonomy is better applied to individuals than to
organizations, because permanent organizations vary in emphasis and
approach from year to year depending on their leadership, whereas an
individual's thinking and habits don't usually change very much. I would
say that conservationists fall into half a dozen classifications: (1)
Pests are constantly after government about something that is of
no importance except to them, and they are never consistent in their
demands. They lack experience but feel they have to stick their
cotton-picking fingers into everything. They are the hardest ones to
avoid and the last to contribute any constructive ideas. (2)
Endrunners are always running to the congressman, the secretary,
the governoranybody in higher authorityto complain, to ask
the authority to overrule an administrator, or to submit a request on
almost anything they think the bureaucrats would not approve. They are
always on the job. (3) Followers will sign any petition. Pests
and endrunners circulate petitions for and against projects, and some of
the same names will be found on both. The people who sign just don't
think, or perhaps they don't even read the petitions; they simply sign
when asked. (4) Constructive thinkers are usually pretty
competent. They will study a problem carefully, and if they feel
strongly about it, they will offer constructive suggestions, most of
which will usually be helpful. They can be reasoned with because they
are invariably kind and courteous and understand when they are told why
something can't be done. (5) Professionals are good to have
around. If highly specialized in their own field, however, they may not
understand the necessity of blending the principles of all professional
fields to satisfy the requirements and habits of park users and at the
same time protect the features of the park. If they had a little broader
vision, most professionals would fit in the next classification. (6)
Consultants, because of their experience, study, and observation,
have the ability to analyze a problem from many angles and are willing
to sit down and help work out plans for solving it. While a consultant's
final analysis of a situation might differ from the administrator's, he
will probably introduce new thoughts worthy of consideration and his
contribution could have a definite effect on the final solution.
I recall one particular case in which a park
superintendent was plagued by the first category of conservationist.
Great Smoky Mountains National Park had a fire lookout tower on
Clingman's Dome that was old and rickety and hard to climb, yet it was a
wonderful place for people to go because they could see for many miles
in all directions. It was a replacement item in the Mission 66 program.
Fred Overly was park superintendent at the time it was to be replaced.
He had previously been superintendent of Olympic National Park in the
state of Washington and had been severely criticized by conservation
people in the Northwest. I'd known Fred for years: he was high-strung,
but he had imagination and ingenuity. At Olympic during the cold war
when money was scarce he had conceived an ideawhich we all knew
aboutof taking down trees with dangerous snags in them around the
park camping areas as a safety measure for campers. Trees also had to be
removed to build roads into a camping area. In letting the contract for
the road work, Overly saved money by having the contractor stack
stripped-down trees along the roadside instead of hauling them away. He
then arranged with lumber mills in Port Angeles to have the trees sawed
into boards. The mills gave half of the boards to the park and kept half
in payment for their trouble. Then Overly went to the high school and
got the manual training teacher to have his classes build a visitor
center for the park as a training project. It turned out to be a very
nice and useful building. Some conservation-minded people complained,
however, that Overly had taken down the trees just to build a visitor
center. The pressure on the park superintendent was so great by the time
I became director that I reassigned him as superintendent of Great
Smokies. When replacement of the old, unsafe iron fire lookout tower on
Clingman's Dome was scheduled, it was suggested that we build a concrete
spiral ramp instead of stairs up the new tower so that people in
wheelchairs or those who could not otherwise manage the steps could
enjoy the view and see how the rangers spot forest fires. Well, certain
eastern conservationists immediately got after Overly for proposing to
build a concrete ramp instead of wooden steps. They pointed out that
there was plenty of wood in the park that could be used at a saving. I
can just see Fred now as he told me what he said to them. He told them:
"I was superintendent of Olympic National Park and people like you
complained because I did just what you are suggesting, so I was moved
here, and for your information I'm never going to use even a twig in
this park. You people complain no matter what we do, and that's that."
According to Fred they did not know what else to say, and so they left
and he heard nothing more from them about the tower.
Some organizations are always looking for a fight.
They have got to have a cause for raising money. In some conservationist
publications I've seen photographs that make it look as though the Park
Service were taking a whole mountain down to build a park drive. The
organizations may even be in agreement with a project but write up their
campaign in their books in such a way as to suggest they fought for a
long time, finally forcing the Park Service to take action. They end up
taking full credit for the accomplishment. When I retired I wrote a
letter to one organization stating that I'd been a member for over
thirty years, that I had read its booklets and pamphlets, and that
although they had championed the national parks they had never said a kind
word about the service or given it credit for anything it did. I never
received a reply.
There have been good organizations that supported the
efforts of the Park Service but that nevertheless turned against the
service when their leadership changed. I can find no better
illustration of this than the Sierra Club's views on the planning and
construction of the Tioga Road in Yosemite National Park. Before the
park was established, this road was a mining wagon road. It is the only
road in the national park system that goes over the High Sierra and even
now can be used only in the summer months. Its function is twofold: to
permit people coming from the east to get into Yosemite National Park
without first going far north or far south; and, most important, to
provide an opportunity for people who cannot hike or ride horseback to
see that most impressive great expanse of the High Sierra.
I crossed the Tioga Road in 1924, before I had any
idea of becoming a Park Service man. Then it was a very narrow, winding
mountain dirt road, difficult for automobiles to travel. Over the years,
to accommodate the gradually increasing automobile travel, the park
maintenance program had improved some of the curves and grades, paved
the road in some places, and provided turnouts to allow cars to pass
each other. But as travel increased and cars got larger, the number of
accidents and complaints from visitors skyrocketed. Rangers assigned to
this district had to undertake the burdensome chore of listening to
unhappy park visitors. No matter how much the park staff improved and
patched the old road, the accidents and hazards continued to increase,
and it became evident by the late twenties that major reconstruction
would be required over the entire route.
When reconstruction was started in the early thirties
with PWA funds, the team of engineers and landscape architects worked
closely on the location, alignments, grades, cuts, and fills; and all
road structures, including bridges, culverts, parking areas, and the
like, were blended into the natural landscape. In addition to review
and approval within the National Park Service, the Tioga Road project
was reviewed and approved on a continuing basis by the Yosemite Advisory
Board, a group of citizens prominent in the conservation field. They
included such Sierra Club members as Walter Huber, a prominent San
Francisco engineer and conservationist; Frederick Law Olmsted, Jr.;
and William E. Colby. They and the Sierra Club gave their approval of
the project, subject to minor changes, back in the thirties.
By the fifties the most difficult section, some ten
miles, had not been completed, and we hoped to finish it under the
Mission 66 program. We began to run into trouble, however, with certain
conservationists and with the engineers in the Bureau of Public Roads,
even though we had decided to proceed on the route that had been
selected and approved earlier.
We did make some very minor changes in order to meet
improved safety standards. I went to the field and met with our design
and construction people and with David Brower and Ansel Adams. Brower,
then executive secretary of the Sierra Club, and Adams, the famous
nature photographer, were violent protestors. In our discussions I
believe we covered nearly every possible objection and suggestion. Their
suggestions were feasible from a construction standpoint but not an
improvement in any way over the approved alignment. Further, they were
more costly. I asked why they had changed their minds, since the Sierra
Club had approved the route years before I became director. I also said
that I had heard from several officials of the Sierra Club, and, though
they wished the road did not have to be built, they felt that the
location previously approved would be as good, if not better, than any
other. Dave Brower's reply was that it was a different Sierra Club
now.
The objection of the Bureau of Public Roads was that
road standards had changed considerably since the thirties, and that a
wider road with wider shoulders was now required. In high country with
steep slopes, every foot extended out from the centerline of the road
creates a scar, from both cuts and fills, much greater than on level
ground and correspondingly increases the cost. We couldn't settle the
question of shoulder width. The Park Service wanted a safe width of road
with narrow shoulders and turnouts wherever the terrain would permit.
The engineers wanted shoulders that would allow cars to pull off the
road when in trouble. They indicated that if I didn't give them the
shoulder width they wanted they would not undertake the project.
At this point the Park Service wrote a letter to
Walter Huber, sending a copy to the Bureau of Public Roads. Huber, who
had built many mining roads in the High Sierra before this part of the
park was established, was a past president of the Sierra Club and past
president of the American Society of Engineers. He was at that time a
member of the secretary's advisory committee on national parks. We
wanted to know whether our recommended two foot shoulders were
sufficient to insure structural soundness of the road, which was another
objection raised by the engineers, or whether we should go to four feet
as the Bureau of Public Roads held was necessary. Huber took the time to
go to the road site and study the matter very carefully. He then wrote
me a very full letter indicating that our two-foot shoulder was ample
for that type of road, with the turnouts we had planned, except for one
place of several hundred feet where he felt it would be wise to widen
the shoulder to three feet to provide the stability needed for the
twenty-foot road. I then wrote to the Bureau of Public Roads, sending
them a copy of Huber's reply, and told them that I was accepting his
suggestions, that we were determined to go ahead on the basis of Huber's
findings, and that we would appreciate reconsideration of their stand. I
asked that, if their decision remained unchanged, they transfer to us
the basic engineering data that they had prepared and that we had paid
for, so that we could proceed with an outside engineering firm. I
received a very nice reply from the bureau indicating that they would
proceed with the job along the lines that Huber and the Park Service
wished. We were both happy that the matter was finally settled.
Our friends in the conservation field, however, kept
picking at us, and we heard from many people around the country, which
kept us busy writing letters. It took two more years to complete the
project. After the new road was dedicated and opened to the public, we
got many letters complimenting us on a job well done. Some of the
letters were from people who had criticized us but admitted that they
had been wrong and now enjoyed the road very much, although they found
it did make a large scar on the face of the glacier-polished granite
surface.
I have not mentioned all of the people the service
called upon to study and review the Tioga Road project. Practically
every aspect of the project that affected the natural history of the
area was considered and reviewed by a person professionally well
qualified to do so. This is the policy the service uses in all its
planning. It often calls upon other bureaus of the government and upon
universities and professional individuals outside of government for
help. Whether a project involves land, plant life, wildlife, water, or
air, these consultants are a very important part of the responsibilities
assigned to the National Park Service and therefore are fundamental to
all the service's planning.
This is not to say, of course, that there are not
times when disagreements of various kinds occur between professional
people. Disagreements can be stimulating and constructive and can lead
to better understanding of the issues involved. In that spirit I would
like to correct here one such misunderstanding of an important matter.
In the American Forestry Association's publication of January, 1976,
there was an article by Richard McArdle, retired former chief of the
United States Forest Service, on the history of the Wilderness Bill. It
stated that the National Park Service was against this legislation. The
Park Service was not against the bill; we were for it. We were opposed,
however, to being included in it because the protection section of the
original bill was not as protective for national parks wilderness as our
own basic legislation. When we convinced the mastermind behind the bill,
Howard C. Zahniser, of that fact, he readily adjusted the wording so
that the basic standards already established for us by Congress would
prevail in the national parks, and we supported the revised bill. I
should explain that Dick McArdle is an old friend of mine. He and I
received the Rockefeller Public Service Award the same year, and he
convinced me to write this book.
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President Lyndon B. Johnson greets
conservation people and presents pens after signing the Land and Water
Bill and the Wilderness Bill in the Rose Garden at the White House on
September 3, 1964.
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One of the greatest interagency programs was, of
course, the CCC. To expound on this subject of cooperation and exchange
of knowledge just a little further, I quote from a letter that Secretary
of the Interior Harold L. Ickes received from Fred Morrell, the
representative of the Department of Agriculture on the CCC Advisory
Council:
The CCC was, as you know, a large-scale social
conservation undertaking that attracted world-wide attention. Its
administration necessitated interdepartmental cooperation on a scale not
previously attempted in the government of this, or perhaps any other
country. Departmental interests were continuously in conflict. These
differences had to be adjusted by yielding and compromise, and both
Interior and Agriculture had to sacrifice interests and priorities, and
work for the good of the Corps as a whole. Never in the nine years that
I worked with Conrad Wirth did he violate a pact we made in 1933, that
neither would advance the interests of his respective department without
first advising the other and giving him an opportunity to present his
case if he did not agree.
Mr. Wirth represented Interior's interests with
remarkable vigor and ability, but as a part of a national program of
conservation and not as an Interior's attorney out to win his case,
regardless of its merits.
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Connie Wirth, of the National Park
Service, and Fred Morrell, of the U.S. Forest Service, highly respected
each other. They handled the CCC programs for the Departments of the
Interior and Agriculture and worked closely together.
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The interesting thing about this is that I wrote a
similar letter to the secretary of agriculture. Both were written and
sent at about the same time, and neither of us knew that the other was
going to write such a complimentary letter about his colleague. These
letters should certainly serve to dispel the general belief that there
is a lack of cooperation between bureaus and departments of the
government. We do disagree from time to time, but that should not
prevent cooperation and the lending of a helping hand where needed.
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