The bill was passed during the first recreation boom. The automobile and a bit of leisure time were both widely available following World War I. With several national forests located not far from urban centers, the forests were attracting campers in increasingly larger numbers. A 1922 study of the 960 campgrounds in the national forests revealed that more than a million people used them annually. Those numbers were expected to keep increasing as the 1920s roared on.

Though the Forest Service had constructed and opened its first campground in Oregon in 1916, the sheer volume of visitors after the war forced agency leaders to recognize two things: facilities were needed to properly dispose of all the litter and human waste being generated, and an uneducated public represented a fire hazard. In developing new campgrounds and improving existing ones by adding “public-comfort stations” that made available “a few simple sanitary conveniences,” the Forest Service argued that neophyte campers would be less inclined to go “into more remote places and [build] dangerous camp fires, as inexperienced people are likely to do,” but rather would “stop at those improved spots and thus greatly decrease the danger of destructive fires.” According to testimony given in support of the 1922 bill, the agency “has been forced into the recreation business as a means of taking care of the public.” It was build facilities or “make it unlawful for the public to enter the national forests,” an alternative they didn’t desire. The money would be used “in part for the preparation of camp plans and the simple construction necessary for sanitation and fire protection,” i.e., clear parking spaces, construct outhouses and fire rings, and level tent sites.

The request for money came at an important time in the history of recreation on federal lands. The National Park Service had been established in 1916 over the objection of Forest Service leaders, who felt that the parks should fall under their jurisdiction because of their timber holdings. Critics of the Forest Service felt otherwise. They argued that, like in the case of Hetch Hetchy, the Forest Service didn’t want to preserve land but develop it. The debate over the mission of the two agencies can be seen throughout the testimony, with one congressman questioning why “the Forest Service is duplicating practically everything there is in the national parks and specializing in promoting competing projects.” Chief William Greeley had to explain that there was no competition between the two, with associate forester E.A. Sherman adding that most of the visitors were local travelers “of a kind that would not reach the national parks.”

At the same time that the Forest Service was struggling to meet demands for recreation it was also developing its position and policy on wilderness and primitive areas. Two years before, the agency had decided not to develop Trappers Lake in Colorado at the behest of Arthur Carhart, and in 1924 the Forest Service would declare the first wilderness area, the Gila in New Mexico. The debate over wilderness aside, recreation grew in importance during the 1920s as the recreation boom took off. In 1923, the Forest Service received $20,000 for improvements and then nearly double that amount the following year. That was the same year that the agency included it as a line item in its annual budget for the first time—a sign that the agency was fully committed to recreation as both policy and practice.

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The Forest History Society Photograph Collection features numerous images of recreation on national forests, including over 300 historic photos of camping and campgrounds. These photos and others can be accessed through our searchable online image database. A selection of recreation photos has also been highlighted on the FHS Flickr pages. Below you will find a few examples of photographs documenting national forest campgrounds through the years.

Tourists camping at Lolo Hot Springs on Montana’s Lolo National Forest, 1920 (FHS973).

Campers at Boiling Spring Camp Ground, Cleveland National Forest, California, 1923 (FHS825).

Campers at Rollways Forest Service public campground on Huron National Forest, Michigan, 1934 (R9_291137).

Tourists at Sawbill Lake Campground, Superior National Forest, Minnesota, 1936 (R9_326799).

Chicago couple camping by trailer at Sawbill Campground, Minnesota, 1936 (R9_330945).

Camping at Bird Lake Campground, on the south side of Mount Adams. Gifford Pinchot National Forest, Washington, 1949 (FHS831).

Campers at Williams Narrows Campground, Chippewa National Forest, Minnesota, 1953 (R9_478046).

Campers at Namekagon Campground, Chequamegon National Forest, Wisconsin, 1956 (R9_481591).

Family from West Virginia camping at Vesuvius Recreation Area on Ohio’s Wayne National Forest, 1960 (R9_495422).

Family camping at Franklin Lake Campground, Nicolet National Forest, Wisconsin, 1960 (R9_495752).

Overcrowding at campgrounds was also a problem after World War II during the second recreation boom (FHS838).

At the time, moving a lumber camp was not unheard of. A logging company would put the small houses and other buildings on railroad cars and move them to the next location a few miles down the line.

Converted railcars often served as housing and offices for loggers. This one was used by the Crossett Lumber Company, Crossett, Arkansas. (FHS4448)

But in 1922, William Cady realized that his lumber and milling company had cut out nearly all the yellow pine around McNary, Louisiana. He realized that it would be cheaper to abandon the land than it would to undertake reforestation. He and his business partner James McNary had an unusual idea. They would buy an existing mill operation and relocate their employees to another region of the country. McNary and Cady wanted to keep their skilled loggers and mill labor because the owners felt they were the best at what they did.

McNary first scouted the Pacific Northwest and then Mexico. He then found the mill town of Cooley, Arizona, on the Apache Indian Reservation. He and Cady purchased the defunct Apache Lumber Company for $1.5 million in a deal that included all of Apache’s timber holdings and its milling operations in Cooley and Flagstaff. The deal had to be approved by the Bureau of Indian Affairs and also the U.S. Forest Service because the agency oversaw timber on the reservation and because some of the timber was coming off of the Sitgreaves National Forest. In fact, nearly all of the timber Cady contracted for was on government land, and the government would pick up the cost of fire fighting and reforestation. Cady Lumber then spent $3.5 million to install an all-electric plant with three band saws. For marketing purposes, the company received permission from the federal government to rename Cooley as McNary. With that, it was time to pack.

On February 7, 1924, the last log in the McNary, Louisiana, plant was cut. Three days later employees boarded special trains with their baggage and equipment and moved west to the new home that awaited them. They were moving from the heat and humidity of Louisiana to a town at 7,300 feet above sea level, a place where they measure annual snowfall in feet. To say that there would be some adjustment required to get used to the new surroundings was an understatement. But it wasn’t just the weather.

Of the 500 employees who moved, almost all were African American. According to the 1920 federal census, there were 8,005 African Americans in the entire state of Arizona—or 2.4% of the state’s population. James McNary recorded in his autobiography that “there was a good deal of indignation in some quarters in Arizona over the importation” of the African American employees and their families but the threatened violence never materialized.

Once operations started in Arizona, the company also employed Native Americans and old homesteading Spanish and Anglo families in the area. According to McNary, each ethnic group constituted a quarter of the work force. Though living conditions in McNary, Arizona, were better than what was found in surrounding towns, it was nonetheless a company town (the company controlled all utilities, hospital, and schools, and owned the housing and only store in town)—and one that was segregated. Each group had its own section of town, with its own school. When adjusting to the climate or life in Arizona proved difficult for some African Americans, they left, only to be replaced by others coming from Louisiana who had heard about the good jobs and a degree of racial tolerance unheard of in the Jim Crow South.

The caption read, “A typical residence street in McNary, showing roomy, comfortable homes of employees of the Cady Lumber Company.” However, African American employees lived in a separate part of town called the “Quarters.” (below)

The company store. It was the only place in town where employees could shop.

In 1935, James McNary bought out William Cady after Cady Lumber collapsed and renamed the company Southwest Lumber Mills (later it became the Southwest Forest Industries.) Over the next two decades McNary modernized logging and milling operations and built a lumbering empire that after World War II “would challenge Weyerhaeuser, Georgia Pacific and other preeminent producers on the Pacific Coast.” He also became involved in the work of the National Lumber Manufacturers Association. McNary sold his business interests in 1952 and became a man of leisure, publishing his fascinating autobiography This Is My Life in 1956 (for example, active in Republican politics on a national level, McNary was pals with Presidents Harding, Coolidge, and Hoover).

Eventually operations began shifting to the more modern Flagstaff plant. With that, the migration of workers began again. After a fire in 1979 destroyed the lumber mill in McNary, the remaining workers moved out, leaving McNary, Arizona, as deserted as its namesake in Louisiana.

Cover image from a photo tour pamphlet in the Southwest Lumber Mills, Inc., file.

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Both the topic of James McNary and the towns that bare his name are ripe for research. One could look at the business, the man, or the towns— through the lenses of social, racial, and environmental histories. FHS has materials on Cady Lumber and its move from Louisiana to Arizona and life there among the big white pines. The move to Arizona and the history of the company was captured in a lengthy article in American Lumberman magazine in 1926. In addition to this article and McNary’s autobiography, we have the records of the National Lumber Manufacturers Association, which contains McNary’s correspondence from when he was its president from 1937 to 1939. The Cady Lumber Corporation materials include copies of the contracts signed by Apache Lumber in 1918 with the government and when Cady bought them out. We also have information on Southwest Forest Industries, including several annual reports and press releases from the 1980s. Secondary sources include Curtis Wienker’s article-length study of the town, “McNary: A Predominantly Black Company Town in Arizona” (Negro History Bulletin, 1974) and Arthur R. Gómez’s 2001 study “Industry and Indian Self-determination: Northern Arizona’s Apache Lumbering Empire, 1870-1970,” in Forests Under Fire: A Century of Ecosystem Mismanagement in the Southwest. The Cady operations, which at one point was the largest contract producer of timber in northern Arizona, are also discussed in a history of Region 3, Timeless Heritage. Speaking of northern Arizona, the Arizona Historical Society has some papers on Southwest Forest Industries and Northern Arizona University has images and 3 related oral histories.

The April 10, 1926, issue of “American Lumberman” magazine featured a 55-page article on the Cady Lumber Corporation operations in McNary and Flagstaff.

During the 1960s, the California Division of Forestry was concerned about the growing number of wildfires started by children. According to the division’s statistics, “children and matches” were one of the leading sources of human-caused fires at the time. To limit these numbers, the division began to target young school-age children through educational materials, teacher kits, fire prevention promotional items, and more. The division also looked to create a character to assist in the efforts–someone or something like Keep California Green’s Cal Green, only more appealing to children. This campaign led the division into a brief and unlikely partnership with famed animation studio Hanna-Barbera, the result of which was the new firefighting duo Sniff and Snuff.

In the mid-1960s Hanna-Barbera was creating Saturday morning cartoon classics such as The Magilla Gorilla Show, Jonny Quest, and Space Ghost. Did the studio really take the time to create characters for the California Division of Forestry? According to a short blurb in the Western Conservation Journal, they did.

The May/June/July 1968 issue mentions that “a couple of years ago, the Division also developed two new characters to supplement Smokey Bear. These two animated cartoon characters, designed by the Hanna-Barbera Company of Hollywood, are appropriately called ‘Sniff and Snuff–the Super Fire Safe Snoopers.’ These two characters will again be seen on television throughout the coming fire season.”

One wonders how much time Hanna-Barbera actually spent designing the characters. Snuff was the tall one with the long head and a weak jawline, while Sniff (man, woman, pig?) was short and stumpy with a Moe from Three Stooges haircut. Sniff and Snuff wore Robin Hood-style get ups and feathered hats, which occasionally and inexplicably transformed into hard hats. The division hoped the duo could teach children the importance of fire safety and the dangers of forest fires. Looking at Sniff and Snuff now, though, is it really any surprise that the characters never caught on?

Admittedly, we have not been able to track down any animated footage of the duo, so maybe they were more entertaining than we think. If anyone remembers seeing Sniff and Snuff on television in California or has footage, please let us know. What we do have is the coloring book, Sniff & Snuff the Super Fire-Safe Snoopers Meet the Most Dangerous Animal in the Forest. In honor of this forgotten duo, enjoy a few page selections below.

On April 5, 1895, I passed the Statue of Liberty and was received in Hoboken at the docks of the North German Lloyd Lines by my friends and cousins, George Merck and his wife, residents of New York since 1893. They were overjoyed at my coming. Their son, George W. Merck, who as I write is a director of the American Forestry Association, was just one year old. I was taken in a horse-drawn cab, with the help of a ferry, to New York and to their residence on Eighty-sixth Street. In the afternoon George Merck drove me in a buggy through Central Park. There were thousands of buggies, and they seemed to me more admirable than any of the trees in the park and more attractive than the entire bank of the Hudson River, including the Grant Memorial. I recall that everybody craned his neck whenever a woman riding on a bicycle was seen—apparently a new sensation for New York in 1895….

On the third day after my arrival in the United States, Pinchot came to the Merck home and picked me up for a day to be spent in New York City. He was good looking. His shining black eyes and black mustache betrayed his French origin….

Gifford Pinchot appealed to me as the most lovable companion I could desire. To begin with, we inspected the city of New York, riding in horsecars, cable cars, and on the new elevated railroad. In those days electric lines did not exist. We visited the American Museum of Natural History, where we saw the Morris K. Jesup collection of native American woods. O Lo! The biggest trees I had seen in the Spessart and int he Black Forest were mere babies when compared to the gigantic dimensions of American trees. In the course of our trip we visited a large store, Rogers Peet Company, where there could be had all and everything that a gentleman might require for society, for business, or for sport. I was amazed when Pinchot selected, without askeing the prices, several sport suits, the finest touring shoes, some tents, and some fishing tackle. Obviously, he was well known at the store. He himself was clad in black, from neck to foot. Apparently he was in mourning; but his cheery eyes were in strict contrast with his mourning attire.

At noon he took me to his home, a patrician house in Gramercy Park. Upon entering, Pinchot introduced me to his father as George Vanderbilt’s new forester and added that he had invited me to have lunch with the family. Much to my astonishment, the elder Pinchot replied, without looking at me and without giving me a hand: “No, it does not suit us today; you have to take him elsewhere.” Undismayed by his father’s brusqueness, Pinchot left the house with me at once and took me to his Yale Club for lunch.

Subsequently Pinchot and I met at various places and for various purposes. Queerly, the task awaiting me at Biltmore was scarcely touched on in our conversations, which were restricted to discussions of hunting and fishing…. Seeing me off at the depot in the evening, Pinchot paid me this compliment: “Dr. Schenck, I believe you are just the right man for the position.” Then he added, “You will be forester and I shall be chief forester during your term of employment.” He had promised to go to Biltmore in the near future and to discuss with me all the problems on the spot. I was happy, indeed, to be able to work under him on the Biltmore Estate and under his responsibility.

Little did Schenck know that his “lovable companion” soon would be trying to undermine Schenck and his Biltmore Forest School, going so far as to  denounce Schenck as an “antichrist.” Want to know more about this bitter rivalry for control of the future of American forestry? Then read Cradle of Forestry today!

In his State of the Union address last month and again at a recent press event, President Obama touted the idea of “a new conservation program that would help put veterans to work rebuilding trails, roads and levees on public lands,” according to the Associated Press. Interior Secretary Ken Salazar said the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) of the 1930s could be viewed as a model for what the administration will try to accomplish through its “Veterans Jobs Corps.” The administration will propose spending $1 billion that could put an estimated 20,000 veterans to work restoring habitat and eradicating invasive species, among other activities, the AP report stated.

Why would the Obama administration want a new conservation corps? Perhaps because nearly 80 years after the first one was established, we are still reaping its benefits. The CCC was established in 1933 primarily to do two things: put unemployed men to work and to help restore the land. In 1933, the unemployment rate was 25 percent; national forests and national parks had a backlog of projects and restoration needs but lacked the manpower and money to do the work. States like South Carolina had no state park system for similar reasons.

Civilian Conservation Corps trail maintenance crew in the Nantahala National Forest, North Carolina, in 1937. (FHS Photo Collection, MAC119)

The combination of the Great Depression, the Dust Bowl, and the devastated agricultural sector forced thousands to abandon their farms and leave behind depleted lands. President Franklin Roosevelt’s administration bought up millions of acres of this land and put the CCC to work restoring it. The result was an expansion of the Eastern national forests from around 5 million acres in 1932 to 19 million acres by 1942 and their restoration. No one is suggesting that the federal government buy land, but the idea of restoring the land as FDR did is one worth serious discussion and consideration.

The CCC operated from 1933 until 1942 and employed 3 million men between the ages of 18 and 25 (even though first lady Eleanor Roosevelt supported its establishment, a female-only version of the CCC didn’t last long because of cultural and gender mores at the time).

The workers lived in camps and were given “three hots and a cot” along with job training and the opportunity to fill gaps in their education as well as their growling stomachs. The men of the CCC constructed trails, buildings, dams and roads, and planted millions of trees that helped restore exhausted land. South Carolina used CCC muscle and money to build its state park system from scratch. In North Carolina, the CCC built the Blue Ridge Parkway and roads and trails in the national forests. The CCC has often been called one of the greatest New Deal programs, and with good reason. While healing abused forests and fields, the men gained their health and self-esteem; they restored the land, and the land restored them.

Today, the unemployment rate may be slowly coming down, but the so-called “underemployment rate” — those who are unemployed plus those either working part time but would prefer full-time work, or have stopped searching for jobs — stubbornly remains above 15 percent.

Infrastructure around the country is dire need of repair — bridges need replacing, and overgrown forests need thinning. Ironically, a present-day Veterans Conservation Corps would be undoing some of the damage of the original CCC by thinning forests and removing invasive species planted to stop soil erosion. It might even be replacing bridges and buildings built in the 1930s.

The thousands of troops returning home face a difficult job market but possess practical experience in building and repairing infrastructure. Many soldiers have spent years “nation-building” in Iraq and Afghanistan; the United States has spent billions of dollars on those endeavors while our own infrastructure has gone neglected, with catastrophic results, like the Minnesota bridge collapse in 2007, for example.

The Obama administration recognizes that a strong America in the future requires hard work now. A Veterans Jobs Corps program would be an investment in the future of America’s youth and environment. Let them restore the land, and the land will restore them.

James G. Lewis is the staff historian at the Forest History Society and the author of “The Forest Service and the Greatest Good: A Centennial History.” To view the newsprint version of this, click here: CCC op-ed.

Recently I was rereading a special issue of Runner’s World magazine on trail running. It came out around the same time as the centennial of the Weeks Act, March 1, 2011. I find that when I reread something months later, I look at it with fresh eyes and often pick up on ideas that I may have missed the first time. Plus I love the feeling that comes from reading something again, of letting the information really seep into my marrow, so that it becomes a part of me.

One article was about what the author called the “crown jewels” of running trails around the United States. What struck me this time—now reading it after I had absorbed information about the consequence and legacy of the Weeks Act into my bones—is how many of the trails are on eastern national forests, trails like the Shut-in Trail in the Pisgah National Forest, on land once owned by George Vanderbilt. And I thought: These forests are in America’s marrow, in many ways. The first national forests created under the Weeks Act run along the spine of the Appalachian Mountains, but the need for and desire to protect those lands must have been in the marrow of conservationists a hundred years ago. And it is still today.

I think that desire to preserve forests is part of the American character. The United States was the first country to create a national park, an action taken to protect the unique landscape of the Yellowstone area. The landscapes protected by the Weeks Act should also be celebrated. They may lack the wonder and spectacle of Yellowstone, but they have a beauty that draws millions of visitors every year. Most people may never walk through those landscapes, those Weeks Act forests; they may even drive through them oblivious to the fact that they are in a national forest, save the green and white sign that says “entering” and “leaving” with little fanfare, if they notice them at all. But when they turn on their faucets and there is clean water, or they step outside and cannot see the air they breathe, they are enjoying the benefits of those forests. And it’s because of the courage and vision of the men and women who have come before us, who recognized or simply acted upon an urge to protect those lands, that we have those forests today. It’s because of the courage of today’s conservationists that we continue to have those lands—their vision for how to expand those areas will be recognized and celebrated by future generations, too. Several of them are sharing their ideas on the pages of this magazine.

If you can, visit those forests. Walk, hike, bike, or run a trail; fish or hunt or camp on those lands; paddle down a river or on a lake that exists because the forests still exist. If you can’t get to those forests, bring them into your home—buy products derived from those forests and made by those who make their living from it, support an organization that fights to preserve them, read about the land and its amazing flora and fauna, or watch a film about them and revel in their grandeur. As for me, I’ll keep reading about the men and women who have dedicated their lives to the cause of conservation, who helped preserve the land that holds the trails on which I want to run, and absorbing that information into my marrow….

This special issue is the largest we’ve ever done, with three times the number of articles as a normal issue. Because of that, I could write two more pages describing the individual contributors and their articles. Instead, I’ll close with this: at the beginning of 2011, I thought I knew a great deal about the Weeks Act. After reading these articles, I now know more about its history and its future. Not only that, but reading them has reinvigorated my love of the national forests. I hope you’ll feel the same way, too.

Three cheers for the diligence and hard work of archivists! Without their labor it would be next to impossible to write informed historical narrative. In this blog entry, David Brownstein conducts a conversation with Tom Anderson, Provincial Archives of Alberta, and with Peter Murphy, Forest History Association of Alberta, regarding the Canadian Forest History Preservation Project. The project is a collaboration between the Canadian Forest Service, the Network in Canadian History and Environment (NiCHE), and the Forest History Society. The goal is to locate valuable forest history material in danger of loss or destruction, and aid in its transfer to an appropriate archive. The Canadian Forest History Preservation Project wants to hear from you if you know of any prospects.

David Brownstein: Tom, tell us a little bit about yourself.

Tom Anderson: In 2003 I graduated from the School of Library, Archival and Information Studies, at the University of British Columbia. I began work at the Provincial Archives of Alberta (PAA) in Edmonton, in 2004. I was a government records archivist for 5 years before moving to my current position as Team Lead, Private Records, where I am part of the group responsible for acquiring, preserving, and making available non-governmental records.

DB: Describe the PAA forest history holdings for us.

TA: The Provincial Archives is the repository for government records of enduring value, as well as private records of individuals, businesses, schools, associations, and societies in Alberta. Our holdings cover the whole of the province, and we are lucky to have extensive forest, environment, and resource-related records, tracing the development and history of forests and forest professionals. We hold records of those in government responsible for forests from the federal field notes of timber and land surveys and management of timber berths, up to present-day provincial ministries, ranging from the departments of Mines and Minerals, Lands and Forests, and the Department of Sustainable Resource Development. The records, be they cabinet papers, memoranda, policy records, work diaries of rangers, films, photographs, forest cover maps, or even blueprints of ranger stations, cover all aspects of forest management.

We hold records related to forest officers and their training, forest protection, timber management, reforestation, land use and climate change, equipment, legislation and regulation, and research and recreation.

As our mandate to acquire records covers the whole of the province of Alberta and is not limited to government created materials, the PAA also has textual records, photographs and films of logging, mill owners, municipalities and their efforts to fight fires, environmental groups, aerial photographs created by Weldwood of Canada, records of various flyers and their companies, and even records of bush pilots in the province. The records either directly or indirectly document the change in forests and environment over time.

DB: How can people decide if they have anything of value that deserves archival protection?

TA: Any person, family, business, or group with forest history records can either contact you for assistance, David, or they can contact an archives to discuss the records in their possession. We look to acquire records that document the lives, work, history, and culture of the province, and donors that have some connection to forestry in any capacity should hold on to their materials and make sure to speak with us before throwing anything away! We get this question a lot, and so we recently published Family Histories: Preserving Your Personal and Family Documents, available in English and French, free to anyone who comes to the Provincial Archives.

In this case, we look for records that provide evidence of a life related to forests or forestry. We are interested in material created by industry workers, active or retired professionals in the area, students, families of workers, and those dedicated to forest preservation and utilization. We look for correspondence, diaries, photographs, albums, home movies, minutes and agendas of professional or business meetings, maps, plans, and of course writings on how the forests and environment have affected the lives of Albertans, and how we have influenced our environment.

Not Tom Anderson. Rather, it's a woodcutter at Bowden, Alberta, early 1900s (PAA Photo H592).

DB: From the point of view of a box of photos or letters, what is the difference between being kept at a private home in a basement or an attic, and being housed in the archives?

TA: I would say the difference is the length of time that the different places can preserve the records. Boxed in a cool, dark closet, protected from vast changes in temperature or humidity, paper and photos can last a long time at home. We have conservators on staff if people have questions about how to preserve materials at home. Many of us do not preserve our special records in optimal conditions, though, and there is always the possibility of a fire or flood in the home. There is no guarantee that a disaster will not happen at an archives; but depending on the repository, there are safeguards in place to ensure the safest possible environment for the records, and for the longest possible time. The Provincial Archives of Alberta for example stores all its records on site in special archival enclosures, in secured climate-controlled vaults, free of temperature or humidity changes.

DB: What should people keep in mind, when considering donating their material to the archives?

TA: Potential donors should consider that the records that become part of an archives is the legacy that we leave for future generations.

Archives strive to ensure accountability, protect the rights of the people, and document all aspects of the lives of citizens. We want the holdings to be used and accessed; records at the PAA are, for the most part, open and available and free for use by anyone. The Provincial Archives is very lucky to have a number of exciting forestry-related collections of records. People must always keep in mind that we are dependant on donors. If societies, associations, businesses, or individuals do not donate their records, we cannot build on the good work of those who have donated and preserved the records of the past.

DB: How have PAA holdings been used by various researchers?

TA: Students, academics, amateur historians, genealogists, artists and writers utilize our holdings. I know that environment and forest records were used in the creation of recent exhibits, and in research for park-related studies, books and presentations, including The Alberta Forest Service 1930-2005 and Laying Down the Lines: A History of Land Surveying in Alberta.

DB: Peter Murphy, tell us a little bit about yourself – how did you become interested in forest history?

Peter Murphy: I was raised in Quebec and my outdoor-loving parents introduced me to forests in the Laurentians. That led me to the University of New Brunswick, where I graduated with a degree in forestry in 1953. I worked in the west during summers on a ranch and in forestry. At the end of my third year I worked in forest surveys for the B.C. Forest Service and again for a year after graduation. In my travels through most of the province I was impressed with the history of logging and sawmilling that was so evident, from Lumberton with its flumes in the southeast to Sawmill Row in Prince George and the plank roads from McBride to wet forests south of Smithers. I came to Alberta in the spring of 1954 and saw much the same historical changes as I travelled with forest surveys to Lake Athabasca, East Slopes to Edson, Grande Prairie and Peace River. Forestry was very much in transition, as author Robin Huth later so aptly described in his book, From Horses to Helicopters.

I got into training for the Alberta Forest Service in 1956, and so worked and traveled with staff throughout the province and became engrossed with their history and that of the forest industry. When we got our own training facility at Hinton in 1960, then the Forest Technology School, we could begin to collect some of the traditional old tools and equipment that were becoming obsolete and were able to build a modest museum in which to display them. In that way we could also give students and visitors a historical perspective. Students and visitors also gave us an opportunity to start recording lectures and interviews. As well, we inherited parts of the old Dominion Forestry Branch pre-1930 photograph collection; with my colleague Bob Stevenson, who had rescued a major set of them from a garbage bin, and adding private donations, we eventually produced a collection of over 4,000 images available to search on a CD in 2005 with support of the AFS.

In the meantime, in 1963 I completed a master’s degree at University of Montana, and in 1968 had a six-month traveling fellowship in Britain, which considerably extended my appreciation of forest history. In January 1973 I moved from Hinton to Edmonton to teach forestry at the University of Alberta until retirement in 1995. In 1985, as an extension of a lengthy term paper as part of my PhD program at University of British Columbia, the Alberta Forest Service published my history of forest and prairie fire control in Alberta. That laid the groundwork for several enjoyable post-retirement forest history projects. And the search for references provided a first-hand understanding of the importance of both public and private archival collections—both appreciation of their availability and despair at their absence. In retrospect, I seem to have bumped into forest history at every turn and enjoyed the many opportunities to explore it.

Peter J. Murphy

DB: Peter, as a researcher who has made extensive use of the archives, can you elaborate on Tom’s account of how archival material has been used to write Alberta’s forest history?

PM: I was lead author for Alberta Forest Service, 1930-2005, and can attest to the value of PAA. As well, I have drawn on PAA resources for A Hard Road to Travel, Learning from the Forest, and Forest and Prairie Fires in Alberta. In addition, I wrote two chapters for I. S. MacLaren’s book Culturing Wilderness in Jasper National Park, for which I also drew on resources at PAA.

PAA is a leading repository for those studying forestry and forest-related topics, but is not the only one in Alberta. Archives such as University of Alberta, Glenbow Museum, and Whyte Museum of the Rockies also have much to offer. They, along with many local archives, such as the Jasper Yellowhead Museum and Archives, serve as important complementary sources of reference materials and photographs. There are also a few private collections of photos and documents that I hope can be consolidated into safer havens and made more conveniently accessible to other researchers. And, although our discussions have focused on the Alberta scene, we need also recognize the substantial collections and services of Library and Archives Canada (LAC) and the Forest History Society in Durham, North Carolina, of which I have been a member for 30 years and a past president.

The importance of archived records was impressed on me during the early1980s when I was researching the contributions of the Dominion Forestry Branch (DFB) to forestry in Alberta. Until 1930 the forests of Alberta were a responsibility of the Dominion government. There were few DFB files available at PAA, so on my first visit to the Library and Archives Canada (LAC) in Ottawa I was surprised that there were relatively few files there, too. I understood from one of the LAC archivists that upon the Transfer of Resources in October 1930, the government of Alberta insisted that all active files be sent to the Alberta Department of Lands and Mines in Edmonton, so that there were relatively few files left in Ottawa to be later transferred to LAC. I recalled then that when I started work with the Alberta Department of Lands and Forests in Edmonton in 1954 that there were great stacks of Dominion files in the basement of the Natural Resources Building, which, I understand, were soon after disposed of. My impression was that, unfortunately, the number of files was so overwhelming, that many were just stored, later to be thrown out. This was before PAA had been established, and which now ensures preservation of provincial government files.

However, that experience indicates that identifying and finding homes for privately held materials is also a matter of ongoing importance.

The forest history preservation project being conducted by NiCHE, the Forest History Society, and the Canadian Forest Service, is especially important in identifying which Canadian archives are able and willing to accept donations of new forest history collections. The next phases of the NiCHE project will be equally important—first to identify privately held collections in danger of loss or destruction and then to match them with suitable repositories that would accept and make them reasonably accessible for on-line searches. It is encouraging to see this project progressing so expeditiously.

References:

Bott, R., P. Murphy and R. Udell. 2003. Learning from the Forest: A Fifty-year Journey towards Sustainable Forest Management. Foothills Model Forest and Fifth House Ltd.

Huth, Robin A. 1980. Horses to Helicopters: Stories of the Alberta Forest Service. Alberta Forest Service, Energy and Natural Resources.

Larmour, Judy. 2005. Laying Down the Lines: A History of Land Surveying in Alberta. Brindle & Glass Pub.

Murphy, P.J. 2007. “‘Following the Base of the Foothills’: Tracing the Boundaries of Jasper Park and its Adjacent Rocky Mountains Forest Reserve.” In Culturing Wilderness in Jasper National Park, edited by I.S. MacLaren, 71–122. University of Alberta Press.

Murphy, P.J. 1985. History of Forest and Prairie Fire Control Policy in Alberta. ENR Rep. No. T/77. Edmonton: Alberta Energy and Natural Resources.

Murphy, P.J. 2007. “Homesteading the Athabasca Valley to 1910: An interview with Edward Wilson Moberly, Prairie Creek, Alberta, 29 August 1980.” In Culturing Wilderness in Jasper National Park, edited by I.S. MacLaren, 123–54. University of Alberta Press.

Murphy, P.J. with R.W. Udell, R.E. Stevenson and T.W. Peterson. 2007. A Hard Road to Travel: Land, Forests and People in the Upper Athabasca Region. Foothills Model Forest, Hinton and Durham, NC: Forest History Society.

Murphy, P.J., R.E. Stevenson, D. Quintilio and S. Ferdinand. 2006. Alberta Forest Service, 1930–2005: Protection and Management of Alberta’s Forests. Pub. No. I/133. Edmonton: Alberta Sustainable Resource Development.

Websites:

Provincial Archives of Alberta: http://culture.alberta.ca/archives/

NiCHE forest history newsfeed: http://www.niche-canada.org/foresthistory

Forest History Society archival guide: http://www.foresthistory.org/research/archguid.html

Canadian Forest Service: http://cfs.nrcan.gc.ca/

There are forest history societies in four provinces, each with websites in varying stages of development – from east to west:

Société d’histoire forestière du Québec: http://www.shfq.ca

Forest History Society of Ontario: http://www.ontarioforesthistory.ca/

Forest History Association of Alberta: http://www.albertaforesthistory.ca

Forest History Association of British Columbia: http://www.fhabc.org/

But the statue has been there for more than half a century because of a special-use permit granted by the U.S. Forest Service. Special-use permits are granted for the use of various forest resources, and are given to scores of individuals, businesses, and organizations throughout the country. Permits are granted for roads, residences, resorts, power lines, windmills, churches, religious camps, and many other reasons.

The original purpose for installing the Jesus statue is somewhat muddled, but what we do know is that it was first erected after the Kalispell’s Knights of Columbus Council No. 1238 was granted a special-use permit in 1953. According to a recently installed plaque, seen on this website, the statue may have been a nod to the area’s troops who served in the 10th Mountain Division during World War II. Whatever the reason, the statue was finished in 1955 and has remained in the same 25′-by-25′ spot since. And—at least for the time being—that’s where it’ll stay for another decade.

Below you will find additional information about the history of special-use permits. To see the citations, please visit the pages by clicking on the links.

From chapter 2 of John Fedkiw, Managing Multiple Uses on National Forests, 1905-1995: A 90-year Learning Experience and It Isn’t Finished Yet:

Management of Special Uses

Special uses include all resource uses other than commercial timber sales, forage grazing, occupancy established by the Federal Power Commission, and the U.S. homestead laws. Special-use permits could be issued for the following uses: residences, farms, pastures, corrals, apiaries, dairies, schools, churches, roads, trails, telephone and telegraph lines, stores, sawmills, factories, hotels, stage stations, sanatoriums, camps, wharves, miners’ and prospectors’ cabins, windmills, dipping vats, reservoirs, water conduits, powerhouses and transmission lines, aerial tramways, railroads, and the purchase of sand, stone, clay, gravel, hay, and other products except timber (USDA Forest Service 1907). The list broadened over time.

Special-use permits were seen as promoting the welfare of individual users and the larger community living in and near the national forests. The permits provided a means whereby any forest resource, no matter how minor, could be turned to individual account if its use did not conflict with a larger community interest and it was compatible with national forest purposes (USDA Forest Service 1913). A special-use permit required a formal application for the use or occupancy of national forest lands and resources and specified use conditions such as area, time, and management requirements and standards. Special-use permits numbered about 4,000 in 1905. They increased to 19,000 in 1915. By 1941, they numbered 44,000. Between 1905 and 1945, permitted uses involved only a negligible percentage of the national forest area, but served large numbers of users. Use permits involving the payment of annual fees ranged from 40 to 60 percent of the total permits issued. The balance were free-use permits. Pay permits were issued where uses were commercial, served industrial purposes, or involved exclusive private use such as summer recreation residences.

Free permits were issued for uses of a public nature, such as cemeteries, Girl and Boy Scout organizational camps, and access roads to private homes or in-holdings, and uses such as rights-of-way that were needed to carry out other national forest land uses. Free-use permits were granted to settlers, farmers, prospectors, or similar persons who might not reasonably be required to pay a fee and who did not have a usable supply of timber or stone on lands they owned or controlled.

During the early 1930′s, the Forest Service repeatedly sought authority to raise the occupancy permit acreage limit from 5 to 80 acres. National forest managers felt that in many cases the 5-acre minimum was too low to provide for the best development of occupied areas and service to the public. Where additional area was needed, national forest managers could issue only a separate, terminable permit. This option was considered insufficient and lacked secure tenure for longer term occupancy uses such as airplane landing fields, educational institutions’ scientific stations, or high-quality resorts. Congress, however, did not choose to extend the 5-acre maximum permit limit.

The statue is on the Flathead National Forest. Trails of the Past: Historical Overview of the Flathead National Forest, Montana, 1800-1960, by Kathryn L. McKay, has a passage about special-use permits on the forest.

Special-use permits were issued on the Flathead National Forest for such diverse activities as cutting wild hay, growing a garden and flowers along the Middle Fork, building hunting cabins, establishing logging camps, running a commercial packing business, and building summer homes on various lakes (Holland Lake, Lake McDonald, Swan Lake, and others). Dude ranches were also operated under special-use permits. For example, the Diamond R Ranch at Spotted Bear was started in 1927 by Guy Clatterbuck, who had been located the previous year at Spotted Bear Lake. Private hotels were also under special-use permit, such as the Belton Chalet in West Glacier (the Glacier Park Hotel Company was issued a permit for this hotel in 1914) (Opalka 1983; FNF “General Report” 1918)

One spectacular summer home was the Rock House, built in 1930 through a special-use permit on the west shore of Swan Lake for the L. O. Evans family (Evans was president of the board of ACM for a time). In 1937, a forest inspector commented that the management situation at Swan Lake was different from many places because most of the land around the lake was privately owned. He added that wealthy people had moved in over 25 years ago seeking privacy and had “pretty much dominated Swan Lake for 25 years.” The ranger tried to protect the public’s interest in recreation in the area and at the same time avoid appearing “bureaucratic or spiteful and so retain the good will and cooperation of private owners” (“Rock House” 1984; 18 December 1937 memo, Inspection Reports, Region One, 1937-, RG 95, FRC).

In 1930 the Flathead National Forest maintained 13 residential permits in Essex, which had a population of 200 at the time, of which 90% were railroad employees. In Belton and Essex many of the homes, and the school, were built on federal land under permit (W. I. White, 1/28/30 “Report on Municipal Watershed,” 2510 Surveys, Watershed Analyses, 1927-29, RO; Shaw 1967:28).

Here is a recent photo of the statue.

Big Mountain Jesus statue (via Flickr)

January 21 is Squirrel Appreciation Day. While I hold dear to my cartoon-loving heart Secret Squirrel (and his sidekick Morocco Mole), and enjoy the music of Squirrel Nut Zipper, there is one squirrel who stands above the rest—Spunky Squirrel. And I more than appreciate him. I want to celebrate him as he approaches his thirtieth birthday.

Spunky was the brainchild of the American Forestry Association (now American Forests) in 1981. They wanted a symbol for their Urban Forestry Program that would appeal to children. Wisely, they turned to artist Rudy Wendelin for help in developing the character. Rudy had been the primary artist for Smokey Bear and Woodsy Owl before retiring from the U.S. Forest Service in 1973. When Hank DeBruin of the AFA contacted Rudy in September 1981 about creating Spunky, he offered Rudy some ideas about Spunky’s apparel, which you can see in the letter below. But dressing him in blue jeans, a t-shirt, running shoes, and a cap that looks like a beret might have made him look more like a confused Frenchman than a hip American youth. (Props to Hank for suggesting Adidas running shoes, though. He anticipated by four years rap group Run-D.M.C. making Adidas popular among urban youth. Maybe Run took a fashion cue from Spunky.)

1981 letter from Hank DeBruin to Rudy Wendlin

Rudy’s initial try, though, garnered some ribbing from Hank. “Grandpa Squirrel” was not what they were after.

Grandpa Squirrel test art.

In August 1982, AFA introduced Spunky and his slogan “Care for Trees!” to its members in the magazine. The ad copy is written by Spunky and gives his backstory—how he was born uptown and lived in an oak tree in a park. But when the tree got sick and had to be removed, he and his family had trouble finding another tree to call their own. The ad then goes on to extol the many benefits of urban forests.

That October, Spunky made his first public appearance at the second National Urban Forestry Conference, which was sponsored in part by the AFA, in Cincinnati. Spunky was there to hand out tree seedlings to kids, who “thronged” him as he made his way from the stage to greet them. Soon after his introduction, Spunky became the de facto mascot of Arbor Day. At Milwaukee’s Arbor Day event in 1983, he was made an honorary citizen!

Actor Raymond Burr with Spunky at the 1982 National Urban Forestry Conference in Cincinnati. The actor had a long-time interest in natural resources issues.

Spunky’s popularity quickly took off, especially after he was introduced to kindergarten, first and second graders in Weekly Reader. He also made an appearance on TV’s “Romper Room,” where he told children all over America how to improve the environment in their cities and towns. The usual merchandise followed—Spunky Squirrel t-shirts, balloons, flying disks,  buttons—even Spunky Squirrel bike packs and plastic tumblers.

Spunky Squirrel promotional items

Part of his message included telling people how they could protect their trees from the gypsy moth, which continues to wreak havoc on eastern hardwoods. He graced the pages of a workbook about the gypsy moth published by the AFA and the U.S. Forest Service. Rudy even created a gypsy moth character. The AFA made ads for gypsy moth information featuring Spunky available to newspapers in affected areas, probably for free.

Gypsy Moth, one of the villains in the Spunky Squirrel rogues' gallery.

It’s not known how long Spunky remained in the public eye—perhaps just a couple of years. Like so many forest characters, Spunky soon found work hard to come by, and was reduced to making appearances in odd places, like at a city function in Santa Rosa, California, in 2006. We can’t confirm it, but it looks like he’s had some plastic surgery done. (The things an older squirrel must do today to compete against younger squirrels for spokes-animal work. Spunky’s barely recognizable.)

Santa Rosa's Spunky Squirrel, circa 2006.

In Oklahoma, though, his name and slogan “Care for Trees!” live on in an annual poster contest. And he’ll always live on in our hearts.

Spunky at the 1984 Arbor Day celebration in Milwaukee.

On this date in 1887, author, forester, ecologist, and conservationist Aldo Leopold was born in Burlington, Iowa. The founder of the science of wildlife management and a major influence on the wilderness movement, wildlife preservation, and environmental ethics, he is perhaps best known for his book, A Sand County Almanac (1949). In honor of his birthday, we’ve asked filmmaker Steve Dunsky to share his thoughts about the subject of his latest documentary film.

As one of the filmmakers of Green Fire: Aldo Leopold and A Land Ethic for Our Time, I was asked for my reflections on the occasion of Aldo Leopold’s birthday. January 11, 2012, marks the 125th anniversary of his birth. When he died suddenly in 1948, he was only 61 years old. He has been dead now for more years than he was alive.

A film about a person who died more than six decades ago runs the risk of being irrelevant. Particularly if that person is a conservationist and scientist; our planet, and our understanding of it, have changed so dramatically in the past half century. But Leopold’s ideas are so enduring, so far ahead of his time, that we find his story resonates with audiences across the United States, and in the seventeen other countries where the film has screened to date.

Green Fire has clearly struck a chord. More than 1,000 people turned up to the world premiere last February. Since then, screenings, both large and small, have been held in libraries, schools, nature centers, and independent theaters. We have seen audiences of 600 on college campuses, despite a distribution and marketing effort that is purely a grass roots effort and by word-of-mouth.

Making Leopold’s story relevant today was a major focus of our film team. My wife Ann and I, along with our Forest Service colleague Dave Steinke, directed and produced the film. With our partners the Aldo Leopold Foundation and the Center for Humans and Nature, we set out to tell both the story of Leopold’s life and his contemporary legacy.

Leopold biographer Curt Meine, the film’s narrator/guide, weaves together Leopold’s biography with the stories of people who are living Leopold’s land ethic today—from ranchers in New Mexico to environmental educators in Chicago. As the voice of Leopold, narrator Peter Coyote brings Leopold’s wonderful language to life.

In the film, NOAA administrator Jane Lubchenco says that Leopold’s land ethic (she calls it an “Earth ethic”) is more relevant today than it has ever been. As I write this, I am attending the Waimea Ocean Film Festival in Hawaii, where Green Fire has screened four times. It is so easy to make the connection to oceans because the land ethic is a universal concept.

Leopold’s legacy also includes the cutting-edge conservation disciplines of today: protecting biodiversity, restoring damaged ecosystems, growing healthy local food. Leopold’s concept of land health speaks directly to current notions of healthy ecosystems and their connection to healthy communities. Everyone gets it.

Aldo Leopold and "Flip" on the Apache National Forest in Arizona, 1911. (FHS4408)

One of the questions we often hear following our screenings is: What did you learn about Leopold during the making of this film?

Leopold said: “There are two things that interest me: The relation of people to each other and the relation of people to land.” When audiences ask me what I learned about Leopold in making the film, I often tell them that he strikes me as a profoundly well-adjusted individual. He related well with people, despite being an outdoorsman and writer, two occupations often done in isolation. He loved his wife and children, and they clearly loved him. He was very close with his parents, but not in a suffocating way. His students worshipped him, his professional colleagues admired him. He could talk with scientists and farmers, hunters and engineers, ranchers and wilderness advocates. As an amateur environmental historian, I have found these qualities to be somewhat rare in the conservation field; but without those relationships, conservation will never succeed.

Leopold is also relevant to us today because he allows us to move beyond the intractable ideological debates and look at the deeper ecological and economic relationships. He wants us to look not at the things that divide us, but at the things that connect us: water, food, energy.

As with so many others, Leopold has had a profound personal influence on me and my wife. Ann and I have worked for the U.S. Forest Service for more than twenty years. We came to the agency in the late 1980s at a moment of crisis and, in hindsight, a huge paradigm shift—the end of the “big timber” era. As the timber program “hit the wall,” Forest Service Chief Dale Robertson invoked Aldo Leopold as he outlined the transition from the utilitarian wise-use model of Gifford Pinchot to the “new perspective” of ecosystem management. No large organization, particularly a government agency, changes quickly. Indeed it has taken two decades for the staffing, structure, and targets to catch up with new philosophy. But where we work, in California, the top priority of the region is ecosystem restoration. The priorities are healthy, resilient ecosystems, conserving biodiversity, and sustaining local economies—all very Leopoldian, all very encouraging.

Aldo Leopold with a young pine tree. (FHS4402)

Leopold has shaped our personal goals as well. We are fortunate to have inherited a farm property in New England. Leopold is always on our minds as we think about what we will do with it. Leopold said that “conservation will ultimately come down to rewarding the private landowner who conserves the public interest.”

Whether or not we will be rewarded, we understand it is in our best interested to be good “biotic citizens.” And so we will try to take the lessons from Leopold (and his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren) and see what we can do to make the land and our community healthier, more resilient, and more sustainable.

Leopold is such an appealing figure because everyone can take something useful from his life and his legacy, and that is why his popularity continues to grow. As we move into his 125th year, his “green fire” continues to burn as brightly ever.

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For more information about Green Fire, visit: www.greenfiremovie.com.

For additional information about Aldo Leopold, visit the Aldo Foundation: www.aldoleopold.org.

To learn more about the Forest Service’s work on ecological restoration, visit: http://www.fs.fed.us/restoration/QandAs.shtml

To view our photo gallery of Aldo Leopold, visit: http://www.foresthistory.org/Research/Galleries/Leopold_Gallery/index.htm

In the 1950s, a new front opened in the War on Christmas. The first front had opened with a presidential ban on Christmas trees in the White House in 1902 out of concern for natural resources. A half-century later, Christmas trees made of aluminum or plastic had become so commonplace that that the plot of “A Charlie Brown Christmas,” which first aired on television in 1965, revolves around this idea of artificial trees having replaced natural trees. Artificial trees were so commonplace that when Charlie Brown and Linus see a single wooden tree alone on the tree lot full of artificial ones, Linus asks Charlie Brown, “Gee, do they even still make wooden Christmas trees?” To CB, the dominance and pervasiveness of artificial trees represented how disconnected Americans had become from the spiritual and religious roots of Christmas. Having a natural tree helps him and his friends reconnect to the true meaning of Christmas, as expressed in a heart-tugging soliloquy by Linus.

As the 1960s drew to a close, the artificial tree industry was cutting deeply into the sale of natural trees and growers were in a panic. The National Christmas Tree Growers’ Association (NCTGA) decided to do something about it. Like a plot from an old Hollywood musical, they respond to this attack on tradition with—a song! One can picture Mickey Rooney as the son of a Christmas tree farmer who’s on the brink of bankruptcy during the Great Depression. Having overheard the mean banker (maybe Lionel Barrymore as Mr. Potter from “It’s a Wonderful Life”?) tell Mickey’s father that unless he can pay the mortgage, he’ll lose the farm. Desperate and inconsolable, Mickey turns for comfort to his gal played by Judy Garland, who then sings “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” to cheer him. Afterward, they talk and hit on the idea of writing a song and then Mickey says, “Hey kids! Let’s put on a show!” The show (and the movie) end with the unveiling of a new song Mickey wrote celebrating natural Christmas trees, “Ev’rett the Friendly Evergreen.” It’s a smash sensation, and the show saves the farm! Roll credits!

Take a listen and tell me that this doesn’t save the farm.

Ev’rett the Friendly Evergreen
1969 (2min 09sec): 

Well, that’s how it would have played out in the 1930s film version. The contemporary version would be closer to the truth—a little darker and with an ambiguous ending.

As the war on Christmas trees heated up in the 1950s, natural tree retailers fought back with efforts like spray-painting trees white or deeper shades of green to make their products more alluring. But they kept losing ground in the war on Christmas. Adults found the ease of artificial trees very appealing—no trips to a tree lot or haggling over the price, no ensuing struggle to bring a tree home, clean-up of dropped needles, or wrestling to remove the tree from the home. To replicate the pine smell, they could use a scented spray. Moreover, states and localities had tried banning trees from public places or even homes because natural trees posed a fire hazard.

At a loss over what to do, in 1968 or ‘69, somebody on the Public Relations Committee of the NCTGA hit on the idea of commissioning and recording a song that celebrates the joy of having a natural Christmas tree (and takes a not-so-subtle swipe at the artificial tree industry), then having tree retailers buy copies of it to hand out or sell with each tree they sell. Songwriter John LoBuono penned a catchy little ditty that the NCTGA Trustees “unanimously acclaimed Number One on their Hit Parade.” The “original” Anita Kerr Singers would do the vocals for the A-side; the B-side was “an instrumental variation that appeals to teenagers” called “Ev’rett’s Tune.” The distributed recording credits “The Evergreen Singers” as the vocalists, and the record was distributed on the EV label (created by the NCTGA).

Ev'rett red vinyl promotional record.

On September 22, 1969, a recording of the basic version of the song was sent to all NCGTA members with an information letter and order form. It was a red flimsy vinyl record the size of a 45 that you played at 33-1/3, the kind companies used to give away in cereal boxes and magazines. As you can hear, the sound quality of the floppy wasn’t bad, and there’s something charming about the simple arrangement of the song as compared to the full version that can be heard here.

Ev'rett informational letter (click image to read full letter).

The idea behind the recording was two-fold: pop music was a great way to reach kids. There had not been a popular new Christmas tune since “Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer,” or so the promotional literature claimed, and this aural vacuum could be filled by the Ev’rett song. Second, send families home with a tree and a record, and soon kids of all ages would be rockin’ around the natural Christmas tree singing its praises. Convince them of the superiority of natural trees, and they would in turn persuade their parents to keep buying a natural tree year after year. And kids who grow up with natural trees might grow up and buy them as adults, thus ensuring the future of the natural Christmas tree industry. Fred E. Klopp, a grower and retailer in Milwaukee, knew it wasn’t enough to hand out records to tree buyers. He bought 1,000 Ev’rett records and distributed them to radio stations and a jukebox supplier as a more efficient means to reach potential buyers.

The folks at the NCTGA also recognized that cartoon characters would also appeal to kids, so they had someone design Ev’rett with ornaments for eyes and a cheery smile. After all, nothing says “Christmas” and “secure financial future” like an anthropomorphic tree.

Fifteen thousand records were pressed and 13,500 were sold in the three test areas of Milwaukee, Chicago, and St. Louis. In addition to Fred Klopp’s purchase of 1,000 copies, Calvin Frelk in Merrillan, Wisconsin, purchased 2,000 copies and also gave some to radio stations. The records came with Ev’rett posters to display on the tree lots. Frelk, a field general in the war on Christmas, summarized the situation: “We as growers cannot sit back complacently and let the artificial tree business continue to grow,” he declared. “Each grower has to do his part.” It was all hands on deck.

Growers and retailers complained that the record came out a little late to be truly effective. To aid the cause the following year, the Public Relations Committee established a new service for retailers to foster better communication between growers and retailers. Subscribers received a Public Education Action Kit that included an Ev’rett record. But interest in the kit was underwhelming and so the record didn’t catch on with retailers. After 1971, NCTGA’s quarterly magazine American Christmas Tree Journal doesn’t mention the Ev’rett record again. The committee had gone in a different direction. They opted for a vinyl tag that retailers could attach to fresh trees touting its benefits. Once celebrated on vinyl, Ev’rett was replaced by tree-shaped vinyl.

Yet the war on Christmas trees continues. Every year at this time, articles appear discussing the pros and cons of natural versus artificial trees. The NCTGA (now the National Christmas Tree Association) remains front and center in this debate. In the last few years, the argument has centered on the issue of the size of the tree’s carbon footprint. Is the footprint of an artificial tree, made of non-biodegradable materials and manufactured halfway around the world but might last 10-15 years, smaller than a natural tree, which may have been raised with the aid of pesticides and herbicides, shipped some distance by a gas-burning vehicle, and sits on an artificially lit tree lot? Well, the arguments really haven’t changed in seven decades, just the terminology; they’re still so basic that they were simplified and captured in song in 1969. Here it is again with a video featuring photos from our collection.

Do you remember hearing “Ev’rett (the Friendly Evergreen)” at tree lots or on the radio? Were you one of the lucky ones to own a copy of the record? If so, tell us about it in the Comments section.

The copy of “Ev’rett (the Friendly Evergreen)” we digitized belongs to Jane Lawrence, whose father was a Christmas tree farmer in Colorado Springs. He received his copy in 1969 and never opened it, and she held onto it all these years in its pristine state. She loaned it to us at the National Tree Farmers Convention this past August to preserve in digital form. We are deeply indebted to her for the loan.

The original 1923 National Community Christmas Tree.

The FHS Archives features a collection documenting the first three decades of the lighting ceremony. The National Community Christmas Tree Records includes programs, photographs, correspondence, guest lists, invitations, news clippings, and more related to the planning of the event between 1923 and 1954. In honor of tonight’s tree lighting ceremony, below are a sampling of the historical items found in this great collection.

Official program for the first National Christmas Tree lighting ceremony in 1923 (click to view full program).

1927 National Community Christmas Tree at Sherman Plaza.

Map of 1934 tree lighting ceremony at Lafayette Park.

1937 National Community Christmas Tree at Lafayette Park.

1938 National Community Christmas Tree in Lafayette Park.

Ticket to 1939 tree lighting ceremony on the Ellipse.

Official invitation for 1941 tree lighting ceremony on the White House lawn.

Program for 1947 tree lighting ceremony at the White House.

Program for 1954 tree lighting ceremony.

The two-week long conference, the first national conference held by the U.S. Forest Service on any topic, was organized to address the controversy surrounding the issue of allowing light burning on federal lands. California was chosen as the host site because that district was a leader in the development of fire control theory and practice, and because many of the problems there could be found throughout the country.

A major outcome of the conference was settlement of the debate between those favoring “let burn” and light burning and those like Greeley and Show who believed in aggressively attacking all fires. Policies varied from district to district and even forest to forest. The agency found itself in a quandary because it was letting some light burning occur on lands adjacent to national forests but demanded that fires on federal land be fought. Agency leaders felt that this contradiction undermined its authority and wanted to formulate a national standard. The debate over what to do had been raging for more than a decade and had become important enough to prompt a national conference on the topic. Greeley’s position was clear; in an article a short time before, he had derisively dismissed the use of light burning as “Paiute burning.”

Not surprisingly Chief Greeley decided in favor of attack and control. The agency set forest fire control as a priority over other activities, established national forest fire control standards, and provided for cooperation in forest fire control between districts. This new attitude towards fire control is best exemplified by the “10 a.m. policy,” under which the Forest Service decreed that all fires on federal land would be attacked as quickly as possible and fought until extinguished. The Forest Service is still dealing with the fallout of that decision ninety years later because the resulting fuel buildups continue to create problems for fire control personnel and forest managers.

For Greeley, the outcome of the conference gave him the opportunity to shape agency policy as he had long hoped. As the district ranger in Montana during the 1910 fires, he had come away from that disaster convinced of the need for cooperative fire control and the elimination of fire from forests. After the 1921 conference, he unequivocally committed the agency to cooperative forest management and systematic fire control. His next major move was pushing for the Clarke-McNary Act of 1924, which strengthened and expanded the provisions of the Weeks Act, particularly in cooperative fire control. To achieve these goals, Greeley brushed aside dissent and further debate on the topic of light burning, which left those who favored it labeled as heretics for years.

To learn more about the conference and its impact, you may wish to consult Stephen Pyne’s Fire in America, from which much of this information is drawn. We also have oral history interviews with Kotok, Show, and Kelley.

Osborne is standing 2nd from left; Watts is 6th from left; Greeley is in the second row 7th from left; and Leopold is 3rd from left in the front row. (click to enlarge).

A blood-curdling howl echoes through the forest. The wind suddenly picks up, bringing with it a blanket of thickening smoke. The temperature begins to rise and a red glow shines ominously on the horizon. The howl grows closer, suddenly transforming into loud and unnerving laughter. It can only mean one thing: the Fire Wolf is on the loose.

The Fire Wolf was born at the end of World War II, during an era of rising concern about catastrophic wildfires throughout the western United States. With fire constantly threatening the American timber supply, forest industry groups began to fight back. Education quickly became an important weapon in the industry’s fight. During the 1940s, a deluge of fire prevention messages were dropped on the general public. Contributing to this effort was American Forest Products Industries (AFPI), a research and promotional arm of the lumber and wood products industries (AFPI would later be renamed the American Forest Institute before becoming part of the American Forest & Paper Association in 1992). In addition to their usual work promoting the industry, the folks at AFPI also began running numerous forest fire prevention campaigns during the 1940s. One of these advertising campaigns, first launched in 1945, featured a character known as the Fire Wolf.

Coming on the heels of AFPI’s popular “Woody” character that launched four years earlier, the Fire Wolf was designed to capture the attention of children and adults alike. In contrast with fellow fire prevention symbol Smokey Bear, who premiered a year earlier in 1944, the Fire Wolf was no friend of the forest. Dubbed “Forest Enemy No. 1,” he operated with a modus operandi similar to the Guberif. As presented in various print advertisements, the Fire Wolf—his body literally made of flames—stalked the forest, threatening innocent woodland animals and other wildlife. A crafty creature, he made fast friends with careless smokers and lazy campers. The Fire Wolf welcomed destruction by flame, taking an arsonist’s glee in watching the woods burn. Liked to play with matches? The Fire Wolf was your boy. This big bad wolf wouldn’t just blow your house down, he’d burn it to the ground. No wolf in sheep’s clothing, he’d sooner douse you in gasoline than pull wool over your eyes. Absolutely no one in the vicinity of a forest was safe from his wrath. As the ads declared, “Every creature in the woods is scared to death of the Fire Wolf.”

During his brief heyday in the late 1940s, the Fire Wolf appeared in advertisements throughout the U.S. and Canada (Fire Wolf was given a boost north of the border through the cooperation of the Shawinigan Industries of Canada). Even more so than other forgotten characters, though, his time in the spotlight was incredibly short-lived. Fire Wolf was never able to gain significant traction with the public—especially in the face of the growing popularity of other characters such as Smokey Bear and Woody. His existence only in print ads also limited his impact (as opposed to Woody who made public appearances on behalf of AFPI). Fittingly, the Fire Wolf’s lifespan was that of a match, just a fleeting flame across the national fire prevention scene. In the end, maybe it was better for the Fire Wolf to burn out quickly rather than slowly fading away. In remembrance of his brief but useful career, continue reading for a few selections from the AFPI records and scrapbooks featuring the Fire Wolf in his prime.

Though still little known by the general public today, Peshtigo looms large in forest history and fire history circles. For example, several articles in the Fall 2008 issue of Forest History Today reference Peshtigo as an example of fire in the wildland-urban interface, and one looks at it in the context of wildfire and civil defense.

To mark the 140th anniversary, we have just finished processing a related archival collection, the Peshtigo Fire Centennial Collection, 1970-1990. In 1970, the town held a commemoration event marking the centennial of the fire. The new collection features event programs, commemorative items, publications, letters, newspaper clippings, photographs, and other materials. A few things that caught our eyes were the commemorative stickers and the postage cancellation mark, which you can see on the finding aid page, and a bumper sticker and wooden coins. All materials were kindly donated by Karl W. Baumann.

Peshtigo Centennial bumper sticker (click to enlarge)

Peshtigo Fire commemorative wooden coins

Artist's rendering of Peshtigo Fire approaching a Wisconsin farm (FHS2525).