Ansel Adams

by Ansel Adams

  My family was apolitical. I think my mother and aunt leaned to the right and my father and I teetered to the left. Aunt Mary considered William McKinley one of the greatest Americans; she had a lifelong crush on him. I admit he could have been a charming uncle and he was handsome, according to his photographs, but I never discovered what he accomplished other than having an Alaskan mountain and national park named after him. I was pleased when the park’s name was recently changed to Denali, the original Indian name of the great Alaskan mountain, Mount McKinley.

  I took very little interest in politics until the 1930s when I became involved with the Sierra Club. My political activity has continued to be related primarily to conservation problems.

  To my regret I never met Franklin Delano Roosevelt. I photographed him at a distance in Yosemite and was nearly nailed by a Secret Service agent who mistook my Contax telephoto lens for something else. Once in New York City, I was given a front row seat when he spoke at the Museum of Natural History. I witnessed how difficult and painful it was for him to move across the stage on the arm of his son and how vigorous and forthright he appeared as he stood at the podium and delivered a strong plea for conservation in his inimitable voice. He was a wily and brilliant politician who made great cabinet appointments.

  During the Great Depression, a vast number of American citizens turned toward leftist philosophy, and often with good reason. My friends and I signed numerous petitions on behalf of Jeffersonian Democracy, antifascist propaganda, and so on. In retrospect, many of these were undoubtedly Communist inspired. It soon became evident that the party was both determined and dumb; even the type used to print their widely distributed circulars was always the same—a giveaway of the source. The extreme right took advantage of this vibration of opinion, leading to the dreadful McCarthy period: the first time I doubted the integrity of the American system.

  In the mid 1940s my old friend Bertha Pope Damon sold her beautiful Berkeley home to Dr. Robert Oppenheimer of Los Alamos fame. He was an extraordinarily intelligent and gentle man who did not allow the hysteria of the time to spoil friendships and scientific associations because of differences in political or social beliefs. At a transfer-of-house celebration, Bertha gave a lively party to which she invited both her friends and the Oppenheimers’ friends. People of all description attended; I knew only a few and was casually introduced to many—names and faces that could never be remembered the next morning.

  At this same time, McCarthy and his supporters were questioning Oppenheimer’s loyalty. After the party, Bertha received visits from the FBI asking for the guest list. She provided her own, but the Oppenheimers had sent invitations to their choice of guests. Bertha could name only a few, who were established residents of Berkeley. The FBI interviewed party guests, including me, several times. The same questions were received with the same answers, “I honestly cannot remember.” Even after Oppenheimer was relieved of security clearance, the search went on.

  During the McCarthy era there was a sour taste of evil in the air, an unsettling distortion of our American principles of justice. The rumblings that shuddered out of Washington were picked up in all parts of the country; friend turned against friend; reputations were destroyed; the Gestapo spirit was alive in all levels of society. Artists, writers, philosophers, and scientists were the prime targets. There was a conspiracy against freedom and imagination that was ruthlessly directed against liberal thought and belief.

  On frequent trips to New York in the 1940s, I had become a member of the Photo League, a loose-knit organization of professional and amateur photographers. The Photo League held lively discussions, lectures, and exhibitions, published a newsletter, and ran a school of photography. Most of the New York photographers of consequence at that time were involved: the great documentary photographer W. Eugene Smith, Paul Strand, Philippe Halsman, Eliot Elisofon, the Newhalls.

  Begun in 1936, the League sprang from the philosophy that art can and should be used to effect social change. Included among the diverse membership were people with ties to various socialist and Communist groups. By the late 1940s, however, the membership had expanded and the programs of the League embraced many aspects of photography, moving far beyond its use as a political tool.

  In the McCarthy years, the League was placed on the Red List of the House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC). At my last meeting I rose to beg the League to renounce all ties to Communism. To HUAC you were either a Commie or you were not. I pleaded that photography should be an instrument of expression, interpretation, and truth: for the Photo League to continue we would have to depoliticize, which certainly would not hurt photography. All I ever received in reply was a protest that our Bill of Rights was being threatened. I resigned from the League because I refused to be associated with Communism, even in the name of freedom of choice.

  After my resignation, I received a letter from Gene Smith, which summed up my feelings as well as his.

  December 22, 1951

  Dear Ansel,

  First, I do appreciate your note about Spanish Village, and am humbly grateful that you did like it, for in the respect I have for you, I value your opinion very highly. Thank you very much. It is a letter I shall keep.

  Since the Photo League is no longer in existence, I see little need to go too deeply into it. There is no doubt some of the members were Communist, I do not believe this made it a subversive organization, nor do I believe its reason for existence was to serve the Communist party. While I was serving as president, during a meeting in which we were trying to determine, “what next program for the Photo League,” a small group of extremists did try to take over. They did not succeed and all dropped out of the League. On the other hand, I believe that many young idealists went along with the Communist theory of government, with absolutely no desire or inclination to overthrow the government, and are excellent U.S. citizens.

  Experiences like mine with the Nurse Midwife (recent LIFE) and an understanding of her situation, her medical problems, the failure, the lack of effort of the Medical Association to do anything to improve conditions, makes me realize more fully that in certain instances there has to be a great deal of change, and if the proper groups do not see to their own responsibilities, then the government, in spite of its waste motion and sometimes incompetence and sometimes graft, will have to take over the responsibility.… I would love to find a good “Smith” story to do in California, for I have never photographed there. I would also like to see you again.

  Sincerely,

  Gene Smith

  Throughout the Eisenhower and Kennedy administrations, my political energies were centered upon Sierra Club concerns in California. I did become acquainted with Lyndon Johnson, an impressive figure. Twice I had good talks with him at the White House and found him to be sharply intelligent and concerned about our natural and human resources. When he pressed the flesh of the multitude, he looked each person squarely in the eye and held the proffered hand for a brief moment, giving an impression of personal concern and confidence.

  In 1965 President and Mrs. Johnson asked Nancy Newhall and me to prepare a book, A More Beautiful America, that was to reflect his interest in the environment. Opposite my photographs, we printed excerpts that we had selected from his speeches, such as:

  It is not just the classic conservation of protection and development, but a creative conservation of restoration and innovation. Its concern is not with nature alone, but with the total relation between man and the world around him. Its object is not just man’s welfare but the dignity of his spirit. Above all, we must maintain the chance for contact with beauty. When that chance dies, a light dies in all of us. It is our children who will bear the burden of our neglect. We owe it to them to keep that from happening. For once the battle is lost, once our natural splendor is destroyed, it can never be recaptured. And once man can no longer walk with beauty or wonder at nature, his spirit will wither and his sustenance be wasted.

  Environmental concepts were not as s
harply defined twenty-five years ago as now, and I am happy to add my praise for what both President and Mrs. Johnson accomplished for conservation. Although his presidency was tragically flawed by his decision to escalate dramatically our involvement in Vietnam, Johnson displayed genius in domestic policy through his landmark legislation of the Great Society.

  In 1974 the important art dealer Harry Lunn, who had supported and promoted my work for many years, presented a copy of my new book, Images 1923–1974, to President and Mrs. Gerald Ford. The Fords loved the book and requested a print of their favorite photograph, Clearing Winter Storm, for display in the White House. Bill Turnage and I visited President Ford early in 1975 to present him with a print of this image. President Ford was most cordial and attentive, and he exuded a sense of trust and responsibility. I was deeply concerned with the deterioration of our national parks under the Nixon administration and so I presented the President with this memorandum.

  NEW INITIATIVES

  FOR THE NATIONAL PARKS

  1. Redefinition of the meaning of parks, and the basic purposes of the system.

  2. A Presidential Commission to thoroughly study and modernize the organization, personnel, and attitudes of the National Park System.

  3. A major review of concessions policy and management, developing non-profit, public trustee foundations as the optimum approach to best serving the public and the parks.

  4. Reduction of man’s physical impact on prime areas such as Yosemite Valley and replacement of automobiles by alternative transportation systems in most parks and monuments.

  5. New emphasis on preservation and environmental responsibilities. Improved park interpretation, stressing natural values and contemporary awareness.

  6. Improved National Park Service performance in realizing and expanding compliance with the Wilderness Act.

  7. Urgent Presidential intervention to prevent any Office of Management and Budget reductions in proposed Park Service Budget and staffing levels.

  8. Presidential level review of all areas of future park or reserve potential. This generation may have the last chance to save essential lands for future generations.

  After our discussions, we walked a bit beyond the Oval Office to the area of the swimming pool, paced by a large group of reporters and photographers who kept their distance. Betty Ford invited us to lunch and we had a sparkling informal visit as was reported by Marjorie Hunter in The New York Times on January 28, 1975.

  After meeting with the President, Mr. Adams joined Mrs. Ford for a full tour of the White House, including the family’s living quarters.

  It was the kind of tour that few visitors get—and the kind of frankness that few guides display.

  Escorting him into the private family dining room, Mrs. Ford eyed the wallpaper with its battle scenes and confessed, “I find it disquieting to eat in there. It’s like watching a war going on all the time.”

  In a tiny sitting room adjoining the Lincoln bedroom, Mrs. Ford observed that this was the room where President Nixon often secluded himself to listen to music.

  Opening a closet door, she said, “And here’s where he played his tapes.” Then, laughing, she corrected herself: “I mean his records.”

  Mrs. Ford also showed Mr. Adams a private family room where the President keeps his Exercycle and barbells for early morning workouts.

  On top of a cabinet in one corner rested an old leather helmet that the President had worn as a football player at the University of Michigan in the early nineteen-thirties.

  “Go on, Ansel, try it on,” said David Hume Kennerly, the President’s personal photographer, who had arranged the meeting with the Fords.

  “No, no,” Mr. Adams replied, smiling. “You can’t wear another man’s crown.”

  In June 1977, the President phoned and asked if I had a place for his daughter, Susan, in my Ansel Adams Workshop, which was then still held in Yosemite. A photographer with a promising eye, she easily fit into the group, Secret Service and all.

  I saw the Fords several more times and, after he left office, they came to lunch at our home. It was gratifying to observe how Americans in the highest posts can remain so warm and human even as the restrictions and responsibilities of office intrude upon them.

  In 1980, I was surprised and delighted to hear that President Carter wished to present me the Presidential Medal of Freedom. It was a gala ceremony, conducted with superior taste and quality throughout. Practically all of the first floor of the White House was occupied with beautifully set circular tables, and the lunch and service were as fine as one could find anywhere. Earlier, the ceremony itself had been held outdoors before an audience of relatives and friends. Each recipient was escorted to the platform by a member of the armed forces, glistening in full-dress splendor. Seated on the platform, we awaited the President, who arrived, full of charm and vigor, made a few remarks, and then proceeded to bestow each medal. I was in interesting company, including Admiral Rickover, Tennessee Williams, Eudora Welty, and Beverly Sills. As the others before me, at the President’s request I rose and walked to the podium to listen as the citation was read; then the President placed the medal about my neck and ended with a cordial handshake. It was all very exciting and euphoric. My citation reads:

  At one with the power of the American landscape, and renowned for the patient skill and timeless beauty of his work, photographer Ansel Adams has been visionary in his efforts to preserve this country’s wild and scenic areas, both on film and on Earth. Drawn to the beauty of nature’s monuments, he is regarded by environmentalists as a monument himself, and by photographers as a national institution. It is through his foresight and fortitude that so much of America has been saved for future Americans.

  Jimmy Carter

  I feel Carter represented the presidency very well indeed. He was unfortunate with some of his appointees and had more than his share of bad luck. Carter was an honorable man, but proved no match for the Reagan Machine at reelection time.

  My experience with Ronald Reagan was negative from the start. As I write, he is in the fourth year of his first and, hopefully, last term of office in the White House. This character has been a persistent source of concern for millions of Americans since he was elected governor of California. As governor he was remote, except to the favored few. I believe he did chiefly what he was advised or ordered to do by the wealthy ruling factions to which he was so beholden. Big Business is smugly in the saddle and the economy is fed all the oats. “Man does not live by bread alone” was not a part of Reagan’s political stable. He has little or no personal interest in the environment or its protection. “If you have seen one redwood tree you have seen them all” has become a symbol of his basic attitude.

  I have been outspoken in my opposition to Reagan and what he stands for and in my interview for Playboy magazine in their May 1983 issue, I pulled no punches. Playboy is a strange mixture of content that is unique and provocative. I debated very carefully their request for an interview, because the magazine as a whole is grossly sexist. However, its respected interviews touch varied facets of contemporary American life and reach an audience with whom I have rarely come in contact. Interviewers David and Vicki Sheff were well prepared and conducted nineteen hours of taped dialogue over a two-week period. At one point they asked:

  PLAYBOY: You were instrumental in getting photography accepted as an art at museums and universities. Almost half a century later, do you think it is accepted as legitimate art?

  ADAMS: For the most part, but there are still people who are hard to convince, I’m afraid. There is a peculiar animosity between painters and photographers. University budgets are being cut, so painters in an art department will argue that they deserve more than the photography department, on the grounds that photography is a lesser art. It’s crazy. Well, that’s a typical result of all the budget cuts. (Lifts his martini) Thank you, Mr. Reagan. (Under his breath) I’d like to drown him in here! (Laughs) Oh, my! That went on tape. To the FBI, if you’re listening
: That was only a figure of speech. He wouldn’t fit into my martini.

  Comments such as these apparently stirred the White House. In early June I received a telephone call from Reagan’s assistant, Mike Deaver, who said, “The President would like to meet with you and discuss why you dislike him.” My assistant, Mary Alinder, thought that the call must be a hoax and phoned the White House, where Deaver confirmed that the invitation was for real. I questioned whether it would be worth my while to meet with Reagan; I doubted if he would really listen. Why dispute with mosquitoes when the skies are filled with the angels of light? But I realized here was no mosquito, but a person who holds man’s fate in his hands; and so I accepted and the appointment was made for one-fifteen P.M., June 30, at the President’s Suite in the Beverly-Wilshire Hotel in Los Angeles.

  Since assuming office, Reagan had not met with even one major environmental leader. I felt the meeting to be a huge responsibility, since I must represent the concerns of so very many people. Priorities were buzzing in my head; I had tried to bring myself up to date and had The Wilderness Society’s Watt Book for reference. This four-inch-thick volume was composed of many authenticated documents, hearings, and addresses, and it served well in providing substance to my very strong antipathy to James Watt, then Secretary of the Interior and one of the most dangerous government officials in history.

  The President was very cordial and made warm comments about my work (appreciated), then he said, “Mr. Adams, I feel we have a lot in common. I consider myself an environmentalist!” (not appreciated). He talked at considerable length about his accomplishments in conservation while governor of California. Part of my mind was absorbing this news and the other part was frantically trying to rearrange my priorities, because I had been told I could expect no more than fifteen minutes with him and he had already provided a monologue of that length. While I did have time to present my views, a tension persisted until the meeting’s end, fifty-five minutes later!