THE COWBOY PRESIDENT

by Michael F. Blake

  There was an interesting dichotomy in Theodore Roosevelt’s conservation efforts. He would save thousands of acres of land, yet he also built huge dams, such as the Roosevelt Dam in Arizona, for water reclamation. He believed the parched desert areas of the Southwest, with proper water projects, could be used to sustain the area for growing crops, thus making the country self-sustaining, as well as providing goods for trade. Just as he was adamant in saving wild game from destruction but continued to hunt, Theodore’s conservation beliefs were often something of a paradox. Actually, Theodore wanted to take both paths. He saw nothing wrong in carving out an area for a dam that would provide irrigation for hundreds, if not thousands, of acres for growing crops. However, where those dams were built was just as important to him. He would not allow a dam in, or near, an area that would spoil natural beauty. It may seem self-serving on his part as to where he approved dams to be located, but in Theodore’s mind, he felt he knew best, rarely altering his opinion. He wanted farmers to thrive, to grow fields of wheat, corn, fruits, and vegetables. Theodore embraced the vision of the spring planting, a wide wheat field shimmering in the summer sun, and the fall harvest of crops. It was one of the things he believed was best about America—that a man could plant crops in a field and see his efforts pay off with a healthy harvest, allowing him to be independent.

  Just as he wanted farmers and cattlemen to thrive, he also wanted to protect the land from developers, who were interested only in immediate profit and not the future. To allow a railroad to traverse through Yellowstone National Park was unthinkable to Theodore, just as it was to cut the trees down in the area for profit, or hunt the animals for only their hides. Developers didn’t care about the potential damage their projects would bring decades later. It wasn’t their land; they didn’t live there. To the lumbermen, trees were simply a means to an end. Cut them down and collect the money. They cared little about the environment or the animals that needed forests to survive. Where was the immediate, practical profit in protecting trees for birds, ground squirrels, or a doe and its fawn?

  The same mentality was found in the mining companies that wanted to dig in what they called the “Big Ditch” in northern Arizona Territory. To them, the minerals in the rocks of the Grand Canyon were all that mattered. Majestic beauty? It was a wide hole in the ground. The minerals would make them money. The land above what became Wind Cave National Park could be useful for lumber, farming, or building a town. What was a cave worth? What could it possibly provide for this country? Who cared about the cliff dwellings of some long-forgotten tribe? What did a petrified forest matter, except to chip and sell the remains as souvenirs?

  The land became one of Theodore’s biggest battlegrounds. He would lead the fight to protect American lands and native animals. It is interesting that, during his first term, he took small steps in creating forest reserves and national parks. Knowing that he had stepped into the presidency by default, he was cautious about taking big strides in preserving lands. The majority of his preservation actions happened after he was reelected on his own terms.

  The first forest reserve he chose was not within the United States but rather Puerto Rico. In January 1903, he created the Luquillo National Forest Reserve, setting aside 28,000 acres of rain forest. (In 1907 it was renamed Luquillo National Forest.) Some historians have speculated that Theodore chose this location for his first forest reserve so as not to panic the pro-timber Republicans and their contributors. He created another national forest, White River, in Colorado in May 1904, prior to his reelection. Crater Lake in Oregon and Wind Cave in South Dakota became national parks in May 1902 and January 1903, respectively.

  The “Great Loop Tour of 1903” was an affirmation of Theodore’s desire to carry out his plan to protect the land and its wildlife. The expansive train trip, the first by any sitting president, made many stops where he delivered speeches on various subjects, including conservation. (After all, he was running for reelection the following year.)35 After a two-week rest in Yellowstone, Theodore’s schedule had him stopping at St. Louis (dedicating the Louisiana Purchase Exposition Grounds), then crossing the prairies of Nebraska and Kansas to the Grand Canyon, and on to California and Yosemite.

  Theodore wanted to shoot a mountain lion in Yellowstone, hoping to reduce the population, but came to realize that mountain lions were valuable in thinning out the park’s elk herds to reasonable numbers. On this trip, the only shooting of animals would be done with his camera.36 Close friends since 1889, John Burroughs, the noted naturalist, and Theodore shared a love for the outdoors and birds. Invited by Theodore to come “see” Yellowstone, Burroughs quickly accepted. He later stated, “I knew nothing about big game, but I knew there was no man in the country with whom I should so like to see it as Roosevelt.”37

  Burroughs recalled that as the train made its way across the country, they saw a small schoolhouse not far from the train tracks, with the teacher and her students lined up to see the president go by. Spotting the group, Theodore jumped from the lunch table and rushed to the rear platform, waving to the children as the train passed them. Theodore told Burroughs the children wanted to see the president and he couldn’t disappoint them. “They may never have another chance. What a deep impression such things make when we are young,” he said.38

  Reporters, Secret Service agents, Theodore’s physician, and his secretary were all left behind in Gardiner, Montana. Theodore wanted none of the trappings that went with the office of the president around him. As Burroughs noted, the president “craved once more to be alone with nature.” Theodore wanted to walk alone in the park, refusing Maj. John Pitcher’s request to send an orderly along with him. After an eighteen-mile hike by himself, Theodore walked briskly back into camp.39

  With only a few guides accompanying them, Theodore and Burroughs spent hours walking through the fields and along the riverbanks, soaking up the vastness and majesty that is Yellowstone. From April 8 to 24, Theodore and Burroughs observed buffalo and elk herds, the various geysers and mud pots. They kept themselves busy identifying the various birds by their songs or colors. “I found his interest in bird life very keen,” Burroughs wrote, “and his eye and ear remarkably quick.”40 As impressed with Yellowstone as he was, Burroughs was equally impressed by Theodore’s encyclopedic knowledge of the area’s flora and fauna. “Nothing escaped him, from bears to mice, from wild geese to chickadees, from elk to red squirrels; he took it all in,” the naturalist commented. He was also impressed by the way Theodore treated the men and women of the West, giving himself “very freely and heartily” to people wherever he went. Burroughs observed Theodore easily matched their “Western cordiality and good-fellowship.”41

  On the last day of their visit to Yellowstone, April 24, Theodore laid the cornerstone for the archway at the park’s northern entrance, known today as the Roosevelt Arch. Standing thirty feet tall, the inscription above the archway reads “For the Benefit and Enjoyment of the People.” Speaking to a crowd of 3,500 people, Theodore commented, “The Yellowstone Park is something absolutely unique in the world, so far as I know. Nowhere else in any civilized country is there to be found such a tract of veritable wonderland made accessible to all visitors, where at the same time not only the scenery of the wilderness, but the wild creatures of the Park are scrupulously preserved . . . The creation and preservation of such a great natural playground in the interest of our people as a whole is a credit to the nation.”42

  Reluctantly bidding good-bye to Yellowstone and Burroughs the following day, Theodore continued on the train for St. Louis. Traveling through South Dakota, he and Seth Bullock managed to find time to ride horses over some of the Black Hills Forest Reserve, as well as share a chuck-wagon meal with locals before heading east. In St. Louis, he was reunited with former president Grover Cleveland, where the two men participated in the World’s Fair ceremonies. As his train headed west, Theodore made stops in Iowa, Nebraska, and Kansas, where a young girl gifted him with a baby badger she named Josiah. Th
e child and the gift delighted Theodore no end, and Josiah became part of the expanding White House menagerie.43

  Its length is 277 miles, it is up to 18 miles wide, and it has a depth of more than 1 mile. It is estimated that the Colorado River, which runs through it, began its course nearly 17 million years ago. The river has, over time, exposed nearly 2 billion years of the Earth’s geological history. The oldest human artifact found in the area dates back 12,000 years, and the region has been continuously inhabited and occupied since then. Many describe it as massive, grand, majestic, or beautiful; some locals sarcastically call it “the Big Ditch.” Others say nothing—they simply stare at its expanse.

  It is the Grand Canyon.

  Theodore arrived on May 6, 1903, and was instantly left speechless by his first glimpse. The Grand Canyon is so vast that no one can grasp all of its wonders in a day, or even a week. There is nothing like it in the world. Prior to this visit, Theodore had only heard of the Grand Canyon, or read about it (especially John Wesley Powell’s trips down the Colorado River), or seen Thomas Moran’s paintings. Now the child in him was filled with delight, awe, and fascination. Theodore’s ever-inquisitive thirst for knowledge filled him with hundreds of questions dying to be answered. He later called the Grand Canyon “the most wonderful scenery in the world.”

  His visit to the canyon was brief, about twelve hours, which did not allow him the time he wanted to truly inspect it. However, it made an impression upon him that he never forgot. He would take steps to see that the Grand Canyon became a national park. Speaking to a group of local people on the south rim of the canyon, Theodore urged them to do their duty in preserving this place of wonderment:

  In the Grand Canyon, Arizona has a natural wonder which, so far as I know, is in kind absolutely unparalleled throughout the rest of the world. I want to ask you to do one thing in connection with it in your own interest and in the interest of the country—to keep this great wonder of nature as it now is . . . I hope you will not have a building of any kind, not a summer cottage, a hotel or anything else, to mar the wonderful grandeur, the sublimity, the great loneliness and beauty of the canyon. Leave it as it is. You cannot improve on it. The ages have been at work on it, and man can only mar it. Keep it for your children and your children’s children and all who come after you as one of the great sights which every American if he can travel at all should see.44

  His train headed west to California, through the Mojave Desert and the citrus-filled San Bernardino Valley. He spoke in Redlands, Los Angeles, and then made his way up the Pacific Coast. Stopping in Santa Cruz, he gave a short speech before heading to the Big Tree Grove of sequoias. Gazing at the massive growths that lifted to the sky, he was disturbed that name placards (such as “Uncle John,” “Old Fremont,” and “Giant”) had been placed on the trees. He felt it demeaned them, and made his feelings quickly known, even when it was announced that a tree would be named after him. Theodore would accept the tribute under one condition: that no sign ever be posted on it. He believed the sequoia grove was one of God’s great cathedrals, and asked to be left alone, walking among these giants in isolation. When he returned, all the placards had been removed from the trees.45

  After speaking in Berkeley (where he gave the commencement speech at University of California, Berkeley), Oakland, and San Francisco, Theodore’s train arrived on May 15 in the small town of Raymond, the nearest location with a rail line for anyone wishing to visit Yosemite. Before giving a brief speech to the waiting crowd, Theodore and the Sierra Club’s John Muir met in his private car. Muir, realizing he had an opportunity to do “some good in talking freely around the campfire” with Theodore, postponed a trip abroad to accompany Theodore “out in the open.”

  Boarding a passenger stage (travel by stagecoach or horseback was the only way into Yosemite from Raymond), Theodore sat up front with the driver, while Muir sat behind the president, pointing out various sites. After a lunch at the Wawona Hotel, the group traveled to the Mariposa Grove of sequoia trees, home to some of the oldest redwoods in the state. Posing with Muir and other dignitaries next to the “Grizzly Giant,” Theodore bade farewell to the cavalry officers who had accompanied him from Raymond, as well as other dignitaries, his staff, and the press. While others expected Theodore to return to the Wawona Hotel for a dinner in his honor, he had other plans. Accompanied by guides Archie Leonard and Charles Leidig, he and John Muir disappeared into the Mariposa Grove, where they camped for the night under the Grizzly Giant, much to the frustration of visiting dignitaries waiting at the hotel. “We lay down in the darkening aisles of the great Sequoia grove. The majestic trunks, beautiful in color and in symmetry, rose round us like the pillars of a mightier cathedral than [was] ever conceived even by the fervor of the Middle Ages,” Theodore recalled in his autobiography.46 (The Grizzly Giant, the oldest tree in the area, is estimated to be between 1,900 and 2,400 years old.)

  As the sun broke over their camp, Theodore instructed Charles Leidig to “keep away from civilization.” Saddling up, they left Mariposa Grove and headed down Lightning Trail, then crossed the South Fork at Greeley’s before switching to the Empire Meadows Trail, where they had lunch. The group encountered snow as they crossed toward Sentinel Dome, with each man taking turns carving a trail through the heavy snow, which at times was nearly five feet deep. Reaching Glacier Point, they were greeted with blowing wind and snow. Once they got their camp set up, Muir built a bonfire and talked endlessly about his glacial theory.47 (The bonfire was needed, as it snowed five inches overnight, much to Theodore’s delight.) The following morning, as they were about to pose for what has become an iconic photograph of the duo, Theodore told Muir that he believed the Yosemite Valley should become part of the park.48

  Making their way down from Glacier Point, they encountered a crowd of women who lined the road waiting to see the president, effectively blocking the group’s passage. Theodore, clearly not happy at the crowd, asked Leidig for help. His guide tapped the spurs into his horse’s flanks and the animal took off at a gallop, quickly parting the group. Theodore doffed his hat and waved at the ladies as he rode by. Muir suggested a campsite in Bridalveil Meadows, not far from the falls.49 Onlookers followed and Leidig asked them to please leave the president alone, as he was very tired. As the sightseers quietly left, Theodore told Leidig he was “hungry as hell.”50 (During the trip, Theodore consumed healthy amounts of chicken-fried steak and strong black coffee.) A stage arrived in the morning, collecting Theodore and Muir for the ride back to his train. Anyone within earshot of Theodore was regaled with stories of his grand time in the outdoors, even sleeping in a snowstorm. (“We were in a snowstorm last night, and it was just what I wanted.”) As his train slowly made its way back to Washington, he waxed on about the wonders of Yellowstone and Yosemite.

  Theodore and Muir may seem to be an odd couple if there ever was one, but the two men got along famously, despite Muir’s disinterest in animals and birds. One interesting story from the three-day trip happened up on Glacier Point. Sitting before the bonfire, Muir took a burning branch and placed it on a dead pine tree. The lifeless timber was quickly engulfed and lit up the area like a huge candle. Muir broke out into a jig, dancing around the flaming tree, and Theodore quickly joined him. They were like two little boys on an adventure, sharing their joy of the land in a childlike manner. Theodore commented that the dead tree was a candle that took five hundred years to make, adding “Hurrah for Yosemite!”51 The love they had for the land was obvious, and Theodore’s first visit to the famous park did more than open his eyes. It spurred his desire to conserve more land for the public and the wildlife.

  In addition to establishing federal bird and forest reserves, national parks, and national monuments, Theodore helped to create the Bronx Zoo. Theodore and William Hornaday, a noted zoologist and author, sponsored a program to breed buffalo in captivity at the zoo to save the species from extinction. (By 1889 only 1,091 buffalo remained either in the wild or in captivity.52)


  In the spring of 1905, Theodore traveled to San Antonio, Texas, for a reunion with his beloved Rough Riders. (This was the reunion that Pat Garrett and Tom Powers attended.) From there, he traveled to Oklahoma Territory for two reasons: to scout an area for a future buffalo reserve, and to visit Jack “Catch ’em Alive” Abernathy.

  The Wichita Mountains are located in the southwestern portion of what is now the state of Oklahoma. About 330 to 290 million years ago, an upheaval occurred, establishing mountains that eventually were worn down by erosion to their current height (400 to 1,000 feet). The land is a combination of forest, rock outcroppings, and mixed grassland, and was an area the buffalo had once called home.53 After inspecting the mountains firsthand, Theodore believed the region could support a herd for reintroduction onto the Southern Plains. His administration set aside 60,800 acres in the Wichita Mountains, officially protecting all wildlife from hunters.

  Jack Abernathy was an authentic Texan, having worked as a cowboy and a bronc buster. He was plainspoken, direct, and just the type of man Theodore would gravitate to. Abernathy gained notoriety by jumping off his horse and tussling a wolf to the ground bare-handed, earning him the nickname “Catch ’em Alive Jack.” Abernathy would jam his fist (wearing a glove, of course) into the back of the wolf ’s jaw, which would make the animal perfectly passive. He would then wire its muzzle closed and tie its feet. It was something Theodore had to see in person.