Parks Popularity

A number of factors conspired to give National Parks unprecedented unpopularity after World War II. The first was the economic prosperity that followed on the heels of the war, prosperity that gave many Americans more purchasing power and free time than they were accustomed to. The second was the proliferation of the automobile. The rise of the car had many profound implications for both nature and the modern environmental movement (a history detailed in Paul Sutter’s Driven Wild), but the fact that more people than ever could afford to drive to the nearest national park meant an exponential increase in visitation.

It is nearly impossible to overstate the massive popularity boost that National Parks enjoyed in the 1950s. These lands are a staple of American tourism today, and this modern status depends on the significance of the 1950s. Sutter notes this near the end of his book, writing, “Visitation to the national parks and national forests grew in the decades after World War II at a pace that made the interwar years look tame by comparison.” Sutter continues, noting that park visitation went from roughly 360,000 to 21 million annually between 1916 and 1941. By 1955, that number was well over 56 million people per year.

Yellowstone in the 1960s. Credit: PBS

The popularity of National Parks areas depended on the expansion of roadways across America. The first road expansion was Eisenhower’s Federal-Aid Highway Act, which established the Interstate Highway System. With a nation-wide network of high-speed roads available, families and individuals could travel further and faster than ever before. Personally, I think Eisenhower’s highway system had a bigger impact on American history than many realize. Millions of people travel on these roads every day, and they are one of several reasons why America often feels like a much smaller nation than it geographically is.

More importantly for the NPS though, the spread of automobiles and interstate highways lead to more roads within National Parks territory as well. For many, countless miles of concrete and asphalt seemed anathema to the idea of natural preservation, but those who led the NPS (namely, director Colin Wirth) proposed and backed these plans. More roads meant that the parks could accommodate more people, and that annual visitor numbers could continue to rise.

Director Wirth proposed a 10-year plan named “Mission 66” to dramatically increase the number of roads within National Parks. Planned to finish in 1966 (the 50th anniversary of the NPS), this plan also called for more staff jobs, increased maintenance budgets, and the construction of visitor centers. However, the roads were the centerpiece of the plan. The Parks Service faced a very real problem of overcrowding in the 1950s. Parks popularity increased before budgets were expanded, and areas like Yosemite in the early 1950s struggled to provide adequate parking, and campground space for the influx of visitors. With this new plan, the service could keep up with its new popularity.

Going to the Sun road. Credit: NPS

New roadways in National Parks territory literally paved the way for more tourism, but also spurred fierce opposition from many environmentalists. In the foreword to Driven Wild, Sutter writes “The combined craft of engineers and landscape architects built roads that have become so famous that they are almost synonymous with the parks in which they are located[.]” This much is undeniably true. Park roads are often beautiful, scenic journeys through truly unique landscapes. However, as Sutter also notes, the mere presence of roadways was problematic in many ways. In their view (and Sutter’s words):

“If wilderness was to be a sanctuary in the modern world for nature untrammeled by humanity, it it was to remain one of the last places on earth where the primitive conditions of the frontier could be experienced at first hand, then the intrusions of automobiles and highways must be resisted at all costs.”

The Sierra Club — now led by environmentalist David Brower — had stood alongside the NPS in the debate over Echo Park, but now opposed Mission 66. Brower quickly became an outspoken critic of the new roads, arguing that they created a “roadside wilderness,” a term he used with contempt. Since these new areas were accessible by road, they were no longer truly “wilderness,” meaning that now, tourists could feel like they had visited nature when they had in reality done nothing more strenuous than a Sunday afternoon drive. Worse still, formerly-pristine lands now reeked of automobile fumes and were dotted with hundreds of cars. Olaus J. Murie, president of the Wilderness Club, also supported Brower, particularly over some of the most controversial roads in Yosemite National Park. By the late 1950s, it was increasingly clear that the NPS and the growing environmental movement were no longer allies.

Preservation and Popularity

The growing rift between environmentalists and the NPS in the late 1950s is more than a historical curiosity — it brings to light some of the fundamental questions behind the Parks service as an entity. Today, the NPS serves two goals: preserving wilderness and making that same wilderness accessible to the public. Usually, these two goals are complementary: it’s easy to take tourists on a hike and show them land that has been preserved and protected for over a century now. However, as historical examples show, these goals can occasionally come into conflict.

The two goals of the NPS have both been enshrined in law as well, meaning that there is no easy way to choose one over the other. The text of the Organic Act, which established the NPS, includes both (italics added): “the fundamental purpose of the said parks, monuments and reservations, which purpose is to conserve the scenery and the natural and historic objects and the wild life therein and to provide for the enjoyment of the same in such manner and by such means as will leave them unimpaired for the enjoyment of future generations.” The two most important words in this excerpt and “conserve” and “enjoy.” The NPS is tasked with ensuring that these lands are protected, but also that they are publicly available. In times when these two goals conflict? There’s no easy answer.

It’s difficult to say who was “right” in the battle between Colin Wirth and environmentalists David Brower and the Sierra Club. Reducing the struggle to these two figures is irresponsible as well, since there were thousands of men and women in the NPS and various conservation groups who had a say in this conflict as well. Perhaps it ultimately doesn’t matter who was right in the end, especially since Mission 66 was largely successful.

This struggle between people and nature is reminiscent of the Civilian Conservation Corp (CCC)’s actions in the 1930s. As Depression-era employees worked on and developed National Parks lands, they were fundamentally changing the surrounding landscape. Franklin Roosevelt’s program gave these young men jobs in a time when employment was near-impossible, but it also foreshadowed Wirth’s attempts to broaden the appeal of NPS lands in the future.

What’s most important about the 1950s for the NPS is this philosophical dilemma the agency found itself in. Even if Wirth knew which side he fell on, the service would continue to struggle with balance between preserving public lands and making them accessible. Both goals are clearly valuable: the preservation of nature for its own sake is important, but so is ensuring that Americans (and visitors) can experience the beauty of this nation’s geography. I’ve long believed that natural landscapes are one of the best reasons to visit America, and the popularity of National Parks over the years backs this idea up.

Soon, I’ll write about how the NPS continued to shift toward promoting public use of its lands. In the 1960s and 1970s, both presidents and Congress worked to meet this goal. Perhaps then, if we are to declare a “winner,” it would be Wirth’s vision for the parks. It wasn’t an easy victory though, and the two philosophical goals of the agency continue to be intertwined to this day.