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.

###

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).

Secretary of Agriculture Clifford Hardin, Mrs. Hardin, and USFS Chief Edward Cliff introduce the birthday bird, Woodsy Owl. (Courtesy of Chuck Williams)

We won’t bore you with the details of how he came to be. You can learn that at this blog post. Instead, we’ll share the original September 15, 1971 news announcement of his arrival below.

Click to read PDF of full press release announcing Woodsy Owl's debut.

Let the festivities begin! You might start by putting on your Woodsy t-shirt to go out and throw your Woodsy flying disc. Don’t have one, you say? You can order them here. In his honor, please throw birdseed instead of confetti. We wouldn’t want to litter on the Little Guy’s birthday.

Harry Gisborne, aka, "Gis"

Gisborne’s work and career are well documented: born in Vermont in 1893, he graduated from the University of Michigan’s School of Forestry in 1917 and then briefly worked in Oregon as a timber cruiser before serving in World War I with the Tenth Engineers. He returned home and held a succession of research and staff positions before being assigned to the Northern Rocky Mountain Forest Experiment Station at Priest River, Idaho, in 1922. He quickly established a personal creed that guided his career and work: research was useless unless it addressed real problems and could produce results for immediate application. He spoke frequently with field foresters to understand “real problems” and turned out inventions, findings, and data that lived up to that creed. The fire danger meter he invented in 1939 led to the development of the National Fire Danger Rating System and made possible advances in understanding of fire meteorology, weather and lightning forecasting, fuel types and fuel moisture content, and fire behavior. Though the research data came from local sites near Priest River, his work had a national and even international impact.

This Fire Danger Meter Type 8-W is in the National Fire Danger Rating System Collection.

Gis’s many coworkers described him as sarcastic, outspoken, irascible, “and nearly as demanding of perfection from others as he was of himself. And yet, he inspired a legacy of devotion and fond memories that is truly remarkable…,” according to his biographer Mike Hardy (the biography, published by the U.S. Forest Service, is available through Google Books.) Gisborne himself said he was the burr under their tails that motivated them to do their best for him and science.

World War II brought a pause in his research and a corresponding drop in funds. But both accelerated after the war ended. The Forest Service’s obsession with fighting all fires under the 10 a.m. policy, which Gisborne opposed, ironically meant more funding and tools at his disposal. Surplus aircraft enabled experiments in aerial fire fighting and experiments in cloud seeding.

Ultimately, Gisborne’s hard-driving nature would lead to his demise and also forever link him to the tragic incident at Mann Gulch. Following the death of 13 smokejumpers and a forest guard in the August 1949 Mann Gulch fire, the Forest Service wanted to understand what happened there. Gisborne read all available reports on the incident before visiting the site on November 9, 1949. He wanted to walk through the burned area to see things for himself but was advised not to go into the rugged valley because of poor health. He collapsed there and died. Some say that he’s the 14th victim of the Mann Gulch fire.

The Harry Gisborne memorial marker in Mann Gulch is the first one encountered as you hike in from the Missouri River. (Courtesy of the author)

This marker stands at the spot where he died. But that’s not where Gisborne wanted to spend eternity. He had left instructions and a photo in his desk drawer indicating where he wanted his ashes spread—on a mountain near Priest River. A year later, the mountain was renamed in his honor and a brass memorial marker placed. It declares him a “Pioneer in Forest Fire Research.” Indeed, he was the last of that field’s pioneers and one of its greatest.

FHS has many resources on Harry Gisborne and his fire research. Most are found on our “U.S. Forest Service Fire Research” page. The National Fire Danger Rating System Collection holds materials collected between 1911 and 2004.

To learn more about Harry Gisborne, watch this film “short” from “The Greatest Good” documentary.

The records of the American Tree Farm System document the important history of tree farming in the U.S. The collection includes organizational records, press clippings, correspondence, inspection and certification records, publications, records of awards and conventions, and numerous photographs and slides of ATFS events and activities, as well as films of educational programming and public service announcements by famous tree farmers such as Andy Griffith. A complete inventory of the ATFS Collection is now available online.

Researchers interested in the ATFS will also want to explore related collections at FHS such as the records of the American Forest Institute and the National Forest Products Association. For more background information and access to additional historic documents on tree farming in the U.S., visit our new ATFS history page: www.foresthistory.org/ATFS.

Below you will find a few highlights from the American Tree Farm System Collection.

Smokey Bear making an appearance at a tree farmer certification ceremony.

1942 letter discussing the emerging tree farm standards.

Early tree farm advertisement.

A promotional tree farming pamphlet.

Artist rendering of a proposed American Tree Farm System hot air balloon.

Another rendering of proposed hot air balloon.

Commemorative Domino's Tree Farm (Michigan) baseball bat.

Color slide image of a Tree Farm cake.

One of the celebrity public service announcements found in the collection:

The trail was built by the Pulaski Project. The project was a substantial undertaking; researchers and archeologists had to first determine where the tunnel was; then came construction of the trail and installation of the signs in rugged country. Many thanks go to all of those who worked on the Pulaski Project.

The trailhead is just south of Wallace and the trail is a two-mile, mostly uphill, hike. Along the way you’ll find interpretive signs describing the Big Blowup and its aftermath, and about “Big Ed” and his life. (All photos are copyright James G. Lewis.)

The first few hundred yards are paved but then it's compacted dirt the rest of the way. It's a beautiful if slightly challenging hike because of the elevation change.

This the first sign along the trail. The trailhead is marked by posts with Pulaski tools on them.

To read the text on any of the signs, please click on the photo.

The trail runs along and above Placer Creek.

You've only started. There's lots more to see after the jump.

You're not on the trail very long before you see a reminder of what happened in 1910.

This sign dispels the myth that Ed Pulaski was a direct descendent of an American Revolution hero. When you see his obituary later, you'll notice that that's the first thing they noted about him.

The Big Burn wasn't the only fire going on that summer. There were fires throughout the U.S. all year long.

This cedar snag is a remnant of the 1910 fire. It's marked with a sign and is right along the trail.

The map shows the extent to which the smoke and debris affected the atmosphere over much of the U.S.

For much of the trail, there are no signs to read, no signs of what happened. Just the sounds of the murmuring creek and of insects and birds.

After 2 miles, you get to a loop that overlooks the tunnel itself. The signs here tell more about what happened as well as the work involved in restoring the site and a discussion of fire policy history.

There's also a place for folks to sit and gather if they're on a group hike or tour. It's needed after the long walk uphill. Hope you brought enough snacks and water for everybody.

The use of Pulaski's letters on the signs help bring the story to life.

Pulaski knew of the tunnel because he'd worked as a miner in the area.

This photo was taken about a month after the fire.

This blog post has a photo of the posts mentioned in the sign just before they were installed last summer. Also note the photo of the tunnel opening on the sign.

From the stone wall, you can see the tunnel opening from the high embankment. It's not advisable (nor is it easy) to climb down there.

The opening is about 6 feet tall and 4 feet wide at its widest. Once I saw the size of the opening, I understood why Pulaski tried to hang wet blankets over the opening to block the smoke.

This is one of three memorial markers in the Wallace area commemorating the dead firefighters. This one is at the tunnel overlook. The story of the markers is told on the first sign at the trailhead.

Ed Pulaski's story quickly made him a legend.

In case you were wondering, some of the photos used in the signs are recreations. The one at lower left is not. Sometimes Pulaski is incorrectly identified as one of the men in it.

As you come around the loop to the main trail, you'll see these two signs. Note the Pulaski tools on either side. Close-ups of the signs are below.

What the sign doesn't tell you about Pulaski is that the Forest Service never paid any of his medical expenses or reimbursed him for all the work he did on memorial for the dead crewmen in town, nor did he make (or want to make) money off of the tool that bears his name.

Ed Pulaski's injuries from the fire plagued him the rest of his life.

This sign does a good job of summarizing 100 years of the evolution of federal fire policy.

When I came around the loop and onto the main trail, I spotted Bullwinkle on his evening stroll. He doesn't look pleased to find me on his trail.

A lone sentinel stands watch over the trail.

Cal Green was a child of the popular “Keep Green” fire prevention campaign of the mid-twentieth century. Not to be confused with the jazz guitarist, the boxer, or the California Green Building Standards Code, Cal Green was a short-lived symbol of the California timber industry, as well as a regional figure in the growing national forest fire prevention movement. His existence may have been fleeting, but Cal nonetheless represents an important chapter in the history of forest-related organization on the state level.

Cal’s lineage can be traced back to May 31, 1940, when Washington Governor Clarence D. Martin issued a proclamation appealing for the public to become proactive in the prevention of wildfires. Martin’s call led directly to the creation of the Keep Washington Green Association, the first statewide forest fire prevention organization of its kind. Washington’s model proved influential, and in May of 1941 Oregon Governor Charles Sprague called together state leaders to form a Keep Oregon Green Association. From there the movement took off. The American Forest Institute formed a national Keep America Green program in 1944, and by the beginning of 1949, twenty-four states had their own Keep Green programs.

California was in this first group of states to join the movement. Like other states’ campaigns, Keep California Green advocated for forest fire prevention while also demonstrating the importance of protecting the state’s valuable forest resources. The program proved successful, and by the 1960s the leadership of Keep California Green decided the organization needed its own mascot. Who or what would best represent their work? Keep Idaho Green was already setting the tone with their brilliant and unique Guberif campaign. The Guberif would be hard to top, so instead California decided to go a more traditional route.

In 1965, Keep California Green officially adopted a new character as their mascot. A logger with a hard hat and boots, usually carrying a shovel, he was named (what else?) “Cal Green.” The organization’s newsletter, Keep Greener, announced his arrival in May 1965: “‘Cal Green’ has been adopted to serve as front man of this timber industry oriented group. ‘Cal’ will be the central figure in all future Keep California Green publications and will cover California with his fire prevention efforts.”

As a logger, Cal clearly demonstrated the importance of forest industries while delivering his messages of fire prevention. His image popped up on signs, billboards, and trucks around the state, as well as on Keep California Green’s publications, mailings, and advertisements. Unfortunately for Cal, though, his time was relatively short-lived. There’s no official record stating a reason for his demise, but for whatever reason the character never caught on. Maybe he wasn’t cute and cuddly enough for the kids, maybe it was the Hitler-esque mustache, or maybe it was the Sixties and Cal represented The Man at a time when California youths were flocking to Haight-Ashbury. More likely, it was just the overwhelming popularity of Smokey Bear as the singular figure of fire prevention nationwide. Regardless, here at Peeling Back the Bark we pay tribute to this forgotten character with a few selections from our archives of the little man in action.

Cal Green sign displayed at front entrance of the Yolo County Fair in Woodland, California.

Cal Green display board

Header of "Keep Greener," newsletter of the Keep California Green organization.

Cal Green poster distributed to California's County Fair Associations.

Fire danger sign featuring Cal Green, circa 1968.

To help celebrate the 100th anniversary of the Weeks Act, we’ve asked Dr. Bob Healy of Duke University’s Nicholas School for the Environment and co-author of classic book, The Lands Nobody Wanted, to write a series of blog posts about the impact of the law. We invite you to join the conversation and post comments for Bob to respond to.

In an earlier blog post—and indeed in the book The Lands Nobody Wanted—I noted with some fascination the remarkably low prices that the Forest Service paid for land acquired under authority of the Weeks Act, especially in the 1930s. We are accustomed today to regard almost any land as being a fairly valuable asset. If it isn’t immediately useful today, we think, it will find some use tomorrow. And rural land in the well-watered eastern half of the country almost invariably has grown up in trees, not necessarily valuable in themselves due to their form, species, or lack of markets, but pretty to look at and home to a variety of wildlife. We also know that land has tended to be a rather good inflation hedge in the long run, and even (somewhat like gold) a “safe haven” for investors in troubled economic times. Even when stocks and bonds are going down, land has in recent decades often maintained its value or even increased it. This was true in two of the last severe recessions (1973-75) and (2008-present), when commodity prices, and the price of commodity-producing land, rose even while other investments were cratering.*

None of the factors mentioned above was at work during the Great Depression. Commodity prices were extremely low, money was very hard to borrow, the economy was experiencing deflation rather than inflation, and the public was pessimistic about the future. Some of the very cheapest Weeks Act land was that purchased in the southeastern U.S. during the mid-1930s. The low price of this land was remarkable, even by the standards of the Great Depression. Consider that a nationwide survey of construction workers done by the government in 1936 found average wages of $0.92 per hour, or $7.36 for an eight hour day. Another source estimates average wages per year in 1935 at $1,368, or $6.25 per day. And Franklin Roosevelt fought for a national minimum wage of $0.25 per hour, or $2.00 per day. Using these as guidelines, an average day’s work for an employed person could have bought almost three acres in Alabama’s Clay County ($2.14 per acre) or Cleburne County ($2.36), or nearly two acres in Bibb County ($3.23 per acre) or Perry County ($3.40). Even a person making the national minimum wage could have purchased more than half an acre with a day’s work!

Intrigued, I recently visited two units of the Talladega National Forest, in north-central Alabama. What could I learn about this VERY cheap land and what has happened to it today? Some of the results were predictable, others surprising. I had assumed that the land had belonged to poor, unproductive farms, perhaps tenant farms, and that low product prices and debt had forced people off the land. And that the Civilian Conservation Corps had reforested the old farmland, as it had in so many other places in the East and South. The actual situation is somewhat more complicated.

Wind erosion has banked soil against fence, Alabama, 1952 (FHS2934). The soil is similar to what was found in land that is now part of the Talladega National Forest.

The easternmost of the two forest units is the Shoal Creek Ranger District, northeast of Montgomery; the westernmost is the Oakmulgee Ranger District, south of Tuscaloosa. Both districts have significant amounts of what once was farmland—farms on poor soils, low in nutrients, and badly damaged by continual cropping of cotton and other row crops. The structure of much of this soil—clay mixed with sand—is such that it melts like sugar in a hard rain, creating gullies that can very easily get out of control in a single season. A great deal of land in both districts, however, consists of stony, highly dissected hills. This land was not suitable for cropping—though some unfortunate people tried. It was, however, mostly covered by extensive stands of longleaf pines.

This surprised me, as I had believed that the southern longleaf ecosystem—once covering tens of millions of acres, but reduced by clearing and by conversion to loblolly pines—was concentrated in the Piedmont and Coastal Plain, particularly on sandy soils in relatively flat environments. The Alabama forests, I learned, had been “mountain longleaf.” This ecosystem was the result of a combination of stony soils and frequent fires. Even the loblolly, which seems to love road cuts and other poor soils, had difficulty competing when fire was added to the mix. Interestingly, despite high stocking of quality trees, many areas in these Alabama mountain forests, particularly in the Shoal Creek District, had never been commercially logged. Transportation was very poor, and the Southern kraft paper industry had not yet achieved the importance it would later have, making pulpwood of little value. On the Oakmulgee District, the more accessible timber stands had been cut, and some of the land, in fact, was sold to the Forest Service by a logging company. But even there, transportation and the abundance of better timber elsewhere meant that considerable amounts of quality timber were left behind.

Overall, much of the land was not so much abused and eroded by over-farming, but too stony for anything but animal grazing and the most feeble attempts at raising crops. Many of the residents of these areas (particularly in the Shoal Creek District) had not been tenant farmers, but impoverished mountain folk, isolated socially, without markets for their meager crops or wood products, and with no chance for off-farm employment. One of their most important income sources was the harvesting of chestnuts, which did have a strong market demand. But the devastating chestnut blight, a fungal disease introduced, probably from Asia, around 1900, had essentially killed off the American chestnut by 1940.

A fundamental finding that came out of looking at this land sold at such low prices during the 1930s was that this was literally “the lands that nobody wanted.” Indeed, the attitude at the time seemed to be “no one should ever have settled there; no one should have ever tried to make a living from that land.” One Forest Service employee noted that descendants (“the grandchildren”) of people who had sold land now in the national forest sometimes felt that the government had in some way taken advantage of their kinfolk. And they also expressed nostalgia for what was once family land. This feeling probably does not reflect the view of the actual sellers, who may have loved some aspects of their way of life, but regarded the land itself as a very poor place to make a living. An expert on local history tells the story of an old woman, then in a nursing home, who was given a $400 check for her farm by the government. “She was quite pleased to get the money,” he said, “and remarked at the time that ‘I would have sold that land for the price of a candy bar.’”

Today the land is very attractive, quite dense, forest. What replanting took place in the 1930s was not done by the Forest Service, but by the Agricultural Resettlement Administration, a New Deal effort to move farmers off the very poorest land to more promising land nearby, where they would be clustered together and given advice, seeds, and other services. Most of the land in the western portion of the Oakmulgee Ranger District had come from the 97,482 acres acquired by the “West Alabama Planned Development Project.” The project (not the CCC) employed a weekly average of 600 men to reforest land and to build Payne Lake, now a major recreational feature of the national forest. In 1938, the West Alabama Project came to an end and the land was transferred to the Forest Service.

Over the next several decades, the Forest Service continued reforestation and timber stand improvement. As national demand for lumber increased in the 1950s through the 1980s, the pace of this activity speeded up. As longleaf or mixed stands were cut, they were usually replaced with loblolly plantations, considered faster growing and easier to manage. Then yet another change occurred. In 1989 there was a regional settlement by the Forest Service of lawsuits brought under the Endangered Species Act to protect the red-cockaded woodpecker. The RCW nests in cavities in very old longleaf pines. There were more than 100 clusters on the Oakmulgee District and a similar number on the Shoal Creek District. Under the settlement, the Forest Service not only cannot cut actual den trees, but must refrain from cutting potential den trees. And reforestation in the last two decades has emphasized conversion of mature loblolly stands back to longleaf.

Talladega National Forest today (photo by Jimmy Emerson).

The Forest Service has also made many recreational improvements. In addition to Payne Lake on the Oakmulgee District, Coleman Lake on the Shoal Creek District offers water-based recreation and developed campsites. The 29-mile-long Talladega Scenic Drive takes motorists on a scenic route atop the mountain ridge—its route follows part of an earlier unpaved scenic drive constructed by the CCC. Starting in 1973, the Forest Service began the Pinhoti National Trail, now a 133-mile-long trail that crosses high spots on the Shoal Creek District and connects with the Appalachian Trail.

As a result of time, the improvements made by government management, and the general increase in demand for land of all types for recreational and investment use, the land that once sold for $2 to $5 per acre is worth an average of $1,500 to $2,000 per acre. Environmental restrictions (especially for the red-cockaded woodpecker) and the virtual disappearance of many timber buyers due to foreign competition have greatly reduced the annual timber cut on the national forest. But the timber is still growing and accruing value, and the forests provide some of Alabama’s prime recreational opportunities.

* The fact that farmland has in the last several decades performed well in periods of both inflation and recession may seem paradoxical. The reason for this behavior lies mainly in the interest rate. During periods of high inflation (1979-82), land buyers can often borrow at rates lower than the rate of inflation; they also expect prices of commodities to rise. In recession, the Federal Reserve tries to keep interest rates very low, which makes investment in a long-term asset like land very cheap. In March 2011, the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation convened a conference on the possible financial risk of the current farmland price boom. See http://www.williamisaac.com/published-works/assessing-the-boom-in-u-s-farmland-prices/

The material above is based on a brief trip to Alabama in May 2011, as well as the following references:

Various web pages, National Forests of Alabama

Lone Star College-Kingwood, “American Cultural History, 1930-1939.” Accessed at: http://kclibrary.lonestar.edu/decade30.html

Robert G. Pasquill, Jr. 1991. “A Brief History of the National Forests in Alabama with Particular Attention Being Paid to the Conditions of the Forests at Time of Acquisition.” U.S. Forest Service, unpublished paper, Montgomery, Al.

Edward P. Sanford, “Wage rates and hours of labor in the building trades,” Monthly Labor Review (August 1937): 281-93.

U.S. Forest Service, National Forests of Alabama, Talladega National Forest, Oakmulgee District. ”Longleaf Ecosystem Restoration Project—Final Environmental Impact Statement.” February 2005.

Additions, corrections, or further discussion would be most welcome.

In 1913, at around age 32, Vilas decided he wanted to become a pilot. Till then he had been a racing car enthusiast. He set his sights on a flying boat and traveled from the Midwest to Hammondsport, New York, to see Glenn Curtiss and purchase a plane for $7,000 ($157,000 in today’s money). While waiting for it to be built, he took flying lessons at Curtiss’s flight school and earned Hydroplane Pilot License No. 6 from the American Aero Society. He had his plane shipped to Chicago by rail. Six weeks later, and with only a few hours of flight time under his belt, he became the first person to attempt and complete a 63-mile flight across Lake Michigan. He did so with no compass or flight instruments.

Jack Vilas's Curtiss Flying Boat

In 1915 Vilas shipped his flying boat to northern Wisconsin, where he had a summer home, to conduct an experiment. On June 29, 1915, he “took Chief Forester Edward Griffith for a ride to demonstrate how easy it was to spot forest fires by air.” Impressed, Griffith had the Wisconsin Conservation Commission appoint Vilas as a flying fire warden, the first in the world. Vilas flew his surveillance missions from the forestry headquarters at Trout Lake in Boulder Junction. (A historical marker was placed at that spot in 1955.) News of Vilas’s work quickly spread; American Forestry magazine had an article about it in their September 1915 issue. The use of aerial detection to spot and report forest fires—dubbed the “Wisconsin Plan”—soon became a vital tool in fighting wildfires in many forested countries.

By 1917, the Wisconsin Plan had been adopted throughout the United States and was beginning to spread around the globe. The U.S. Forest Service joined with the Army Air Service in 1919 to introduce aerial fire patrols over national forests. The first missions were in California. According to Radio for the Fireline, the rumor that each plane was equipped with a telescope and machine gun proved a powerful deterrant to arson—the number of fires on the Cleveland National Forest decreased for awhile (p. 15). But personnel shortages compounded by shrinking War Department budgets cast doubt over the Air Service’s involvement at the beginning of each of the next six fire seasons. Among some foresters, reviews of the tool were mixed. Not as many fires were first spotted by the air patrols as hoped, and the lack of wireless radios for communication between pilot and ground crew slowed the fire reporting process down significantly. And yet after one season the Forest Service declared it a “huge success” (Radio, p. 16).

In 1925, Secretary of War John Weeks (yes, that John Weeks) ended the program, telling the Forest Service it was time to turn patrols over to commercial operations. Having already purchased some planes, though, the Forest Service conducted their own patrols for two more years before contracting out the operation as Weeks had recommended in what is surely one of the first incidents of government outsourcing. (See Maurer’s Aviation in the U.S. Army, 1919-1939, 131-138, for more on this.)

Jack Vilas (seated) in the Curtiss hydroplane he used to spot forest fires, 1915 (photo courtesy of the Wisconsin Historical Society)

So break out your silk scarves and goggles to celebrate those daring young men in their flying machines. Watch as they take wing over our national forests in this photo gallery. For you armchair travelers, you can read about Wisconsin’s historical marker effort in our old journal here.

Forest patrol planes flying in close formation, Olympic National Forest, Washington, 1921. (FHS3730)