History That Doesn't Suck - 114: A Square Deal (pt. 3): “Leave it as it is” (Teddy Roosevelt & Conservationism)

Episode Date: June 20, 2022

“Very well then–I so declare it.” This is the story of the final “C” of President Theodore Roosevelt’s Square Deal: conservationism. Teddy loves the outdoors. He loves to challenge himself in the American wilderness. He also fears the nation’s natural resources and various species are disappearing. And TR won’t let that stand. From Florida’s Pelican Island to the Arizona Territory’s extremely large canyon—perhaps “grand,” you might say—and far beyond, TR is out to create bird reserves, national parks, and national monuments that cover some 230 million acres of the United States.  But are his actions executive overreach? Or does he not go far enough, as protectionists might argue? From camping with John Muir, to outflanking members of Congress, we’re in for a “rough ride” as we follow Teddy on his crusade for conservationism. ____ Connect with us on HTDSpodcast.com and go deep into episode bibliographies and book recommendations join discussions in our Facebook community get news and discounts from The HTDS Gazette  come see a live show get HTDS merch or become an HTDS premium member for bonus episodes and other perks. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

What did it take to survive an ancient siege? Why was the cult of Dionysus behind so many slave revolts in ancient Rome? What's the tragic history and mythology behind Japan's most haunted ancient forest? We're Jen and Jenny from Ancient History Fangirl. Join us to explore ancient history and mythology from a fun, sometimes tipsy, perspective. Find us at ancienthistoryfangirl.com or wherever you get your podcasts. From the creators of the popular science show with millions of YouTube subscribers comes the MinuteEarth podcast. Every episode of the show dives deep into a science question you

might not even know you had, but once you hear the answer, you'll want to share it with everyone you know. Why do rivers curve? Why did the T-Rex have such tiny arms? And why do so many more kids need glasses now than they used to? Spoiler alert, it isn't screen time. Our team of scientists digs into the research and breaks it down into a short, entertaining explanation, jam-packed with science facts and terrible puns. Subscribe to MinuteEarth wherever you like to listen. Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck. I'm your professor, Greg Jackson, and as in the classroom, my goal here is to make rigorously researched history come to life as your storyteller. Each episode is the result of laborious research,

with no agenda other than making the past come to life as you learn. If you'd like to help support this work, receive ad-free episodes, bonus content, and other exclusive perks, I invite you to join the HTDS membership program. Sign up for a seven-day free trial today at htdspodcast.com slash membership, or click the link in the episode notes. It's an unspecified day in 1902. We're on Florida's east coast in the Indian River Lagoon area, where Paul Krogel is using the afternoon's breeze to navigate his way through the shallow waters

in a lonesome sailboat. It's fairly quiet out here. While there is a community, relatively few have dared to settle this region so prone to tropical storms and teeming with deadly coral snakes, diamondbacks, and mosquitoes. Paul's family, well, his widowed German immigrant father, only did so after years of frustration working in the meatpacking industry. Yet, it's not the dangers posed by the wildlife to humanity that has this pipe-smoking, mustachioed, short German-American sailing through the brackish waterway. On the contrary, he's motivated by the dangers man poses to the wildlife.

Armed with a 10-gauge shotgun, Paul is out on patrol to protect the brown pelicans and their breeding ground, or rookery as it's called, on a small nearby island from hunters. Here's the deal. This five-acre triangular island, appropriately called Pelican Island, is the last remaining brown pelican rookery on Florida's east coast. Paul has been mesmerized by and protectively watched over these birds since he was a kid. But now, a gilded age women's fashion trend has endangered their existence.

From Paris to New York, it's all the rage for women's hats to be decorated with bright, gorgeous bird feathers, and hunters, happy to feed that market, are descending on Paul's beloved Pelican Island to shoot birds and harvest fresh plumes. Now, Paul isn't alone in his quest to protect these and other water birds out here. He's found allies in the American Ornithologists Union and the Florida Audubon Society, which recently managed to convince the state legislature to pass laws protecting non-game birds. The Florida Audubon Society even hired Paul and three others as wardens to protect these beautiful creatures. But with the feather wars in full swing, and yes,

that's a real term, their job is dangerous. And meanwhile, the brown pelican population is plummeting. There are less than 3,000 left on the island. So, as sharp an eye as Paul might keep, his heart still sinks regularly when he hears the distant echo of a shotgun. The pelicans are disappearing. Worse still, the island's recently completed survey will soon open it to homesteading. And even if settlers don't come, surely, Paul and these conservationist-minded groups fear the military will snatch up the island. What more can be done? At the suggestion of Public Surveys Division Chief Charles L. Dubois, the allied groups are going to shoot for the

moon. They're asking for the intervention of the President of the United States. It's now March, 1903. Chairman of the American Ornithologists Union, William Dutcher, and the curator of ornithology at American Museum of Natural History, Frank Chapman, are in Washington, D.C. at the White House.

They sit anxiously, awaiting their audience with President Theodore Roosevelt. They know Teddy is a lover of birds. He's even an honorary co-founder of the Florida Audubon Society. But is he ready to set new precedents in a dramatic way to save a five-acre island and its birds? Well, here he is now. We'll all find out soon enough. TR sits and listens as Frank and William describe the situation on Pelican Island.

The president's been aware of this island since his days as a student at Harvard, and it fills him with rage to hear what's happening. Teddy might be a hunter, but killing animals you don't intend to eat? Just for money? And to such excess, the species is becoming endangered. All of this goes against his personal hunting ethics. The two men finish their tale. They make their huge ask. That the president issue an executive order turning the federally owned island into a bird reservation. Sturdy, bespectacled Teddy looks at them.

He wonders aloud, Is there any law that will prevent me from declaring Pelican Island a federal bird reservation? A presidential aide answers, No, the island is federal property. Very well then, I so declare it. With no hesitation, Teddy stepped into an unprecedented presidential space and declared the first national wildlife refuge. And he has the perfect man to hire as its first warden, the local German-American already doing the job, Paul Krogel. But this is just the first of many such declarations from TR. Over the course of his presidency, Teddy will shatter precedent

and battle Congress to establish national parks, monuments, reserves, and forests with the conviction that he must act to save these resources for generations of Americans to come. This is Teddy's fight for conservation. Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck. I'm your professor, Greg Jackson, and I'd like to tell you a story. Having discussed corporate regulation and consumer protection in the past two episodes, today we come to the third and final C of President Theodore Roosevelt's square deal, conservation. The outdoor made and defined rough rider fears the rapidly expanding, industrializing United States isn't preserving resources for the next generation. And more than this, he fears that, if not careful, the nation

will lose its rugged self. Thus, Teddy is taking up the fight for the nation's flora and fauna by forging a massive expansion of the national park system, along with the establishment of bird preserves, national forests, and monuments. And if he has to ruffle a few feathers in D.C. to save the actual feathers of the nation's birds, well, so be it. We'll start this tale amid the Idaho, Montana, and Wyoming beauty of Yellowstone National Park, where Teddy is thinking deeply about the need to preserve such majesty for future generations. From there, we'll see Teddy go camping with John Muir among the mighty sequoias of Yosemite Park,

get a taste of the conflict between preservationists and conservationists, learn about the Transfer Act and Antiquities Act, then watch Teddy play chess to Congress's checkers as he outflanks his opponents to declare massive swaths of the West protected forests, as well as preserve a certain Western geographical feature, a rather large, perhaps grand, canyon in the Arizona desert for mining and ranching operations. Finally, we'll see how TR brings everyone together,

his allies and foes, for a conference that sets the nation on a conservationist path, even as he rides off into the sunset of his second presidential term. So, ready to preserve the rugged American wilderness for future generations? Excellent.

Then let's catch up with Teddy, who, after having declared Pelican Island a bird reservation, has gone west on a camp-filled speaking tour. So no rewinding today. We'll just need to catch that westbound Union Pacific train instead. All aboard, April 12, 1903. President Theodore Roosevelt is just stepping out of his tent and into the beauty of Yellowstone National Park.

Draped in his typical outdoor attire, an overcoat, an ascot, and cap, the cowboy president draws in a deep breath, taking in the crisp, clean air of the natural world surrounding him. And oh, what a sight lies before his bespectacled eyes. This secluded, grassy valley, dotted by scattered pine trees amid rocky cliffs, is simply incredible. And save for the campsite's few tents, his view of the pristine landscape is utterly unblemished. Add to that the music of the morning birds chirping, the nearby river's water flowing. It's heaven. Yes, it's here,

not in Washington, not New York, but here in the majesty of nature that Teddy feels at home. Teddy's guide and friend, the mustache-wearing park superintendent, Major John Pitcher, emerges from a nearby tent. He looks a little nervous. John's acquiesced to the president breaking up a flurry of Western-speaking engagements, known as the Great Loop Tour, for this two-week guided vacation through Yellowstone National Park. He's even ensured that no reporters came along to disturb Teddy's communication with the natural world of the American West. But today's request is putting the Major a bit on edge. TR wants to leave even his small group of no more than 10 companions and explore the park alone. Here's the thing. Over the past few days, their little cadre has been lucky enough to see a large, hundred-strong herd

of elk traipsing through the park. They even witnessed an action-packed scene in which a golden eagle attacked the herd just two days ago. T.R. wants to find these elk and eat his lunch with them. Okay, cool idea. Yellowstone is not the safest place for one to go alone, though. The famous bears of the park may be hibernating, but mountain lions lurk around every corner. The major pushes back on the president, asking that at least one of the

cavalrymen accompany him, just in case of danger. Danger? Ha! Danger would be Theodore Roosevelt's middle name if he had one. And so, Teddy responds, no, put me up a lunch and let me go alone. I will surely come back. Well, it's hard to say no to the president, especially one as affable and reliable as Teddy. The major gives TR a lunch, likely one that was meant to last, like the sardines and hardtack they've been eating the entire trip,

as well as a revolver in case of emergency. And with that, Teddy Danger Roosevelt makes his way through Yellowstone alone to commune with nature. A few miles from camp, TR comes to a wild, rocky place above a deep chasm of the river. He slows for just a second and listens. The avid outdoorsman and lifelong bird loving president is shocked to hear his feathered friends sing a song he doesn't know. He'll eventually learn that this is the call of a Townsend solitaire. But perhaps more important at this moment, T.R. is further appreciating just how much of the vast American wilderness remains unknown and worthy of unspoiled exploration.

Teddy continues on through the rough country, mile after mile, searching for the elk he had seen yesterday. Finally, after traversing mountains and hiking trails, he sees them, the band of several hundred elk, all lying down in a field. There's a moment of concern. Teddy sees a coyote among the herd.

The small canine doesn't get close to the elk, though, electing instead to stay about 30 to 40 feet away. The opportunistic predator seems to know better than to move on such large animals gathered in such large numbers. The herd seems to understand the dynamic, too. The elk display no concern over the coyote or teddy as they relax in the undefiled wild of Yellowstone. Now only 50 yards away from these magnificent, massive mammals, T.R. sits and eats his own lunch.

After about a year and a half of being president, breaking bread with these powerful beasts feels far more civilized than sharing a meal with his usual dinner guests. D.C DC politicians. Yes, this outing and meal is just what the strenuous life advocating, rough riding commander in chief needs. After lunch, Teddy starts back over the river and through the woods to the small group of Yellowstone guides.

The hours pass, the sun moves west. By the day's close, TR'sR.'s walked about 20 miles. But you wouldn't guess that looking at his face. Teddy arrives in camp unscathed and brandishing his signature Cheshire smile from ear to ear around 5 or 7 p.m., depending on the account. With a campfire glowing at his feet

and innumerable unpolluted stars twinkling above, Teddy sits with the other men and regales them with every detail of the elk, coyote, birds, hills, and streams of his day-long adventure. They hang on his every word and as they do, Teddy comes to a powerful realization. Such an experience, this communing with nature, shouldn't belong to the president alone. Rather, this is something that every American ought to do, deserves to do. And by God, Teddy's going to fight for every American to have that right.

I don't mean to overstate Teddy's epiphany on this Yellowstone trip. The truth is, TR has been an advocate for conservation since he was a boy. You may even recall from episode 111 that young Teddy, or T.D. as he was known then, loved to take small animals home and categorize them. Up until he went to Harvard, Teddy had a strong desire to become something of a professional naturalist. But at school, he learned that was a bit more indoor lab work and less strenuous outdoor observation.

And so, Teddy moved to different realms, including the presidency, but his love of nature and desire to preserve it never left. Now, let's also consider the era in which Teddy ascends to the presidency. As we know from several past railroad, gun slinging, and Gilded Age episodes, the latter half of the 19th century was a time of westward expansion and settlement.

The spread of the railroad, industrial mining, and other industries surely benefited the post-Civil War U.S. economy, but these industrial wonders also left indelible marks on the environment. Perhaps the go-to example is the American bison, aka the buffalo. Once numbering at least 30 million and possibly 60 million, only a few hundred of these massive creatures were still breathing by the 1880s. There has been some effort at conservation by this point. Congress made the unprecedented decision

to make Yellowstone the world's first national park in 1872. Iowa's Republican congressman, John Lacey, protected various species of wildlife with his Lacey Act of 1900, which made it a federal crime for poachers violating one state's laws to flee to another with their illegal game. But in terms of government oversight,

the West is still plenty wild. It's in this milieu that the concerned, conservationist-minded, nature-loving Teddy enters the scene. He's determined to use his bully pulpit to press for the creation of national parks and wildlife areas for the benefit of all people. Indeed, returning from his vacation in Yellowstone on April 24, 1903, he tells a Gardner, Montana crowd gathered at the park's north entrance that the park is essential democracy. In his words, quote, the park was created and is now being administered for the benefit of the people. Close quote. He will later explain this idea in a bit more depth.

To quote him again, above all, we should realize that the effort toward this end is essentially a democratic movement. It is entirely in our power as a nation to preserve large tracts of wilderness which are valueless for agricultural purposes and unfit for settlement as playgrounds for rich and poor alike

and to preserve the game so that it shall continue to exist for the benefit of all lovers of nature. But this can only be achieved by wise laws and by a resolute enforcement of the laws. And that's not all Teddy has to say on the subject of conservation. Just a few weeks after his solo sojourn in Yellowstone,

Teddy stands at the rim of the Arizona Territory's Grand Canyon. With the sun beating down through the southwest sky, Teddy looks out in awe at the red and brown rock streaking across this immensely, unfathomably deep and endless long canyon that reaches all the way to the horizon. The colors, the way the light hits, the shadows. Words simply fail here. It's just so singular, so unique. Just ask Teddy. As he puts it, it is hard to make comparisons among different kinds of scenery. All of them are very grand and very beautiful. But nothing that I have ever seen has impressed me quite as much as the desolate and awful sublimity of the Grand Canyon.

TR desperately wants Congress to turn the Grand Canyon into a national park. But that's far from a foregone conclusion. Right now, many Arizonans are more interested in ranching or mining in and around the canyon than preserving it. And so, when TR speaks to a crowd gathered around the rim of the canyon on May 6th, he urges them to see the beauty of the canyon, to protect and preserve it instead. 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 the interest of the country, leave it as it is. You cannot improve on it. The ages have been at work on it, and man can only mar it. What you can do is keep it for your children,

your children's children, and for all who come after you. Leave it as it is. That's going to be the rallying cry for Teddy's conservation movement going forward. But reality is far more complicated than that. Questions arise. Should the natural landscape be left entirely untouched? Should it

be used responsibly with elements of preservation? Or should industries be allowed to make use of all the resources found in the West to secure economic growth for the ever-expanding population of the Western states? As with other parts of the square deal, Teddy will have to navigate various interest groups and differing philosophies as he makes his moves in conservation and pleads with his fellow Americans to preserve the land for their children, their children's children, and all that come after. And to best face these challenges head-on, the Rough Rider is heading off to California's Yosemite Valley, where he'll get policy-impacting advice from his soon-to-be camping buddy, a modern-day Henry David Thoreau,

the naturalist, John Muir. On our show, we help listeners like you make the most of your finances. I sit down with NerdWallet's team of nerds, personal finance experts in credit cards, banking, investing, and more. We answer your real-world money questions and break down the latest personal finance news. The nerds will give you the clarity you need by cutting through the clutter and misinformation in today's world of personal finance. We don't promote get-rich-quick schemes or hype unrealistic side hustles. Instead, we offer practical knowledge that you can apply in your everyday life. You'll learn about strategies to help you build your wealth, invest wisely, shop for financial products, and plan for major life events. And you'll walk away with the confidence you need to ensure that your money is always working as hard as you are. So turn to the Nerds to answer your real-world money questions and get insights that can help you make the smartest financial decisions for your life.

Listen to NerdWallet's Smart Money Podcast wherever you get your podcasts. When Johan Rall received the letter on Christmas Day 1776, he put it away to read later. Maybe he thought it was a season's greeting and wanted to save it for the fireside. But what it actually was, was a warning, delivered to the Hessian colonel, letting him know that General George Washington was crossing the Delaware and would soon attack his forces. The next day, when Raw lost the Battle of Trenton and died from two colonial Boxing Day musket balls, the letter was found, unopened in his vest pocket. As someone with 15,000 unread emails in his inbox, I feel like there's a lesson there. Oh well, this is The Constant, a history of getting things wrong. I'm Mark Chrysler. Every episode, we look at the bad

ideas, mistakes, and accidents that misshaped our world. Find us at constantpodcast.com or wherever you get your podcasts. It's a snowy afternoon, May 16th, 1903, and Theodore Roosevelt is riding horseback on the Empire Meadows Trail in Yosemite National Park, California. The wind is blowing, snow is falling. Yet, despite the elements, the Roughrider's gaze is drawn up. Up the gargantuan sequoias' cinnamon-colored trunks and toward that distant place hundreds of feet in the blue sky, where their evergreen branches and pine needles become indistinguishable to the human eye.

Nothing, not the architecture of Europe's tallest and finest cathedrals, could command TR to stare at the heavens so forcefully as these sequoias. This natural grandeur is his hallowed ground, his place of spiritual communion, his temple. And it wasn't my idea to make a religious metaphor. That's all Teddy, to quote him. The majestic trunks, beautiful in color and in symmetry, rose round us like the pillars of a mightier cathedral than ever was conceived even by the fervor of the Middle Ages.

Hermit thrushes sing beautifully in the evening and again with a burst of wonderful music at dawn. Teddy's in a small group. Yes, TR's still on his Grand Loop tour and still breaking up his speeches with camping. As at Yellowstone, he's instructed his Yosemite guides to, quote, keep away from civilization, close quote. Once again, Teddy wants to be as alone as possible with his thoughts. But there is one here the president will allow to share in his communion with nature. To continue the religious comparisons, we might call him the prophet leading TR on his sojourn through the wilderness. The bushy, white-bearded, 65-year-old transcendentalist, John Muir. Now, before we follow these two larger-than-life gents any deeper into the woods,

let's get a little background. Teddy is delighted to tour Yosemite with its biggest supporter, the student of Ralph Waldo Emerson and Sierra Club founder, John Muir. We know that because TR personally requested John as his guide. Just two months ago, he wrote to this Moses of the forest, I hope that you will be able to take me through the Yosemite. I do not want anyone with me but you, and I want to drop politics absolutely for four days

and just be out in the open with you. But John was a bit hesitant at first. He's not the biggest fan of President Theodore Roosevelt's hunting habits, nor his close friendship with the mustachioed, wide-eyed forester Gifford Pinchot. The thing is that while Gifford and TR are conservationists, this doesn't go as far as John would like. Conservationists balance their concerns for nature with property rights and economic considerations, or as Gifford puts it, quote, the greatest good for the greatest number, close quote. John, however, is a preservationist, which means he wants to see the forests and natural

lands of the West entirely untouched, not even spoiled by responsible use. I guess you could say John and his sizable beard go a few clicks further than TR does. Nonetheless, John realizes that Teddy has done much to promote and protect wildlife in his brief time as president. TR championed conservation in his first address to Congress and his push for more national parks and forests. So, if John can secure an ally of nature in the White House, an ally that might expand Yosemite National Park, then the trip will be worth it.

Hence, John agrees to Tay's request as he previously informed a friend, I might be able to do some good in talking freely around the campfire. Now that we understand the two men in Yosemite today, let's see how it unfolds. It's now the night of the 16th. The presidential party has made camp at the edge of a canyon wall under the spreading limbs of a grove of mighty silver fir. The smell of the surrounding Pacific pines that are so often used for Christmas trees is nearly overwhelmed by the rich, smoky smell of the campfire. But as the snow

gently falls and the group of less than 10 men huddle around the heat-giving flames, there's one thing that can't be overwhelmed. The voices of T.R. and John Muir. These two are absolutely enthralled with each other's company, far more than either could have likely imagined. The verbose, loquacious duo have been chatting it up all day and seem quite ready to continue under the evening stars, even if everyone else in the company is tired of hearing them. One of their companions will later recall that, quote,

some difficulty was encountered because both men wanted to do the talking, close quote. And talk they do late into the night. Others go to bed as they add yet more logs to the fire. Teddy talks about his various big game hunts. John replies, Mr. Roosevelt, when are you going to get beyond the boyishness of killing things? Are you not far enough along to leave that off? Teddy pauses. Then, in an uncharacteristically soft voice, he answers, Muir, I guess you are right. Now, we know from his actions with Pelican Island in this episode's opening

that T.R. already has a set of ethics when it comes to hunting, and he won't, in fact, give it up after tonight. He'll continue to see it as a manly, dangerous contest with nature. But increasingly, he'll shoot more photos and less bullets in the great outdoors. The chat continues. They talk about the glacial history of Yosemite, argue about Gifford Pinchot and his greatest good idea of conservation. And eventually, John mentions the threats against Yosemite

and urges his new friend Teddy to expand and protect Yosemite all the more. John will later recall, I stuffed him pretty well regarding the timber thieves and other spoilers of the more. John will later recall, I stuffed him pretty well regarding the timber thieves and other spoilers of the forest. Teddy agrees to help as best as he can. John's words leave a powerful impression on the president, so much so that historian Douglas Brinkley will later call it, quote, the most famous campfire ever in the annals of the conservation movement. Close quote. As the men turn to sleep that night,

Teddy can't help but wonder about John's words. Could he be doing more for conservation? What world will Teddy leave for his children? The next morning, the two men ride out for a photo op at Glacier Point. This overhanging rock, 3,200 feet above the ground, offers jaw-dropping views of Yosemite Valley which includes the granite formation known as Half Dome and the magnificent Yosemite Falls. Words fail to describe the breathtaking wonder of the scene as Teddy and John pose side-by-side

for a photo. The bespectacled mustachioed president, the long bearded preservationist, both in hats, standing in this iconic, sacred, if not downright holy to them spot. More than that even, this photo is memorializing significant conservationist history.

As historian Donald Worcester will later describe this moment, quote, they have just agreed that ownership of the much abused valley below should revert to the federal government and become part of Yosemite Park. Politically,

they have forged a formidable alliance on behalf of nature. Close quote. Indeed, they have. When Teddy returns to civilization, that is to Sacramento, he fires off a Teddy returns to civilization, that is, to Sacramento, he fires off a telegram to his Interior Secretary, Ethan Hitchcock. I should like to have an extension of the forest reserves

to include the California forests throughout the region. Will you not consult Chief of the Forestry Division, Gifford Pinchot, about this and have the orders prepared? He attaches a copy of the telegram in his thank you letter to his new friend, John Muir. Sounds like the preservationist's camping trip with the conservationist president yielded exactly what he wanted. Teddy's 1903 Great Loop tour across the Midwest and Western states comes to its end, but his crusade for conservation

is far from over. He's using executive orders and all of his influence to establish and further extend national parks, national forests, and game and bird preserves. Yes, just like Florida's Pelican Island Wildlife Refuge I told you about at the start of this episode. I trust that you remember Teddy's question, the answer, and his reply. Is there any law that will prevent me from declaring Pelican Island a federal bird reservation? Very well, then I so declare it. That story is actually a great summation of Teddy's approach to conservation. The action might be unprecedented, but if it's not expressly illegal, then it's legal and he's good to go, even if that requires,

oh, not highlighting the details, shall we say, to score wins for Team Mother Nature. That's essentially what happens with the Transfer Act of 1905. I know, nothing could sound more boring than the title, Transfer Act of 1905. But perhaps that's part of the strategy. Remember how Teddy asked his Secretary of the Interior to expand Yosemite after his camping trip with John Muir? Well, now Teddy and Gifford Pinchot are using their collective argumentative skills to convince Congress that forest trees are crops and thus should be managed under the Department of

Agriculture, not the Interior. Seemingly unimportant, but it does wonders for the conservationist cause. This increases the budget of the Forest Bureau, henceforth to be called the United States Forest Service, and gives the Forest Service much needed new blood by cutting its bureaucrats to replace them with foresters like Gifford Pinchot, who, by the way, is also running the show. The Forest Service soon gains power over grazing licenses, hydro leases, and police summons in the forests and national parks.

Thus, the dryly named Transfer Act gives serious teeth to some of the nation's most dedicated conservationists. But Teddy and his crew still see more work to do, like protecting indigenous cultural sites. As the West's population has grown, so has the frequency of amateur explorers snatching up souvenirs, stealing, and otherwise doing irreversible damage to Native American historical sites, particularly in the New Mexico Territory's Chaco Canyon. It's an incredible site. Roughly a thousand years before T.R. became president, the ancestral Puebloan people built stone homes, complexes, and more of such quality that their ruins still stand today. The site remains sacred to their descendants, and furthermore,

archaeologists and academics want to preserve it for research. Doing so, however, means protecting the site from plunderers and thieves who have been taking artifacts and destroying much of the sacred space in the process. Thus enters the 1906 Antiquities Act. It's designed to protect Chaco Canyon and other places like it by turning them into national monuments. It allows the government to prosecute those who violate the monuments and hands the power of creating said monuments to none

other than TR himself. The text reads, quote, that the President of the United States is hereby authorized, in his discretion, to declare by public proclamation historic landmarks, historic and prehistoric structures, and other objects of historic or scientific interest that are situated upon the lands owned or controlled by the government of the United States to be national monuments and may reserve as a part thereof parcels of land. Close quote.

Truly, Teddy's pen is mightier than the sword now that he can wield it to set aside portions of the Western wilderness for preservation. He moves forward, declaring places like Devil's Tower in Wyoming and the Petrified Forest in Arizona to be national monuments. But even as these Western lands come under protection, a fight is brewing at the Forest Service.

It's late February, likely Monday the 25th, 1907, and inside the White House, Theodore Roosevelt is a bit anxious. He's just returned from a weekend trip to his alma mater, Harvard, where he delivered a speech and visited his two oldest boys, Ted Jr., who's now studying there, and Kermit, who soon will be. It was a welcomed vacation for this strenuous life-endorsing president, but upon his return, things seemed to be falling apart. No, I'm not talking about the international issues with the island nation of Japan,

nor the rigor of regulating railroads. I'm referring to this agricultural bill on Teddy's desk attempting to gut the Forest Service. See, Western corporate interests have been pretty steamed lately over the Forest Service's chief forester, Gifford Pinchot, limiting and regulating their ability to harvest and use forest resources. And perhaps more. As TR biographer Edmund Morris describes the situation, quote, Roosevelt had virtually asked for a fight over the Forest Service. Gifford Pinchot had stretched the meaning of the word forest so much that some Westerners

wondered whether the Great Salt Lake was going to need his urgent protection. Close quote. Feeling overly hemmed in, these businesses have turned to Congress and succeeded in winning over enough congressmen to convince Senator Charles Fulton of Oregon, a Republican, to set aside party unity and challenge the president. Charles has amended an agricultural bill with the following stipulation regarding the Forest Service. Hereafter, no forest reserve shall be created, nor shall any addition be made to one heretofore created within the limits of the states of Oregon, Washington, Idaho, Montana, Colorado, or Wyoming, except by act of Congress, close quote. So take that, TR.

From their perspective, these congressmen are putting much-needed restraints on Teddy and his boy Gifford's excessive and cavalier regulation of Westerners. Back in the White House, Teddy's between a rock and a hard place. As he will later say, quote, it was equally undesirable to veto the whole agricultural bill and to sign it with this amendment effective, close quote. Basically, if he signs the bill, that leaves, to again quote TR, some 16 million of acres to be exploited by land grabbers and by representatives of the great special interests at the expense of the public interest, close quote.

But if he vetoes the bill, he risks losing precious Republican support in the Senate, which might hurt his chance of passing the legislation he'd like to see heading into the last two years of his presidency. What to do? Well, Gifford Pinchot has an idea. He lays before Teddy a masterwork of loopholes.

According to the Constitution, the president has 10 days to decide whether or not to veto a bill before it automatically becomes a law without executive approval. That gives the dynamic duo of conservation 10 days to make as much land in those six states' national forests as possible. And it just so happens that Gifford and the Forest Service have been preparing for this. He and his team already know which forests in these states they feel need protection now. Teddy approves the plan, and with his administrative clerks working up to 48 hours straight,

soon has all he needs to carry this out. That weekend, Teddy proclaims 21 new forest reserves and enlarges 11 current reserves in the six states mentioned by Senator Charles Fulton's amendment. These so-called midnight forests, so named because they were established in the last second, include Holy Cross in Montezuma, Colorado,

Medicine Bow, Colorado and Wyoming, Priest River, Idaho and Washington, Big Belt, Big Hole and Otter Forest, Montana, Toyabe, Nevada, Blue Mountain, Oregon, Olympic Forest, Cascade and Rainier, Washington and Beaver Lodge, Wyoming. With that out of the way, both Teddy and Gifford are satisfied, and the president signs the Agricultural Act into law,

including its neutered amendment. Teddy will later recall the reactions of his ecological adversaries. Quote, The opponents of the Forest Service turned handsprings in their wrath and dire were their threats against the executive. But the threats could not be carried out and were really only a tribute to the efficiency of our action.

Close quote. Teddy's won another battle, but he sees much more to be done. He's still got his eye on that Grand Canyon out in the Arizona desert and his further conservationist ambitions. Sounds like the president's war to preserve America's wilderness is far from over.

I'll remind you that earlier in this episode, Teddy visited the Grand Canyon. We heard him give a speech there, calling for all Americans to leave it as it is. After witnessing the majestic splendor of Arizona's magnificent landscape, he came away wanting to preserve the canyon for man's industry, suggesting that no economic gain is worth marring the beauty of this land. It's now 1908, five years since that speech,

and Teddy's call for the Grand Canyon to become a national park has fallen on deaf congressional ears. Rather, Congress is listening to miners, ranchers, and other commercial interests who want to keep the canyon open to development. It looks like TR is losing this one. But you know Teddy. When he gets a mind to do something and is convinced it's the right thing to do, he has no problem using the power of the presidency in ways most Americans hadn't imagined.

On January 11th, 1908, he does just that by declaring the Grand Canyon a national monument. Okay, time out. How is this different from a national park? And how can the president do this? Well, remember the Antiquities Act,

which was designed to enable the president to protect small tracts of land with Native American archaeological and scientific significance? Yeah, Teddy just used it to bypass Congress and protect 800,000 acres of canyon in the Arizona desert. Certainly, there is some scientific and cultural significance to the canyon, but that's not why Teddy made the canyon a national monument.

He did it because he likes the Grand Canyon. As historian Hal Rothman will later write, declaring the Grand Canyon a national monument helps Teddy to, quote, circumvent the fundamentally languid nature of congressional deliberation and instantaneously achieve results he believed were in the public interest, close quote. We've seen it before, but this is another example of Teddy's willingness to step into the gray of legal and constitutional bounds to fight for a cause he believes in. Well, to be less delicate,

local Arizonans would say he just blew off the Constitution. Cattle ranchers, miners, lumberjacks, all kinds of industries in the Southwest are livid. They see Teddy as brazenly flouting the rules here, and for the next decade, debate will rage, in both Arizona and Washington, D.C., over the purpose of the Antiquities Act and the constitutionality of a president just declaring large swaths of land protected with the stroke of a pen. But 10 years from now, the challenges will simply become unfeasible,

in part because Teddy's promotion of the canyon draws so many tourists. The increased traffic makes resurrecting commercial interests at the park unviable. Ultimately, Congress will accept this and make Grand Canyon National Monument into a national park in 1919. But that's well down the road. Teddy still has a year left in office and hopes to accomplish yet more for the cause of conservation. Given that, he needs to shore up relations with state officials, Congress,

and business leaders so he can convince them to join his conservation crusade. And TR's got a plan to do so. He'll just invite everyone of any importance whatsoever in American politics to Washington, D.C. Here's the deal. A few months back, in the fall of 1907, TR and 16 governors traveled along the Mississippi River while working with the conservationist Inland Waterways Association. During this trip, Teddy told the governors that he thought the conservation question was the single most important issue facing the nation today. Yes, even more important than regulating big trusts.

And he had an idea. What if he could gather leaders from all across the country and get them to agree on the importance of conservation? That, T.R. decided, would give him the firepower needed to push his environmental plans through during this final year of his presidency without much opposition. So T.R. sent invites to the governors of each state and territory under the stars and stripes. His letter read, in part, Dear Governor, It is evident the abundant natural resources on which the welfare of this nation rests

are becoming depleted and, in not a few cases, are already exhausted. I have therefore decided to ask the governors of the states and the territories to meet at the White House to confer with the president and with each other upon the conservation of natural resources. This is the most weighty question now before the people of the United States. The conference, which is the first of its kind,

will be among the most important gatherings in our history in its effect upon the welfare of all our people. Whew, strong words. That's quite the invite. And before this conference, he plans to have all the attending governors, other prominent figures in government, as well as wealthy industrialists, socialites, and other leaders that might care about conservation over for dinner. But will this soiree be the successful kickoff Tiar hopes for? Well, let's attend and see for dinner. But will this soiree be the successful kickoff T.R. hopes for? Well, let's attend and see for ourselves.

It's just past five in the evening, May 12th, 1908, in Washington, D.C. We're at the White House in the historic State Dining Room. Theodore Roosevelt has traded his rough-riding camping getup for a nice suit and tie and is now greeting guests as they arrive for dinner. Yes, this is the banquet kicking off his conservation conference with the governors. And TR has plenty of hands to shake.

Let's make the rounds. First, I'll note the governors. 45 chief executives from the 46 states and additional territories have made it. Okay, then. A strong showing. But there are plenty of other VIPs here. See the guy with the terrible comb-over and massive mustache flowing into a goatee? That's Vice President Charles Fairbanks. The man with the flowing white locks and mustache? That's Chief Justice Melville Fuller, along with all the other Supreme Court justices. Oh, and the fellow with the trimmed chin strap?

That's the Speaker of the House and namesake of the new Congressional Office building we heard about in the last episode, Joseph Cannon. He's not a fan of how TR uses his executive power, so his presence is interesting. Other government figures include senators, Teddy's secretaries of the interior and agriculture, and of course, Chief Forester Gifford Pinchot. He's taking a seat right now next to Frank McCoy, who served with Teddy in the Santiago campaign 10 years back. Okay, I know people are getting seated,

but let me point out a few non-government affiliated guests. See those two white bearded gents? Both are industrialists, James J. Hill and the man of steel himself, Andrew Carnegie. And over there, we have the former president of the United Mine Workers whom we met in episode 112,

John Mitchell. Finally, there's one famous non-government official who would very much like to be on the other side of the table. The longtime Democratic presidential hopeful, but never winning, William Jennings Bryan. Will's presence here is particularly significant. In a show of bipartisanship, Teddy was personally invested in his Democratic political rival being here. Will was happy to oblige. He responded to his invite by writing to the president.

I greatly appreciate your kind invitation and shall take pleasure in attending the conference. I am, I beg to assure you, in hearty sympathy with the purpose of the conference and I have no doubt the discussion of the subject will be helpful to us all. Wow. Teddy's drawn nearly every US governor,

figures from across the federal government, representation from capital and labor, as well as his own political nemesis. TR's managed to make conservation an issue that knows no bounds and draws American heroes from all walks of life, no matter what class or political party they hail from. Basically, TR is the Nick Fury of the conservationist Avengers. The glad-handing and welcoming over, everyone sits down for dinner. And it's excellent. Mouth-watering. TR biographer Edmund Morris sums up the menu perfectly, so I'll let him describe it. We have, quote, little neck clams on the half shell, coquille of fresh caviar, strained gumbo, cold salmon by Adair,

squab a l'estouffade, filet piqure chleu, ice cream praline, fancy cakes, and coffee. Close quote. Truly a feast fit for a king, or rather for governors. No speeches, no toasts, not tonight. Teddy just wants his guests to enjoy good food, company, and conversation. That last bit aided by the free-flowing sherry, claret, and sauteon. The meal finished, this group of about 70 men retired to the West Terrace for drinks and cigars in the open night air.

And it's at this point that Teddy has a chat with his erstwhile political foe, William Jennings Bryan. Teddy and the Cross of Gold candidate sit together for over an hour, lost in conversation. What all is said, we'll never know. But a passerby overhears Teddy tell the former and future Democratic presidential nominee, I confess to you confidentially that I like my job. Is that a moment of honesty or a burn? Even if the latter, the fact is the two gentlemen are cordial, warm, and kind. Teddy later calls WJB a wonderful man, owing to their conversation tonight. They chat as governors and justices, congressmen and businessmen,

senators and secretaries from different parties, states, and backgrounds all chew cigars and drink together. It's a great testament to the uniting force of nature and the American wilderness. Over the next several days, the attendees at this conference listen to leaders, professors, scientists, and others who have devoted their lives to the study of natural resources. Teddy himself compares the conference

to the gathering of men who signed the Constitution. He suggests that as the founders forged the Constitution in part to settle disputes over water and land rights, so these men gathered at the Governor's Conference must join together to protect America's vast natural resources now. And Teddy's successful in this regard. He scores enough points over the next three days to convince the members of the Governor's Conference to roll back their opposition to his conservation plans during the remainder of his term. They issue a declaration calling for the

continuation and extension of Teddy's policies toward natural resources and also proclaim that, quote, this conservation of our natural resources is a subject of transcendent importance, which should engage unremittingly the attention of the nation, the states, and the people in earnest cooperation. Close quote. Earnest cooperation. That's what Teddy wants, and that's what he's got. He successfully demonstrated that the country, though perhaps divided over other aspects of his square deal, can nonetheless come together on the issue of natural resources.

In the weeks to come, TR creates a National Conservation Commission headed by dear dear old Gifford Pinchot, to compile a comprehensive list of present natural resources, as well as recommended plans for conservation, even after Teddy's time in the White House draws to a close. It's difficult to overstate the immense impact Theodore Roosevelt had on the conservation movement in the United States. During his presidency, T.R. not only established five new national parks, thus doubling their numbers, he created 150 national forests, 51 federal bird reserves, four national game reserves, as well as 18 national monuments, adding up to roughly 230 million acres of protected land. And from Florida's Pelican Island to Arizona's Grand Canyon, it is likely the case that Teddy prevented several species from going extinct. But more than all that, he made conservation part of the American national ethos. Even a century later, we have plenty of public lands to enjoy in the United States largely

because of Theodore Roosevelt's influence. Because he convinced a generation of Americans to see preserving the wilderness for everyone, to use his words on national parks, as essential democracy and worth doing for their children, their children's children, and for all who come after.

In brief, Teddy wanted to preserve the nation's natural wonders for you and me, and all who come after us. And he did. Of the three C's of Teddy's square deal, conservation was nearest and dearest to his heart. He was indeed, as the poet and senator Amos Russell Wells describes him, the woodland president. If I may quote the last stanza of the senator's poem, entitled Theodore Roosevelt, Those stars direct our woodland president,

Steady his course with quiet influence, Lead him right onward where the triumph is, Draw him right upward where the blessing is, And ever through the crowding cares of state, Pour the serenity of hills and trees. And so, we conclude our last sea of the square deal. But even as serenity pours through Teddy's national parks and forests, trouble is brewing abroad in the international arena,

and the Rough Rider is eager to take it on. Next time, we'll listen as Teddy speaks softly, but carries a big stick. producer status. Thank you. Lawrence Neubauer, Linda Cunningham, Mark Ellis, Matthew Mitchell, Matthew Simmons, Melanie Jan, Nick Sechender, Nick Caffrell, Noah Hoff, Owen Sedlak, Paul Goringer, Randy Guffrey, Reese Humphreys-Wadsworth, Rick Brown, Sarah Trawick, Samuel Lagasa, Sharon Theisen, Sean Baines, Steve Williams, Creepy Girl, Tisha Black, and Zach Jackson.