The Presidency

By Hugh Sidey

Horace Marden Albright was only 26 during that August in 1916 when the National Park Service was created. A wily Californian, bursting with energy, he was possessed by a vision of how to preserve the nation's grandeur.

His boss, Stephen Mather of the Department of Interior, the other midwife of that legislation, was off in the Sierra wilderness. Albright was so convinced that the legislation signaled the beginning of something great that he was determined to seize the moment. In those wonderful days, one young man with heart could move mountains--or at least help preserve them. He persuaded his congressional staff friends to speed up the process of getting the Parks Act printed on parchment after it had been passed by Congress, approved by the requisite leaders and forwarded to President Woodrow Wilson as quickly as possible.

On Capitol Hill, the enrolling clerk was balking. The President signed legislation only on certain days, the clerk told Albright, and there was no < call for this bill to be rushed. At that instant the clerk's telephone rang. Albright eavesdropped. Wilson wanted the Army appropriations legislation brought down. "Be a good fellow and stick the Parks Act in the same envelope," pleaded Albright. The clerk weakened and tucked it in the envelope destined to be carried to the White House in minutes.

Albright dashed to the streetcar, flung his long frame on board and beat the courier to the White House, where Legislative Clerk Maurice Latta was also moved by his enthusiasm and promised to slip the bill into the President's night papers and even try to rescue the pen used in signing. A few hours later, Albright picked up a phone and heard the magic words: "The President signed the bill."

Though he is now nearly 96, Albright can recall what he did next. "I went right down to the postal telegraph office and sent Mather a night letter: 'Park Service bill signed nine o'clock last night. Have pen used by President in signing for you.' "

That story and many more lie between the covers of a new book, The Birth of the National Park Service: the Founding Years, 1913-33, by Albright as told to Robert Cahn (Howe Brothers). Mather became the first director of the Park Service, and Albright followed him as the two struggled to consolidate their authority over the natural wonders of the U.S. In a big old touring car with Warren Harding in Yellowstone in 1923, Albright told the President he had sealed off the road and "it will be 20 miles before we see another soul." Harding joyously pulled out some chewing tobacco, cut himself a generous plug and rumbled toward Old Faithful, expertly spitting the juice over his shoulder and "neatly clearing the side of the car."

In 1927, when Calvin Coolidge went fishing under Albright's eye in the Firehole River, the President let a park ranger take some of the lead weights off his line so the spinner would work better. Some time later, the ranger suggested adding weight and reached for new sinkers in Coolidge's tackle box. Rasped the parsimonious Coolidge: "What did you do with those two pieces of lead you took off the line the other day and put in your pocket?"

And just a few days ago in Studio City, Calif., Horace Albright heard from another President: "I understand that your work describes how the National Park idea took strong root, blossoming not only into one of America's greatest achievements but also one of our finest contributions to the entire world." The cable was signed Ronald Reagan.