Reshaping Our National Parks and Their Guardians: The Legacy of George B. Hartzog Jr.

4: The Hartzog Directorate

47 The assassination of President Kennedy on November 22, 1963, threw George Hartzog’s appointment as director into question. Wirth was not retiring by choice, Hartzog believed, and he reasoned that if Lyndon Johnson selected another secretary of the interior, Conrad Wirth might keep his position . But when Johnson retained Udall, Wirth retired. On January 4, 1964, Hartzog became director. He had leapfrogged many more senior employees and, as a result, would be under critical scrutiny. According to Robert Utley, chief historian during Hartzog’s tenure: The career service resented the way Wirth was booted out and greeted Hartzog with apprehension, anxiety, and a wait-and-see resignation . Hartzog had held two assistant superintendencies before taking over JNEM, and he had been a lawyer before that. But I don’t think the fraternity of superintendents ever thought of him as one of them. He just wasn’t the orthodox gray-and-green, as he swiftly demonstrated on becoming director.1 Hartzog knew of the widespread opposition to his selection but hoped he could eventually convince the skeptics that Udall had made a wise choice. Acceptance did come, not only because of vigorous and effective leadership but also owing to the rapid turnover in personnel as the 1930s generation reached retirement age. Some of the old guard retired willingly, some with a push from the new director. As a friend pointed out, “You are really shaking CHAPTER FOUR The Hartzog Directorate 48 chapter four the tree! Overripe fruit will surely fall!”2 As the fruit fell, Hartzog appointed people he trusted or in whom he saw potential, thus increasingly gaining the allegiance of key personnel. Young and energetic, Hartzog “hit the ground running,” according to Utley, and “launched all sorts of non-traditional initiatives.” His unorthodox style appalled many, especially the more traditional veterans. A nearly constant stream of reorganization schemes kept old and new employees “constantly off balance and scared for their jobs and programs and staff.” Whether he reorganized through genuine interest in organizational excellence or used it as an “FDR-like ploy for keeping people alert and competitive,” or both, is open to question. Regardless, reorganization was “a constant fact of life that kept everyone in turmoil and diverted much time and energy to efforts to defend what one had or grab what someone else had.” No one questioned that Hartzog was totally in charge of the Park Service and very much a hands-on director. As Utley described him, he was a micromanager who “professed to delegate freely . . . but everyone knew the delegation to be heavily qualified by the imperative to exercise it as the chief wanted and to cross him at your peril.”3 Those who served during the Hartzog years remember him as harshly demanding, but they also nostalgically recall the creativity, innovation, and excitement. They remember that things got done, and they believe he was the last director to exercise power effectively. At the same time, years did not dull the impression that he was “a demanding taskmaster with high standards,” “sure as hell not the easiest guy to work for,” “very hard on his people, and equipped with ‘a short fuse.’”4 Stories abound of Hartzog’s thoughtfulness and thoughtlessness. He could be utterly charming and make employees feel valued or he could just as easily tear them to shreds. As retired superintendent Forrest Benson wrote to him: You gave me an unheard of three-hour lead time to provide you with a briefing statement on the Ozette Indians. With considerable frantic search I learned they once existed on the Olympic Peninsula. . . . Have you ever tried to go through 16 file drawers searching for what you know not what with the boss’s secretary calling every ten minutes asking where the statement was? I was wound tighter than a two dollar clock by the time I got something on paper. the hartzog directorate 49 Benson also recalled the time he and another employee worked until midnight getting information together for a Great Basin proposal. As Benson remembered: Imadethemistakeof volunteeringtobringitinthefollowingmorning to one of your infamous 7 am sessions. What we put together was not what you wanted, you had an accident coming to work that morning, and were in a vile temper and yours truly was the first pigeon to enter the inner sanctum. You had me for breakfast—in spades. Helen Saults [Hartzog’s appointment secretary] kidded me for months about...