July 1995: Dam Building Then and Wilderness Now... A Comparison

by Jim Stiles

     On June 6, Utah's congressional delegation introduced a 1.8 million acre wilderness bill in the House and Senate. As any of you who follow this newspaper know, it falls far short of the 5.7 million acres proposed by a coalition of environmental groups and thousands of citizens in Utah and across the country. Proponents of the 1.8 million acre plan look at the much larger proposal as an act of insanity...an extremist idea put forth by extremists. The reduced wilderness bill itself merely pays lip service to a concept that is still relatively new. 

     It's interesting to observe that throughout our history, new ideas have almost always been met with skepticism, scorn, and ridicule. Reminiscing about the floods of 1983 in this column last month and the ensuing threat to Glen Canyon Dam reminded me of the Bureau of Reclamation's plans to dam (damn) the rest of the free-flowing Colorado River after World War II. Among my old Life magazines is an article in the October 23, 1944 issue about the river; it's called "The Colorado...A wild and beautiful river is put to work for Man."

     The writer conceded that "the Colorado River is probably the wildest and most violently beautiful in the world." But he added, "it is certainly the most useful. The expanding economy of the whole southwestern quarter of the United States depends on it."

     The remainder of the story was mostly told in color photographs, one of the first color spreads I can remember in Life. Page after page revealed the spectacularly wild canyons of the Colorado River, as seen from the boat of the legendary river guide and explorer Norman Nevills. At the same time the text, in a matter-of-fact tone suggested that the "strength which makes the Colorado dangerous is also what makes it useful. The deep canyons it has cut are probably the best natural dam sites in the world."

     The magazine wanted everyone to get a last look, I suppose, because most of the scenes depicted in the story were to be flooded by the proposed dams. What's so amazing about all this to me is that, at the time, hardly anyone even flinched. The idea of eliminating every free-flowing mile of the Colorado River scarecely raised an eyebrow in 1946. Here is what was planned...

     Beginning upstream from Hoover Dam, which was built in the 20s and 30s, the Bureau of Reclamation wanted to build a dam in the west end of the Grand Canyon. It would have been called Bridge Canyon Dam. The 740 foot high structure would have raised the water level 672 feet and backed water 93 miles upstream to within a mile of Kanab Creek. At Marble Canyon, at the east end of the Grand Canyon another 298 foot dam was planned. Incredibly this dam was to be built so that impounded waters could be diverted through a proposed 44.8 mile diversion tunnel to a power generator near the mouth of Kanab Creek on the Colorado. The Bureau wanted to take advantage of the 1260 foot drop of the river over that distance by diverting almost all of the river into this diversion tunnel for the generation of electricity.

     The Bureau conceded to allow a small amount of the river to actually flow through the Grand Canyon "for scenic purposes."

     Upstream from the Marble Canyon site, Glen Canyon was targeted for damming, followed by dam sites at Dark Canyon, Moab, and Dewey. Additional dams were planned for tributaries of the Colorado River to deal with the silting problem. (For a detailed map of the dam proposals, turn to pages 20 and 21.)

     All of this was proposed in the mid-1940s, and as I said earlier, there were very few objections. But there were some. The Sierra Club fought and succeeded in stopping the construction of the Echo Park Dam at Dinosaur National Monument on the Green River but sacrificed Glen Canyon at the same time...a 'compromise' that its leader David Brower laments to this day.

     It was not until the mid to late 60s, more than 20 years after these dams were first proposed, that public sentiment began to shift toward a preservationist viewpoint. Until then, supporters of the dams thought opposition to them was...an act of insanity. To let all that water just flow down the river, without making any use of it at all, was...an extremist idea put forth by extremists.

     Deja vu?

     Today you would be hard-pressed to find anyone who thinks damming the Grand Canyon is a good idea. I'd bet even our very own Representative Bill Orton would oppose it. And the Bureau of Reclamation has startled its critics lately, saying it's time for BuRec to get out of the dam building business.

     We are all lucky that in the 20 years it took for the public's awareness and sensitivity to develop, more irreparable damage was not inflicted on the Colorado River. It was, in fact, the Cold War that spared the river. Most of this country's resources were pumped into the military during the 50s; the exorbitant cost of constructing these dams moved most of them to a back burner. Meantime, the public conscience had 20 years to catch up.

     Now that wilderness is a national issue, I wonder if the sensitivity of the rest of America to the idea of preserving our precious wildlands is as stunted as some of us are here in Utah. From Maine to California, Americans now have the right, even the obligation, to prove they understand the need for wilderness, an understanding sorely missing by many of their fellow citizens in the Beehive State. Utah wildlands need your input.

WHY BENKELMAN?

     I was almost killed three times in two minutes and 45 seconds. That's how long it took me to drive Main Street from 100 North to Center a few weeks ago. First a hell-for-leather trucker blew the stop light in front of the Poplar Place a good five seconds after the light had changed. I stomped hard on the breaks and averted disaster by inches. Moments later, just as I was recovering from my near-miss with Death, a large motorhome from our good neighbors in Florida pulled into traffic from its parking spot in front of High Desert Gifts; I don't know how that behemoth ever got into the spot in the first place, but he was determined to get out NOW. He exploded into my lane and only my lightning quick reflexes saved me from a premature meeting with the Grim Reaper for the second time in a minute.

     I proceeded warily now, realizing that I should have put those finishing touches on my new will before I left home for what was beginning to feel like the last time. All I wanted to do was get off Main Street; I prepared to make a quick right onto Center, but the light was changing and a very attractive but somewhat muscle-bound and subsequently ill-mannered woman stepped off the curb. I almost hit her.

     "Watch it, you stupid jerk!" she screamed. Then she flipped me the bird. And a lovely bird it was.

     I returned the sentiment and the next thing I knew, my truck door was ripped from its hinges by Miss Hercules and I found myself on the hot asphalt, being pummeled mercilessly by the blonde bodybuilder with her fully extended graphite hiking rod.

     "Thus I refute Robert Bligh," she bellowed, "you little jiminy cricket creep! God, how men disgust me!"

     Before I blacked out and several minutes before the EMTs arrived, I vaguely recall my new girlfriend climbing on her bike and riding over me several times before she finally turned north on Main and vanished in the crowd.

     Perhaps I embellish some.

     Indeed. In any event, I decided it was time to leave town for awhile.

     I went back to Benkelman.     

     As most of you who have been reading this literary journal over the years know, Benkelman in the great state of Nebraska is a place I travel to when I have been pummeled mercilessly by tourists and feel the need to get away from it all for awhile and reflect on the state of my life. So called.

     Second, it is one of the few places I can think of where I can write freely about the town and its environs without running the risk of ruining that town by causing a tourist stampede to it. It's too flat for mountain bikers, too monotonous (in their eyes) to most tourists, unappealing to river runners who would have to get their best thrills by running the Republican River, frightening to political liberals who can't keep their opinions to themselves (I said the Republican  River runs through Benkelman), and horrifying to environmentalists...all those damn cows.

     I love Benkelman.

     Why? First because no one wants to go there for all the reasons I've just mentioned. If you're looking for a place to escape to and you say to yourself, 'Nobody has discovered this place yet,' you're already doomed. If you realize enough to say it hasn't been discovered yet, it will. And by many more people who look just like you.

     No. You have to find a place that is beautiful only to you. That certain beauty that is in the eyes of the beholder. For me, Benkelman is beautiful.

     Second, Benkelman is the home of the Wagonmaster...Ward Bond. You have to be at least 40 years old to know that Ward Bond was the star of the great TV Western series of the 50s, "Wagon Train." He was also Burt the Cop in the Frank Capra/Jimmie Stewart classic, "It's a Wonderful Life," and in numerous John Wayne Westerns. And he's Benkelman's claim to fame. His name is mentioned prominently on its welcome signs at the edge of town (although not as prominently as it had been. Over the winter, they took down the old signs and put up new, more stylish replacements. Even Benkelman makes changes from time to time.) And there is a Ward Bond Memorial Park, right next to the Jack n' Jill Market.

     I love Benkelman because it's peaceful and quiet, and content to stay that way. There are no nationally franchised fast food restaurants tearing up neighbors' back yards, no talk of trams (another advantage to being a flatlander), no condo developments,  no effort to lure big budget Hollywood movies to town...who needs anymore of Hollywood when you can claim Ward Bond? The town seems to enjoy staying the same. It provides that certain continuity that is missing and missed in so many of our lives.

     And finally, there's Nate Lammers and his friend's dog Jethro. On Sunday mornings Benkelman's downtown is virtually deserted. I was looking for a copy of The Benkelman Post and I'd heard I could find a stand in front of the post office. As I was getting out of the truck, I saw a kid come around the corner with a dog that was about twice as big as he was, a big St. Bernard named Jethro. The boy was trying to slow his shaggy friend down and all he could do was hang on to the big dog's ear.

     Somehow it looked like a photo op if ever there was one. So, despite the fact that I was a total stranger in town and I was looking downright scruffy (even frightening) from the beard I was growing, I asked for and got his pleased permission to take a picture of this Benkelman boy and Jethro.

     Later, as I was headed out of town, I saw the dynamic duo again and waved, and I heard the boy yell for me to stop. I pulled to the side of the road near the big grain elevators that dominate the west end of town. He wanted to know why I'd taken his picture. I explained that he and the dog looked like they needed to be photographed, that I'd never seen anyone use a dog's ear for a leash before, that I ran a small newspaper in Utah, and that if I could figure out a reason to, I'd print the picture in my next issue.

     That seemed to please him a lot and he quickly gave me his name and address in the event Nate and Jethro were ultimately featured in The Canyon Country Zephyr. I got the feeling that in Benkelman, kids haven't been taught to fear every stranger they meet...at least not yet. It felt good to be in a town like that.

     So...why Benkelman? That's why.

     And now here's Nate Lammers and his friend's dog Jethro....