On a Friday evening in 1984, I received a call from the Chief’s office and was offered the job of Forest Supervisor of the Flathead National Forest in Montana. I felt ready. I could apply the lessons I learned on the White Mountain and the conservation-loving people of New England who loved working together, compromised, and participated in all our planning meetings.
I know this sounds strange today, but in 1980’s, one did not apply for Forest Supervisor positions. You applied for a “Skills File.” You were on a list in the Chief’s Office, and you were offered jobs “based on Service needs.” This was a major stressor for me—losing control of where I moved my family. I was offered the position of Forest Supervisor of the Chugach National Forest, thanks to John Sandor, but I had to turn it down. I wanted to stay in New England. When I was later offered the Forest Supervisor job on the Flathead; I knew the Flathead offer was my last chance. I was excited, proud…and scared sh*tless. When I look at the decision the Forest Service made, to promote me-a 37-year-old landscape architect/planner-to one of the most active and controversial National Forests in the entire system, I can only imagine what the employees were thinking.
The Flathead National Forest was nothing like the White Mountain. It was more like the TLMP on steroids. Unanticipated stresses defined my first week as Forest Supervisor. On the second day in the office, a massive demonstration by the timber industry was taking place a half block away. I could see it from my office picture window. Loggers, truck drivers, mill workers, businesses that lived off the industry, and sympathizers. It was a protest and also a political power statement. The Flathead had an elevated timber sale target due to the mountain pine beetle salvage effort–160 million board feet a year. The draft Forest Plan proposed a compromise target of 105 million board feet. The industry felt it was losing ground to the environmentalists. There was probably about 500 people and five pieces of logging equipment in the protest demonstration. To me, it looked like a 10,000-person mob. My administrative assistant said to me, “They want you to speak to the group this afternoon.” Oh great. Can I go home sick? I went and survived it. I offered up that I had only been in Kalispell a few days and looked forward to learning and working with them. I went home sweating. Drinks anyone?
The following week, I was invited to a pot-luck picnic with the environmentalists. They wanted to meet the new Forest Supervisor. After what seemed like hours of their reciting one grievance after another, I was asked to speak. Answer for the Forest Service’s sins and crimes against nature. This job might not be so easy, I thought. For the next six years, it never seemed to slow down. It was one thing after another and sometimes two or three at once. The job is hard. All National Forests are not the same. I was told it had been a quiet place before I came and became a quiet place after I left. Seriously?1
I did not have a degree in forestry or engineering.2 I was an Easterner with degrees from Rutgers and Harvard, and a landscape architect no less. The timber industry, the primary employer in the Flathead Valley, was worried I might be their worst nightmare. The environmentalists thought I was the Prince of Darkness. My staff officers and Rangers thought I was a teenager. I was 37 and at least a decade younger than any of them. At my first staff potluck meal with staff officers and their wives (all staff were men of course, sadly), my timber staff officer’s wife kept saying, “You’re so young. You are so young. You are just SO young.” Funny, I had not felt young, up until that week. But given how people looked at me, I felt like I was in diapers, dirty ones at that. I am really not ready for this, I thought. But I was there, so I was going to give it a go, possibly more out of fear of failure than competence. I had the “imposters syndrome” big time.
With the intent to replicate my experience on the White Mountain National Forest, I asked the Dean of the University of Montana School of Forestry, Ben Stout,3 to facilitate a weekend-long negotiation session. Ben had something I did not have – public trust in his neutrality. As I recall, 30 key leaders from every interest group – loggers, lumber mill owners, environmentalists, backcountry horsemen, trail bike users, recreation facility owners, lodging owners, ski area owners, and those who had been actively involved long before I came to the Flathead. Using his extraordinary skills, Ben was able to reach an agreement. We were years into the planning effort, and it was time to close the deal. Everyone claimed they could live with it. When you are sitting across the table from your adversary, it is difficult to de-humanize them. They are not abstract. They are right there with you, negotiating, and working through the struggle with you.
The meeting Ben was leading was not much different than what we did on the White Mountain National Forest. I learned you have to speak to your publics in their language, not yours. Ben was a highly respected academic, but being from West Virginia, he could be pretty down-home. Bless his heart. I thought we had pulled off a coup. The Forest had spent years on this and finally had a foundation of trust with many of the participants. They respected us.
The Regional Forester asked if I expected any formal appeals. My reply was, “No. We have a solid agreement.” On the last day of the appeal period, we received 39 appeals, a national record. I was interviewed by our local paper, and when asked about the appellants, I replied, “I’m glad they do not have nuclear weapons.” That comment was printed reprinted and eventually picked up by the Associated Press. The Montana Governor had appointed me the head of the Flathead River Basin Commission and called me to give sage advice after reading the news, “Ed, plain vanilla, give them plain vanilla. PLAIN vanilla.” I guess I should have worked better on my listening skills.
- I was preceded and followed by two very competent leaders. Not disruptors, but skillful leaders and managers. Joel Holtrop, who followed me, did an exceptional job. I told him the reason that the controversy calmed down was because I solved all the problems before I left. I do not think Joel believed me. ↩︎
- In my defense, I did have an MS in Geography with a focus on human responses to natural hazards, an area of study pioneered at the University of Chicago by Gilbert White. But I was nowhere near what I, or anyone else, felt I needed at that time. ↩︎
- Ben was Professor of Forestry at Rutgers when I attended graduate school. I was a lowly instructor, and he was the head of all biological sciences at a major research university. Ben was a native West Virginia gentleman and you could not get angry with him. He had that unassuming charm, though he could be extremely demanding. I thought he would be perfect. I found out later that Ben was not so well accepted at U of M Forest School. He apparently started to drive screws on the longstanding research staff that listed “Letters to the Editors” as publications, and newspaper stories with glowing stories of their work with Grizzly Bears as outside reviews. But to me, he really performed way beyond my best dreams and I appreciated his work. ↩︎