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Glacier Conservancy: https://glacier.org/headwaters Frank Waln music: https://www.instagram.com/frankwaln/ Stella Nall art: https://www.instagram.com/stella.nall/
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TRANSCRIPT:
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Daniel: [ethereal chords start] Headwaters is brought to you by the park's nonprofit partner, the Glacier Conservancy. Donations from listeners to the Conservancy are what make Headwaters possible. If you'd like to support the show, go to glacier.org. Beyond that, leaving a review in your podcast app or sending this episode to a friend is a big help. Gaby: It's 1942. The superintendent of Glacier National Park has just received a tip from the local radio station. They say they've heard from a bus driver that he was asked to be ready to transport "Japanese enemy aliens" into the park sometime soon. This is news to the superintendent. The Park Service is being blindsided by a plan to imprison [music fades out] Japanese civilians inside Glacier National Park. Less than two weeks earlier, a Japanese submarine surfaced off the coast of Santa Barbara, California, and opened fire at an aviation fuel tank on shore. The city went into a panic and eyewitnesses claimed to see the submarine flashing signal lights to someone on shore. President Roosevelt uses this as an excuse to say that Japanese Americans, both American citizens and immigrants who aren't eligible for citizenship, might be colluding with the enemy. He orders anyone of Japanese descent in the Western United States to be forcibly removed from their homes and incarcerated. When the park superintendent is tipped off that one of these camps will be in Glacier, he immediately writes to his boss in the regional office. His boss worries that since this pertains to the war effort, they're in a weak position to object. Still, he says to the superintendent, write up a list of reasons why turning the park into an incarceration site is a bad idea. So, he does, with one concern underlying all others: arson. The national security concern shared by both Glacier's superintendent and President Roosevelt is that Japanese Americans will try to ignite forest fires and torch the American West. Later in the war, in 1944 and '45, the Japanese military will float thousands of incendiary balloons on the jet stream into the United States. While none start forest fires, at least one of these balloons floats into Glacier. Another lands in Oregon and kills five children and their teacher on a Sunday school trip. Needless to say, fires are a major concern, and it's out of this paranoid era that the Smokey Bear campaign is launched. Just a few years later, in 1947, the Wartime Advertising Council coins the slogan [opening flute notes of 'Wild West" by Frank Waln start] "Only you can prevent forest fires." So when Glacier's superintendent argues that the military really shouldn't use the park as a prison camp because of the arson risk, it feeds a popular sentiment [drumbeat starts] and works. Glacier is moved [strings start] to the bottom of the list and no Japanese Americans are ever incarcerated here. Music: ["Wild West" plays] Gaby: This is Headwaters, a show about how Glacier National Park is connected to everything else [music fades out]. I'm Gaby. Peri: And I'm Peri. We're calling this season: "Switchback," looking at moments when history seems to take a sharp turn. Times when we were going one direction and then switched back like a trail zigzagging up a mountain. This episode is about two very different anti-war movements and how they intersected with a national park in remote northwest Montana. It considers how we remember those anti-war movements today. With the benefit of hindsight. Where do pacifists belong in a country at war? And how do you decide which wars are worth fighting? [futuristic bass starts] It's 1941 and fire is looming, no matter who you are. By the end of the year, the United States will join World War Two, after the attack on Pearl Harbor. Today, it's remembered as "The Good War," and American men and women lined up to join the war effort to defeat fascism and save democracy [music ends]. But there was a small minority who refused to fight. Man #1: General Hershey, who was director of Selective Service, is often quoted as saying that CPS was an experiment to determine whether or not the rights of minorities could be protected in a time of national emergency. Peri: The CPS was the "Civilian Public Service," and for pacifists during the war, it was an alternative to fighting. Rather than being drafted into the military, you could do another kind of service for your country. And some of them came to Glacier National Park. Man #1: My whole life has been very shaped by the issues of war and peace, visiting and working in countries that have experienced war. Myself being a conscientious objector. Peri: Titus Peachey is a retired peace education coordinator for the Mennonite Central Committee, and Mennonites are one of the three historic peace churches with Quakers and the Church of the Brethren. And all of these faiths hold nonviolent beliefs. So during the Vietnam War, Titus was a conscientious objector and did alternative service. But earlier in the 20th century, before World War Two, there wasn't a separate path for conscientious objectors. They either had to fight, or go to prison. And in some cases they were killed for their beliefs. Titus: In World War One, conscientious objectors, while they were recognized, they still had to serve and they had to do that service, under military command. That just made for a very, very difficult environment. And many of the conscientious objectors were treated very harshly. My great-uncle, Ed Beitzel, was sent to Fort Meade in Maryland, and at one point he was taken out back behind some buildings, told to turn his back, and there were three men with guns [futuristic bass starts] doing a mock firing squad. They didn't shoot him, but they meant to do some kind of psychological torture. Man #2: During World War One, my father-in-law suffered considerably as a conscientious objector within a military camp. Peri: This is from an oral history with another conscientious objector [music fades] named Luke Birky. Luke Birky: He was placed in the army and he refused to even to wear the uniform. And so he suffered a great deal at the hands of his fellow draftees. In fact, they took him out one night and hung him from a tree. [futuristic bass fades in] But fortunately, an officer came by and caught them before he had— he had lost consciousness, but he did not die. Peri: And even in more benign circumstances, trying to find a path as an objector within the military system was incredibly challenging. [music fades] Titus: You know, some of these young people had very tender consciences coming from conservative Mennonite communities that had been very separate from the world. The onus was placed on each individual conscientious objector to figure it out. So they had to decide things: will I march? Will I carry a gun? Will I wear a military uniform? Will I peel potatoes? And my great-uncle Ed Beitzel even wrote home to his pastor, wondering if it would be okay for him to help build a latrine or not. Peri: This was not a good solution for anyone, either the objectors or the military. So in the late 1920s and '30s, especially as tensions in Europe were growing, leaders from these faiths knew that something had to change. So they joined forces to negotiate with the government and the military. Titus: So I think they realized that there was a problem here because there were large numbers of people who had deeply held religious convictions against the war. We don't want to force them to violate their consciences, but they are a minority, and we don't want to make it too easy because we [laughing] need soldiers for the war. Peri: The result was the creation of the Civilian Public Service, or CPS, in 1940. The CPS provided a formal option for objectors to plead their case to the draft board, and if they were approved, they'd be assigned to a camp where they'd perform nonviolent work of national importance, and under civilian direction, [ethereal chords fade in] rather than the military. These conscientious objectors arrived in Glacier in late 1942 and their service in the national parks would leave behind a legacy that you can still see in the park today—if you know where to look. Gaby: It's 1934. Anti-Semitism is at its height in America. Immigration from Europe has been severely restricted over the past decade. The KKK has had a recent resurgence, and Jews are often blamed for the First World War. Businessman Henry Ford spreads these beliefs widely [distorted futuristic bass fades in], saying that all wars are caused by Jews seeking profits. During the Great Depression. FDR's New Deal is derided as the "Jew Deal." But all of this feels far away from Glacier National Park. [bass fades out] Senator Burton K. Wheeler is sitting on the north shore of Lake McDonald, watching as his kids splash happily in the water [chords fade out]. You can picture it... maybe he's thinking about where to go fishing tomorrow. There's a little pond that's named for him up the North Fork. He could go there if he wanted, though it's awfully far. But then his wife, Lulu, comes outside and gives him a message from work that will change his fishing plans and so much more. Wheeler is starting along a trail that will switch back again and again as he climbs ever higher up a mountain of political power. This path will lead him into packed arenas and onto stages next to America's most famous anti-Semites. [ethereal chords fade in] The FBI will spy on him. He'll spar with presidents. State secrets will be leaked. Through it all, Wheeler will fight against America's entry into World War Two. Peri: The Wheeler's cabin was an idyllic spot in the heart of Glacier, and it was a leased inholding that they'd bought from someone who'd purchased it before the park was created. But it was more than a vacation spot. It was also a social center for the community on the lake. John Hoag was the Wheeler's neighbor back then, and he later recorded an oral history about his summers there. John Hoag: That was a happy camp, there. The Wheelers would go hiking. They would go climbing. They would they had sailboats, they had horses. And they included me in lots of their trips. They had lots of guests there, including the Native Americans from over at Browning would come over—they were very welcome there with the Wheeler group. And the Wheelers knew one of the old homesteaders up in the North Fork. They made it a point to be friendly to everybody. That was just their nature. Peri: And despite being a teenager at the time, he felt a camaraderie with Wheeler. John Hoag: I never worried about saying anything to Senator Wheeler, I could talk with him like a Dutch uncle because, you know, he took things in stride. Even if you said something wrong, he would laugh it all off. Woman #1: You know, he came from this very dour New England family. Somehow, when they got to grandfather, the youngest of 11 children, grandfather was always smiling. Peri: Senator Wheeler's granddaughter, Frederica, also recorded an oral history. Frederica: And this to me was his genius, was his not only his love for them, [voices and laughter audible in background] but then they reciprocated with love back to him. As I said, you just couldn't help but like grandfather, it didn't matter if he said the most insulting, horrible thing to you [someone laughs]. You forgave him. Peri: Wheeler's rise to power infamously began in Butte, Montana, where he stopped on his way to start a law career in Seattle. He lost his money in a poker game and had to stay. At least, that's how he told the story. From there, he was swept into politics. He served a term in the Montana state legislature, and he was appointed as a U.S. attorney in the early 1900s. He was an independent thinker. He fought for the little guy and he wasn't afraid of a controversy. Marc Johnson wrote a biography of Wheeler, and he points to World War One as a formative moment in his early career facing wartime prejudice. Marc Johnson: He served quite controversially as U.S. attorney in Montana during the First World War, was forced to resign basically over allegations that he had not properly prosecuted draft resisters and others who opposed the war. Peri: Here's Wheeler himself speaking about that time. Burton K. Wheeler: Hysteria swept all over the West, and everybody who had a German name or a foreign name was suspected of being pro-German. And and every labor organization which asked for higher wages, they were accused of being pro-German, and every farm organization was. And then because I wouldn't prosecute every labor leader that asked for higher wages or every farm leader or everybody that had a German name, unless they produced evidence to me, then they accused me of being pro-German, notwithstanding the fact that I had been pro-Ally. Peri: That experience affected Wheeler for the rest of his life. He remembered how neighbor turned against neighbor, how he was pressured to prosecute anyone who spoke against the war and how the war gave the government too much power to trample civil liberties. He was a New Deal Democrat who believed in the power of government to do good. [ethereal chords fade in] But he was also suspicious of letting any government or corporation or individual get too powerful. Gaby: It's 1934. Wheeler has his feet in the water and visions of trout dancing in his head when his wife Lulu comes outside and gives him a message from work. It's a message from the White House. The president will be coming to Montana. Franklin Delano Roosevelt, head of Wheeler's political party, is touring the country promoting the success of his New Deal programs. And he's making a stop in Glacier. Peri: [music fades] Roosevelt's visit to the park is very carefully orchestrated. He and his entourage get off the train in West Glacier. They drive Going-to-the-Sun Road in the park's iconic red busses. And they end the day in Two Medicine. They're welcomed by Blackfeet tribal members in full regalia, and they're serenaded by young men from the Civilian Conservation Corps. Roosevelt addresses cheering crowds and makes a radio address from the chalet. And Wheeler is along for the ride. Standing right next to Roosevelt on stages and train platforms across the park. Marc Johnson: It's a reelection year for Wheeler. He's on the ballot in 1934, not facing a really strong opponent, but nonetheless, he is running for reelection. Peri: Early on, Wheeler was a big FDR supporter. He was the first senator to support Roosevelt's candidacy in 1930. And his influence helped FDR a lot in the West. Marc Johnson: I believe that Wheeler had every reason to think that he was going to be considered for maybe the vice presidency on a Roosevelt ticket, certainly to be considered for a cabinet position and maybe offered a job like the attorney general or Secretary of the Interior. None of that happened. Peri: Wheeler was a staunch New Deal Democrat in the early 1930s, and he and FDR were natural allies, at least on paper. Marc Johnson: I think they were oil and water personality wise. Wheeler went out of his way to be candid and to be, at times controversial, purposely controversial. And Roosevelt was a master at, you know, kind of sanding the rough edges off of a lot of political issues, making them more palatable to a broader range of voters. Peri: And despite these differences, they'd worked well together in the past. But what happened on the trip to Glacier started a slow but irrevocable shift. Marc Johnson: Not once on that trip did FDR utter Wheeler's name. Never to say "I'm glad to be here with my great friend, B.K. Wheeler. He's done so much for Montana." Peri: Wheeler is standing on stage with FDR, but at no point does Roosevelt even acknowledge him. Marc Johnson: It's fascinating to me that a politician with the acute sense of political skill that FDR had, would snub a member of his own party so completely, in his own backyard. So it's hard to believe that it wasn't a calculated snub. Peri: This was as unthinkable then as it is today—a popular president is campaigning with a senator whose up for reelection, and in his home state, too—and doesn’t throw him a single bone. Marc Johnson: And I think it really hurt him personally, angered him, no doubt, and made him increasingly [ethereal chords fade in] skeptical of Roosevelt on a whole range of things going forward. Gaby: It's August 1st, 1945. Luke Birky's heart is pounding as he stands in the back of an airplane. He's opposed to violence, but he's not opposed to danger. The wind is whipping across his face from the open door of the plane. Luke looks out, watching as a wisp of smoke rises from the forest below. They're not over enemy territory, or over any theater of war. Luke is a smokejumper, a firefighter who parachutes into fires, but he's not putting out a fire today. Another jumper is injured. A broken leg, they said. And Luke and his crew are coming to the rescue. The small plane they're in tilts, and starts to circle the spotter watching carefully. It's like finding a needle in a haystack, except the haystack is on fire. And once they find them, they have a tall order: they have to carry the injured man another nine miles through brush and deadfall to the nearest road. But Luke has been fighting fire all summer. He's young, he's fit, and he's ready for the challenge. And when his spotter looks up and slaps him on the leg, Luke jumps out the door of the plane. [eerie whistle] Peri: The establishment of the Civilian Public Service gave a lot more options to the young men of the peace churches. One of those options was fighting. The extent of the Holocaust [music fades out] would only be revealed as the war went on. But some men, even those raised in a pacifist faith, felt that the war against fascism was worth fighting. It was a point of debate that divided many nonviolent communities. Titus: Of the Mennonite young men who would have been eligible for the draft, roughly 40% actually got drafted and went off to fight. The remaining Mennonites, who did not want to fight, who considered themselves conscientious objectors, they could have gone in as medics, as noncombatants, or they could have done alternative service in Civilian Public Service, or they could have gone to jail. Peri: This was a decision that each person weighed carefully. About 25,000 conscientious objectors ended up serving as noncombatants in the military and about half that many, like 12,000, participated in the Civilian Public Service. And at the far end of the spectrum, some people felt that even joining the CPS was too much. Participating in the draft system in any way was to be complicit. [futuristic bass fades in] Titus: Out of the total population who were drafted, roughly 6000 went to jail, rather than participate in an alternative service program, and rather than being drafted in going to fight. Peri: This subset of people came from a lot of different [music fades] faiths and political persuasions. It included civil rights activist Bayard Rustin, and Dave Dellinger, who was a seminary student at the time and would later become one of the Chicago seven, famously opposing the Vietnam War. These men refused to even register for the draft, and they chose to spend the war in prison. Titus: In fact, there are stories of some people who went into CPS and then came under conviction that this was too great a compromise with their conscience and walked out of CPS and went to jail. Peri: But for a lot of young men, the CPS program was a useful compromise. Many of them were sent to national parks like Glacier, where they did important work like fighting fire, working on trails, building fire lookouts and a lot more. One of these CPSers who came to Glacier was Luke Birky, who you heard earlier talking about his father-in-law's experience during World War One. He recorded this oral history about his CPS experience in his 90s. Luke Birky: I was raised in a in a Mennonite home. We were German in origin. My parents spoke Pennsylvania Dutch. And so I did grow up in a rather isolated way, in a in a way. And I followed the what I understood Jesus response was not to resist when people did things bad against you and that you would live all the way to death if necessary, rather than to injure or hurt other people. Well, I was drafted in January of 1943, and it was a quite a satisfactory arrangement as far as I was concerned. So I was able to do work that I considered important for the for the common good of the US, and it did not cause me to violate my conscience. And so I was quite satisfied with that. Peri: He was stationed in Belton, which is now called West Glacier. But after a while working in the park didn't feel like enough for him. Luke Birky: And I worked in the shop up there, and again, we worked for the Park Service. And again, it was is work in the outdoors. It was trail maintenance, fire control and so on. And I was very happy there, but had the opportunity to volunteer to go into the smokejumpers. Peri: If you're not familiar with smokejumping, you might find it a little... farfetched. Basically, it's an elite group of firefighters that parachutes out of a plane to reach particularly remote fires. Luke Birky: Smokejumping was seemed to be it was a new way of fighting fires. Many of us grew up in in the West and had a great deal of concern about forest fires. And so, many of us liked it, it was a challenge. It was exciting. It was a little scary. I suppose also, many of us had been labeled as yellow bellies cowards for not wanting to go into the war. For some of us at least, there was a secondary motivation that we may have wanted to show we had courage also. Peri: And along with many other skills, smokejumping certainly requires courage. Luke Birky: Prior to smoke jumping. If there was a fire, they'd notice smoke and then they'd get a crew and they'd hike in maybe a day or so to get to the fire because we worked mostly in the wilderness areas. But the idea of the smokejumpers was that within a matter of hours after a fire started, that you could get there before it had a chance to spread. It was exciting, you know, to jump in the out of a plane was an exciting episode. All the other guys, the first jump, I know, they turned pale. I don't think I did, [laughing] but the rest of them did. Peri: In those days, it was even more dangerous as they were figuring out how to design their parachutes and how to fight fire safely. Luke Birky: Well, other than the jumping and coming down into very rough terrain, the biggest danger was if a fire got out of control. And I did jump on one fire where we were just beginning to fight fire and the wind came up and the fire went up into the trees, crowned and starts moving very fast then. And so we just had to run for our lives and get away. Peri: Just a few years later, in 1949, 13, Smokejumpers died near Helena, Montana, and almost exactly the scenario that Luke Birky is describing. Norman Maclean memorialized the tragedy in his book "Young Men and Fire." But the CPS smokejumpers escaped disaster, if narrowly. Luke Birky: There were no CPS men lost. We had several with very severe injuries, and I jumped in twice to carry guys out. Peri: But despite the risks he faced, he looked back on smokejumping and his time in Glacier with fondness. Luke Birky: This was an enormously stretching time for me in lots of ways it was very painful for me, but it was also one of the best times that I had. It was a time of testing our own convictions, [piano chords fade in] our own beliefs. And out of that, I moved from being more just nonresistant, being opposed to killing, to being a much more of an activist kind of outlook where I thought there would be things that we can and should do to work for peace instead of just being opposed to war. Peri: By 1940, Paris had fallen to Axis forces, and German U-boats were sinking dozens of Allied ships every month that were trying to bring aid to Britain. America, however, was still staying out of the fight. Looking back, the American entry into World War Two seems like a foregone conclusion. Compared to more complicated motivations for other wars, the fight against fascism is remembered proudly. But in 1940, before the attack on Pearl Harbor, public opinion was genuinely conflicted. Many Americans didn't want to get involved in another war, but they also didn't want to see fascism overrun European democracies. Making things more complicated, both Germany and Britain were engaged in secret propaganda battles to shift public opinion in America. The Nazis desperately wanted to keep the U.S. out of the war, while the British said they needed the support of their allies to survive. Marc Johnson: The public had no appetite for U.S. involvement in another war and really was concerned in the main that the president's foreign policy was constantly moving the country inevitably in the direction of more— more engagement, more involvement in the war. And that's what Wheeler was trying to warn against. Peri: That's Wheeler's biographer again, Marc Johnson. It's easy to forget now just how Fresh World War One felt in the American memory at the time. The war had only ended about 20 years ago, and people felt like it was a pointless conflict between imperial powers, where millions of men died in the muddy trenches of Europe for nothing. Wheeler's mother was also a devout Quaker, and he was raised in the faith. But he also had strong memories of the prejudice and erosion of civil liberties during World War One. And he felt like any war was an opportunity for the government to centralize power and crack down on dissenters. And Wheeler's suspicions and dislike of FDR didn't help things either. Marc Johnson: He opposed war, generally speaking. Had long been an advocate of less U.S. military involvement around the world, and he saw what was happening in Europe as simply an extension of the age-old battles between empires on the European continent. And he wanted no part of it. And he was convinced that most Americans wanted no part of it. Peri: Throughout the 1930s, the tensions between Wheeler and FDR have been escalating, and after starting as allies, they've become full on rivals. Come 1940, Roosevelt is running for reelection for an unprecedented third term, and he's walking on quite a tightrope. He has to prepare the country for war, while also assuring the public that he won't actually lead them into war. But he knows Britain can't stand alone for very long, and America may have to join the fight sooner or later. Man #3: Thinking in terms of today and tomorrow. I make the direct statement to the American people that there is far less chance of the United States getting into war if we do all we can now to support the nations defending themselves against attack by the Axis, than if we acquiesce in their defeat, submit tamely to an Axis victory, and wait our turn to be the object of attack in another war later on. Peri: With this reasoning, Roosevelt calls for the first-ever peacetime draft in American history, and this forced conscription is exactly what Wheeler has been saying FDR will do all along. Wheeler says a peacetime draft will be the end of free democracy. "Hushed whispers will replace free speech. Men and women will be shackled by the chains they have themselves forged." Despite these strong words, a majority of Americans supported the peacetime draft legislation, and it passed Congress easily. Ironically, within it was the clause that established the Civilian Public Service, and conscientious objector status, which Wheeler probably would have supported on its own. [lively drumbeat starts] But even so, there's a growing anti-war movement across the country, and it's gaining steam, especially on college campuses. Students recognize that if the U.S. goes to war, they'll be the ones fighting. At Yale, students organize a group to advocate against entry into the war, and it quickly gains momentum, opening chapters across the country. Its early supporters included future presidents Gerald Ford and John F. Kennedy. [drum fades out] Senator Wheeler, though never a member, tours the country and quickly becomes one of their top speakers. The group's name, "America First." [futuristic bass plays] The Civilian Public Service was a welcome option for young conscientious objectors. But in a wartime climate, their views were not very popular. So because of this, CPS camps were often tucked away in remote spots like Glacier. Titus: Some people feel like the creation of CPS camps, many of them in national parks or very rural areas away from large population centers, might have been an attempt to kind of get them out of public view and away from a lot of interaction with the public so that there wouldn't be this tension, or the resentment build up. It was difficult, I think, for people in communities where their sons had gone off to war and faced danger and perhaps even been killed, to see that the CPS workers could do something else without experiencing any kind of risk or harm or danger. How is that fair? And, you know, looking back, you can understand that. Peri: Still the CPS did a lot for the park, which was really feeling the loss of the CCC, and the wartime labor shortage. The objectors were young men who, unlike the CCC, generally came from farming backgrounds, so they had skills that easily applied to work in the park. And their work was definitely appreciated. But today there's not much left behind. So catching a glimpse of their legacy requires a bit of a field trip. [birdsong, drum-beat, car driving sound fade in]. Peri [in the field]: We parked at the Loop and walked just a tiny bit down the trail. Peri: Madeline and I drove partway up Going-to-the-Sun Road to try and get a look at one of the only tangible reminders left of the work the CPS did in the park. Madeline [in the field]: And Peri is setting up the scope right now... I might get my first look [drumbeat fades out] at the Heaven's Peak Lookout. Peri: The lookout was built in 1945, and it's basically a one room box with panoramic windows and this massive stone foundation. It sits on the very northern end of this long ridge that extends north from Heaven's Peak. And it's so windy up there in the winter that the lookout's roof has to be fastened down with steel bars. Peri [in the field]: Okay. I have it in the scope... do you want to take a look? Madeline [in the field]: [gasp] Cool. Oh, wow. Okay. First of all, great job getting it in this in the scope. It's just right smack dab in the middle. Peri [in the field]: Thank you. Madeline [in the field]: Now that I've seen it in the scope, I can see it with my eyes, but it— it does blend kind of right in. Peri: As we took turns looking through the scope at the little square lookout silhouetted against a drizzly morning sky. We heard footsteps. Peri [in the field]: Hi. Madeline [in the field]: Do you all want to take a peek at this? [laughs] We are looking at the Heaven's Peak lookout, which is up on that ridge— Man #4: Yeah. Peri [in the field]: —do you know anything about the building? Man #4: No, no we don't. Madeline [in the field]: If you do want to look through the scope? Man #4: Oh, that'd be wonderful. Madeline [in the field]: Yeah! It's a really cool little building. You just have to say what you think when you see it. Man #5: So what is it? I didn't hear what you said to him. Peri [in the field]: So the scope is pointed at a fire lookout that's up on the ridge there. It's called the Heaven's Peak Lookout. And it was built by conscientious objectors during World War Two that were stationed here. Man #5: Okay. Peri [in the field]: Oh! You're wearing a Vietnam veteran hat. Man #5: Oh, I am! [laughs] Peri [in the field]: Yeah. So it's an interesting story of park history. Man #5: Okay. Madeline [in the field]: Did you see it? Man #5: Yeah, I did see it. Man #4: What do you think of it? Man #5: Neat. Man #4: Well, that's a remarkable piece of history— Peri [in the field]: Yeah. Man #5: Yeah. Man #4: —walk down this trail, you'd never even notice that... Man #5: Exactly. Yeah. Yeah. Peri: In 1942, Glacier's superintendent said "the CPS camp, with only about 80 men, did more in one week than we were able to accomplish with an entire work detail from a CCC camp in a whole month." So for the park, this was not only a fresh source of labor, but it was also basically free for the government. Because the peace churches wanted to hold on to some say in the program, they agreed to foot most of the bill to support the men. [birdsong fades out] Titus: Now, government provided some facilities, some tools, etc. in various locations. But the Mennonite, Quaker, and Church of the Brethren denominations, and others as well, provided the funding. Mennonites in their homes would can food to ship to the CPS camps, provide blankets and quilts, and things like that. Peri: If the army had paid the objectors the same wage that soldiers got, the CPSers work would have cost $22 million. But each man only received a stipend of $5 per month. And even out of this tiny allowance, the Belton men still managed to donate almost $1500 over the course of their service to the War Sufferer's Relief Fund. Peri [in the field]: [traffic sounds in background] I think the lookout is the most famous thing that they built and the most recognizable. Madeline [in the field]: Do you know about some of the other legacies that they left behind or projects that they've been a part of? Peri [in the field]: I think some of their work that's better remembered was working in mental hospitals, which had pretty dire conditions at the time, and people were treated pretty cruelly. But they had these beliefs in nonviolence, and so the way that they interacted with the patients at these mental hospitals was very different than the norms for the time. And it ended up changing a lot of the ways that mental health care is practiced in this country. They also volunteered for experiments—one was on starvation, like in 1945. People were [piano chords fade in] seeing the conditions in Europe were like, we need to know more about the effects of malnutrition on the human body— Madeline [in the field]: Hm. Peri [in the field]: —to help people after the war. And more than 400 CPS members volunteered for 36 slots in that study— Madeline [in the field]: Wow. Peri [in the field]: —to basically be... they were given food, but they were undernourished for like six months. Madeline [in the field]: And it was these young men volunteering to be put through what must have been a horrible experience. Peri [in the field]: Yeah. There was a flier that advertised the study that said, "Will you starve so that others might be fed?" Peri: One participant in that study said, "everyone else around us is pulling down the world. We wanted to build it up." [decisive string music fades in] Marc Johnson: There was no year that was more tumultuous than 1941. Peri: Things were not going well in Britain. German bombs were pounding London every night during the Blitz, [music fades out] and 100,000 Londoners were sleeping in subway stations each night because there weren't enough bomb shelters. And a lot of parents, including the king and queen, sent their children away to the countryside. Tensions were peaking at home, too. Roosevelt was rallying for aid to Britain, while Wheeler was ratcheting up his own anti-war rhetoric. Marc Johnson: He is criticizing Roosevelt's foreign policy, saying that the president is secretly desiring to get the United States into another foreign war, particularly, as Wheeler saw it, to bail out the British Empire. Peri: Within Wheeler's political base, there was no love lost for the British, especially in Irish communities like the city of Butte, Montana. It's also hard to understate the personal animosity between Wheeler and FDR at this point, as Wheeler is one of the country's most vocal opponents of the war. He, and America First, are convinced that Roosevelt wants to get us into the war, and the arguments get pretty nasty. Marc Johnson: And Wheeler is increasingly critical of Roosevelt during 1941, calling him a warmonger surrounded by warmongers. And, of course, this leads to pushback from Roosevelt and others. Peri: Roosevelt went as far as having the FBI secretly spy on Wheeler. And when Wheeler's beloved cabin, where he would spend summers on Lake McDonald, burns down in 1941. Wheeler requests permission right away from the Park Service to rebuild it. But weirdly, his request is escalated all the way up to Roosevelt's Interior secretary, Harold Ickes. Marc Johnson: As Ickes said to President Roosevelt, the guy's been squatting on public land for 20 years, and this would be a good opportunity to throw him off. And Roosevelt clearly considered it. Peri: There are some surprisingly petty letters between FDR and Harold Ickes talking about how they would have loved to deny Wheeler the chance to rebuild his cabin. But someone else approved the request before they could put a stop to it. Marc Johnson: But again, it just kind of underscores the level of tension between the administration and Wheeler. It's not like the president of the United States didn't have anything else to do. But somehow, some way, he still had time to consider the issue of a cabin lease in Glacier National Park. Peri: Throughout 1941, the sympathies of the American public are starting to lean toward Britain. So, the centrist membership and following of America First dwindles. Nazi sympathizers and anti-Semites are becoming a bigger and bigger part of the organization. And yet, Wheeler doesn't turn away. [futuristic bass plays] Marc Johnson: He took a number of cross-country trips, at the behest of the America First Committee, paid for by the America First Committee. So these were, you know, big rallies in places like Madison Square Garden, and the Hollywood Bowl in Los Angeles. [bass fades out] And Wheeler was often the final speaker. Peri: Almost all of the 450 chapters of America First requested Wheeler as a speaker in 1941. In speech after speech, phrases with anti-Semitic undertones start to appear in his rhetoric. Americans are being tricked into war by internationalist bankers, he said. A clique of Wall Street bankers and Hollywood elites are stirring up pro-war sentiment, he complained. A prominent Jewish leader who himself was opposed to the war, refused to share a stage with Wheeler because of his, quote, anti-Jewish statements. [futuristic bass plays] Marc Johnson: He did not do nearly enough to distance himself from the anti-Semitic attitudes that gripped a portion of the America First movement. He was making common cause with anybody who was willing to oppose U.S. involvement in the war. And it's the great black mark on his career in many ways [bass fades out] that he did not speak out more forcefully than he than he did. Peri: And at no point does he really seem to reckon with the possibility that there might be a valid reason to join the war against fascism. Marc Johnson: I give him the benefit of the doubt for being truly anti-war and having been radicalized by his experiences in Montana during the First World War and his belief that the United States was building an international empire to rival the British Empire in that period between the wars. What is hard to reconcile is his willingness to see Nazi domination of Western Europe, particularly with Great Britain on her knees in 1941, and how critical U.S. involvement in the war was becoming, if Western democracies were going to survive. [ethereal chords play] Gaby: It's 1941. The Chicago Tribune's Washington office is mostly empty, but one reporter is still sitting at his desk. His typewriter is clacking furiously, a lit cigarette dangling from his mouth, as he rushes to finish his story before press time. And the story is a blockbuster. It's a leak of top-secret documents called the "Victory Plan," that Army and Navy High Command have drafted in preparation for war in Europe, Africa and Asia. To anti-war isolationists like Senator Wheeler, this is proof that Roosevelt has been planning to lead America into war. But to the War Department, it's just responsible planning for a completely plausible scenario. After all, the government writes a lot of plans. The reporter stubs out his cigarette and reads over his pages. Is it irresponsible to share this information with the American public and with Axis leaders? No. He decides the people have a right to know. He gathers his story, switches off the light and walks out to file it. [sound of distant bomb detonating] The story is published on December 4th, 1941, with the headline "FDR Secret War Plans." As Wheeler had cautioned all along, the secret documents have revealed to the world that America is planning for war. What the country doesn't know is that in three days, the Japanese Empire will bomb Pearl Harbor and change everything. [sound of distant bomb detonating] President Franklin D. Roosevelt: December 7th, 1941. A date which will live in infamy. The United States of America was suddenly deliberately attacked. Gaby: But even so, the leak has consequences. [Roosevelt fades out] Right after Pearl Harbor, Congress votes to declare war on Japan, but not on Germany. For a few tense days, it's still unclear whether the U.S. will join the war in Europe. But on December 11th, Germany will make that decision for us, declaring war on America. One of the reasons they cite is these very leaked documents which show that the U.S. has been planning for an extensive war in both Europe and the Pacific. Burton Wheeler manages to be absent for both votes on the declarations of war. He cast no vote either way. But as soon as America joins the conflict, Wheeler fully supports the effort. "Let's beat the hell out of them," he says. [tense synth fades in] He explains that he didn't think we should join the war, but now that we're in it, we should give it our all. A few months later, in February 1942, President Roosevelt issues Executive Order 9066, authorizing the forced removal of all people of Japanese descent from the West Coast of the United States. In the coming weeks, Glacier's superintendent fights to stop the park from becoming an incarceration site, and he'll succeed. But more than 100,000 men, women and children are incarcerated elsewhere, the majority of them American citizens. They're given a few days to pack what they can carry, sell what they can't, and prepare to leave their homes indefinitely. Internal memos refer to their destinations as "concentration camps." [futuristic bass plays] Tsuguo "Ike" Ikeda: When President Roosevelt declared war, it felt really uncomfortable. I slouched down so I wouldn't be so visible. You know, I felt ashamed. I felt as though our fellow students were looking at us, and we were the enemy. Gaby: These are excerpts of oral histories from Japanese Americans who were incarcerated during the war. Sue Kunitomi Embrey: Well, I think the whole procedure ignored the constitutional rights of individuals. We were denied personal freedom. We were denied the right to a trial, a right to legal counsel. We were deprived of our property and our personal effects. And that raises the whole question of the whole Bill of Rights being ignored by our government, and used against its own citizens. David Sakura: I think one of the most vivid memories I have is that of my brother Jerry, who was about what, two and a half, three years old. [music fades out] And he was visibly disturbed by the whole experience of the uprooting of the new circumstances of the crowds of people. I remember him crying constantly, and my mother was so distraught because she couldn't comfort him. And what I remember most distinctly is that his voice became so hoarse after crying so long that his voice... became more of a hoarse, animal-like sound. It was an inhuman cry of pain by my three-year-old brother. [decisive strings play] Gaby: 40 years later, the U.S. government formally apologized for incarcerating Japanese Americans, attributing it to "race prejudice, war hysteria, and a failure of political leadership." President Roosevelt has trampled over civil liberties, just as Wheeler warned he would. In the face of this, there's some evidence that Wheeler tries to work against the incarceration of Japanese Americans, but he keeps his critiques behind closed doors. President Roosevelt will die in office in 1945, never learning who was behind the leaked war plans that were part of Germany's motivation to declare war on the United States. It's not until 1962 that the leaker is revealed. The source? Senator Burton K. Wheeler. ["Runaway" by Frank Waln plays] Gaby: This show is only possible because of donations to the Glacier National Park Conservancy. Learn more at glacier.org. If you like this episode, share it with a friend who might appreciate it. Also, we'd love it if you gave us a rating and review in your podcast app. Frank Waln makes our music and Stella Nall created our art. Check them out on Instagram. Headwaters is made by me, Gaby Eseverri, Daniel Lombardi, Peri Sasnett, Madeline Vinh, and Michael Faist, with support from Lacy Kowalski, Melissa Sladek, Elizabeth Maki, and Sophia Britto. Thanks to our good friends in Glacier's Cultural Resources Program, including Jean, Anya, Keiko, Sierra, Brent, and Kyle. We couldn't make the show without them. The oral histories you heard describing the Japanese American incarceration were from Tsuguo "Ike" Ikeda, Sue Kunitomi Embrey, and David Sakura. Special thanks this episode to Jami Belt, Sarah Bone, Judy Ehrlich, Anneliese Jakle, Marc Johnson, Titus Peachy, Jack Polzin, Chuck Sheley, Dr. Bradley Snow, Rick Tejada-Flores, Andy Uhrich, Sarah Williams, The Film and Media Archive at Washington University in St. Louis, The Montana Historical Society, and the Mansfield Library at University of Montana. [music ends]
