For decades, the iconic routed wooden signs, in national parks across America, were a familiar sight to tourists. They were works of art…
But leave it to the government to find one. Someone in the Department of Transportation, his/her identity lost to history, decided to take a look at the park signs and saw red flags everywhere…
“These signs! These signs are NOT in compliance with federal highway safety standards!!!”
According to the NARA site, “In 1972 David Hiser was one of several photographers chosen by the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) to document locations in the United States as part of the DOCUMERICA Project. Over 460 of Hiser’s photos can now be found in the National Archives Catalog.” Hiser moved to Aspen, Colorado when he was 25 years old, and would enjoy a successful career as a photographer, including 66 contributions to National Geographic.
Here is a selection from those images that feature Moab, Utah and the Canyon Country of southeast Utah. I arrived in Moab just months after Hiser completed his photo work and have added my own commentary to his photos…JS
Sometime in late September or early October of 1844, Utes attacked Robidoux’s Fort Uintah trading post… One contemporary story stated that at the time of the attack, the fort had very few of its usual inhabitants present, many having already departed because of the increasing tensions with the neighboring Uinta-ats. Denis Julien seems to have been one of these.
Far to the south, in the Devils Garden section of present-day Arches National Park, is the last known, chronologically, Julien inscription. It has been scratched into the dark, desert-varnished side of a tall sandstone fin and reads, “Denis Julien 9 6 me 1844.” The “6 me ” is the French equivalent of 6 th in English, sixth in French being sixième. The preceding numeral “9” is representative of the ninth month, September…
One could make the argument that without the invention and development of the travel trailer, Moab’s Uranium Boom of the 1950s would have been even more chaotic than it was. Until Charlie Steen’s life altering discovery of uranium at Big Indian, 30 miles south of town, Moab was a sleepy little village most noted for its orchards. And it’s a good guess that many of those original settlers were appalled by the mass migration to Moab. Others welcomed the excitement and the prospects of a more vibrant economy. Moab has never been a town to agree on much of anything. The debate still rages.
In any case, would-be miners and prospectors flocked to Southeast Utah, only to find a community that was not in any way prepared to handle the Boom.
When I posted last week’s story about Arches in the 1950s, I had not intended to do a “part 2.” But later I remembered hearing Lloyd talk about the substantial role he and superintendent Bates Wilson played in laying out the new road alignment. And it reminded me of the black and white aerial photos I found in a trash can at the Arches visitor center in 1977. The NPS had just received a new set of color high resolution images of the park, and considered the old ones to be worthless. I fished them out of the can and even checked with my boss, to be sure they no longer wanted them. Like so many other artifacts I have from my days at Arches, from weather reports to wildlife observation cards, even to the old wooden signs, one agency’s trash was my treasure, I’m glad I have kept these historical remembrances all these years…JS
But my photo collections are still images. Trying to locate movie film, especially going back to the 1940s and 1950s has been almost impossible. Sometimes the best I could hope for were John Ford Westerns and one of George Stevens’ last films, “The Greatest Story Ever Told.” All the exterior scenes were shot in Glen Canyon, as the dam was being built.
But recently, and sheerly by accident, I found the film in its entirety on the internet. It had been donated to the National Archives and though the film quality still pales by today’s standards, it is the history in these films and images that I love, more than the film quality itself. Ray and Virginia Garner started making films in the late 1930s. Ray’s first known project was a film about ascending the Grand Teton with a group of Boy Scouts in 1936. Sadly the film has been lost. But it was the beginning of an independent filmmaker career and soon, a wonderful collaboration with his new wife Virginia. Though the title of the film I’m offering here gives credit to Ray, Virginia, or “Jinny” as she was known to everyone, was not only his equal in the filming, production and presentation of what were often silent films, she was certainly more photogenic and appears often in them. That’s’ what gives these 16mm movies such a personal feel. As I understand the story, they toured the country with their movies and at various gatherings, they would narrate the film in person as it was being shown.
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