Back in the early 1990s a National Park Service historian was showing me around Petersburg, Virginia, when he slammed the brakes in front of a weathered brick house. “Right there,” he said, pointing at a porch in need of paint, “is where Lincoln shook hands with Grant .”
The president had come south to view the devastation shortly after the fall of Richmond. He met with General Ulysses S. Grant in that house. The two walked out the door together and shook hands. A few days later, Lincoln took his ill-fated seat at Ford’s Theater.
If I remember correctly, the house was in private hands at the time. At least the earnest park service guy conveyed a fear that someone might alter its facade. He indicated that such properties should be in the hands of the federal government so they could be protected into the future.
Now, I tend to lean in favor of preservation in most cases. I’ve walked a number of battlefields and stared incredulously at many more historic sites covered with townhouses or warehouses. Somewhere, in fact, I have a picture of a cluster of ugly buildings labeled “Battlefield Office Park.”
My visit to Petersburg was associated with research toward a television documentary I wrote on the conflict between preservation and progress in American culture in the wake of a lengthy verbal and legal brawl over development plans known as the “third battle of Manassas.”
Until now, I’ve viewed all other battles to save a bit of history or an endangered bird or an artistic structure from afar. I could easily cast arguments in favor of preservation. If the government blocked construction of a new mall or stopped loggers from working a patch of woods several hundred miles away, my routine remained undisturbed.
And, yes, my routine was then as it is now — a little work and plenty of time on the couch, remote in hand.
Recently, however, I opened a notice indicating that the Clear Lake hitch might wind up on the federal endangered species list. Speaking with Terry Knight, our outdoors writer, moments after the announcement, we were struck by the potential ripple effects. What would happen to bass fishing on the lake? If the decision led to cancelled tournaments, what would that do to tourism. If tourism dropped off, what would happen to local business? Conversely, if we failed to protect the hitch, what would that mean to tribal heritage or our commitment to a healthy eco-system? If we continue to treat the lake as something to be manipulated, what does that say about us?
While working on that documentary so many years ago, I heard from people on both sides of the dire results should the other guys win. I expect that over the course of the year we will learn of the harm that will befall our county should the feds list the hitch — roads turning into rutted, potholed, impassable alleys, bowling alleys closing, that sort of thing. We will also hear of the damage to come should we fail to protect the fish — roads turning into rutted, potholed, impassable …
You get the picture.
With any decision, a few unforeseen maladies follow. Yet the same decision also creates opportunities. Lost in the debate over EPA emissions standards is the fact that the new rules, should they survive challenges from members of Congress in the pockets of certain special interest groups, would provide entrepreneurs with a new set of challenges, leading to new businesses, new jobs and so on. But at the same time, old positions might disappear.
Indecisive? Sure. But how can anyone be anything else at this stage? All I can say for certain is that my routine will likely remain unchanged. The good old couch and television will survive, whether they declare the hitch endangered or not.
Oh — unless slothfulness is somehow a contributing factor.
