The Everglades exist in their present form – as a contiguous national park, protected by the power and dignity of the United States Government – in large part because of this book. When Marjory Stoneman Douglas wrote The Everglades: River of Grass in 1947, the “river of grass” that is the Everglades faced enormous pressure from developers eager to profit from the rapid population growth then taking place in South Florida. This book is a good example of how the right author, composing the right book at the right time, can change the world.
The Everglades: River of Grass was written and published as part of Farrar & Rinehart’s Rivers of America series that drew upon the talents of literary artists to convey the history of the United States of America in a poetic manner by telling the stories of the nation’s rivers. The books of the series, published between 1937 and 1974, are of great value for students of American regionalism, and have been widely republished by university presses and small regional publishers across the nation. As a Marylander, I am glad to have read the Maryland-related volumes in the series – Hulbert Footner’s Rivers of the Eastern Shore: Seventeen Maryland Rivers (1944) and Frederick Gutheim’s The Potomac (1949); and whatever part of the U.S.A. you hail from, live in, or identify with, there is a Rivers of America volume for you. Floridians may read The Everglades: River of Grass with special pride, but this is a book for everyone who appreciates the beauty of the U.S.A.’s wild regions and wants to see that beauty preserved.
Douglas, a Miami Herald journalist and freelance writer, lent her pen, her courage, and her critical insights to many subjects, including women’s rights and civil rights – not easy topics for a woman author to engage in the mid-20th century South. But it is for her environmentally related writings generally, and for The Everglades: River of Grass specifically, that she is best remembered.
Douglas starts by considering the Everglades’ very beginnings in geological and hydrological terms, arguing persuasively that the Glades are not a “swamp,” as many would say, but rather “one thick enormous curving river of grass….It reaches one hundred miles from Lake Okeechobee to the Gulf of Mexico, fifty, sixty, even seventy miles wide. No one has ever fought his way along its full length….There is no other river like it” (p. 10). From her initial consideration of the Glades as landscape, riverscape, and wildlife habitat, Douglas moves on to discuss the human history of the Everglades: the region’s original Native American inhabitants, European explorers, Spanish adventurers and conquerors, the Americans who took over when the U.S.A. purchased Florida from Spain, the wars in which the Seminole people resisted the U.S. Army’s efforts to forcibly relocate them to the West, the American Civil War, and finally the impact of large-scale settlement in the region during the post-war era.
Throughout these historical passages, Douglas speaks of the past as something that foreshadows the present, as when she writes of a beach that Ponce de Leon visited without taking much notice of, somewhere around modern Cape Canaveral, sometime in 1513:
“Except perhaps for a few houses now, if we knew where the exact place was, bathers here and there, or a man surf fishing, perhaps a dog running happily, this beach has hardly changed in essence throughout all the centuries, although not so very far inland between towns, billboards, filling stations and tourist cabins now runs that amazing highway U.S. 1” (p. 100).
As Douglas points out, the human wish to “improve” the Everglades, usually by draining it and destroying all that is valuable and unique about its ecosystem, goes all the way back to Florida’s entry into the Union in 1845, when American veterans of the U.S. Army’s wars against the Seminole people a decade earlier “remembered now with pleasure the sea about those southern beaches and the sun glinting along the great levels of the saw grass, the unending openness, the great light, the fine air….The idea sprang up spontaneously that the Everglades ought to be drained. It was an idea more explosive than dynamite, which would change this lower Florida world as nothing had so changed it since the melting of the glacial ice four thousand years ago” (p. 253).
The Civil War interrupted that impulse toward destroying the Everglades; but in the post-war years, as powerful industrialists like Henry M. Flagler and Henry B. Plant continued to extend railroads ever farther southward along the great peninsula that is Florida, the drive to drain the Everglades continued – usually with little or no consideration of the possible impact of Everglades drainage upon the entire region. Douglas points out with rueful accuracy that “in all those years of talk and excitement about drainage, the only argument was a schoolboy’s logic. The drainage of the Everglades would be a Great Thing. Americans did Great Things. Therefore Americans would drain the Everglades” (p. 286).
Against the boom-and-bust economic cycle that characterized the first half of the 20th century, it went unnoticed for a time, as the cities of South Florida grew and grew and kept on drawing upon the Glades as a water source, that “The Everglades were dying. The endless acres of saw grass, brown as an enormous shadow where rain and lake water had once flowed, rustled dry” (p. 349). Once-fresh water went brackish or dried up altogether; terrible fires ravaged the land that had been thus dried out. It is no wonder that Douglas calls the last chapter of this book “The Eleventh Hour,” or that she concludes by calling upon private industry and state and federal authorities to respect the testimony of the Army Corps of Engineers and the U.S. Geological Survey regarding what needs to be done to save the Glades. As Douglas puts it in her conclusion, “Perhaps even in this last hour…the vast, magnificent, subtle and unique region of the Everglades may not be utterly lost” (p. 385).
In 1947, not long after The Everglades: River of Grass was published, U.S. President Harry S Truman signed legislation making possible the purchase of private land within the boundaries of Everglades National Park, giving the then-13-year-old park continuous undisturbed wilderness for the first time, and improving this ecosystem’s chances of survival. Like Rachel Carson’s later book Silent Spring (1962), this is a book that made a vital difference for the cause of environmentalism nationwide and worldwide.
I have toured the Everglades twice. The first time, we were in an airboat at the northern end of the Glades, close to the Miccosukee Nation; when our guide would stop the airboat, alligators would swim up through the sawgrass, hoping for a treat. The second time, at the Flamingo Visitor Center at the park’s southern end, my wife and I saw two manatees, a mother and a calf, drinking fresh water from a water pipe that jutted out over the brackish water of the Glades. The mother would watch her baby take a turn at drinking the sweet fresh water, and then she would take a turn. Not far away, on an old canal bank by a jeep trail, we could just see a good-sized American crocodile as it basked in the sun, looking for all the world like a dinosaur at rest.
On both occasions, however, I could not help looking to the horizon, to the east and northeast, and reflecting that every day, nearly one thousand people move to Florida. The South Florida metropolitan counties of Dade, Broward, and Palm Beach have a combined population of almost seven million; and cities like Miami, Fort Lauderdale, and West Palm Beach, with all their numerous associated suburbs, will continue to grow. The challenge of preserving the Everglades, and other irreplaceable wilderness areas across the U.S.A., continues today. Marjory Stoneman Douglas would want all of us to embrace that challenge.