It has been 50 years since a Supreme Court justice led a group of hikers that literally walked the C&O Canal into existence as a national park unit.
By Ryan Dougherty
A refuge amid the bright lights and busy streets of Washington, D.C., C&O Canal National Historical Park is a treasure for bicyclists, hikers, bird watchers, and others in pursuit of peace and quiet. Its lush scenery and recreational opportunities draw millions of people annually. Few, however, know the story of how the canal was nearly turned into a highway-a story that, 50 years later, reminds us that one dedicated person can make a difference.
In the 18th century, President George Washington saw the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal as a passageway to the riches of the West. That vision was never realized, but the canal became a transportation route along which coal was hauled from Maryland to the nation's capital between 1828 and 1924. Then, canal operations ceased after a series of fatal floods. The U.S. government bought a right-of-way for the 184.5-mile canal in 1938, planning to turn it into a natural recreation area. That plan stalled, however, at the onset of World War II.
After the war, Congress had another idea: turning the vivid canal into a highway. A highway, the thinking went, would let more people experience the Potomac River Valley and boost the economies of nearby Maryland towns. The National Park Service supported the plan, as did a 1954 editorial in the in-fluential Washington Post. NPCA (then known as the National Parks Associa-tion) analyzed the plan and strongly opposed it, citing the canal's extraordinary natural qualities and importance as a place of refuge near the bustling capital. Along with The Wilderness Society, NPCA pushed the government to preserve the canal.
One Washington Post reader who agreed with NPCA was U.S. Supreme Court Justice (and avid outdoorsman) William O. Douglas, who often hiked the C&O Canal and had fought to protect rivers and stop dam construction in other states. He felt strongly that the canal needed to be protected, rejecting the idea that one could appreciate nature from behind the wheel of a car. He wrote a letter to the editors of the Post, challenging them to hike the canal, to see its beauty, and appreciate what would be lost if the area was paved.
The Post editors accepted, and news of the hike spread quickly. More than 50 hikers, including experts in geography and history and some leaders at NPCA and The Wilderness Society, signed on. The journey began in Cumberland, Maryland, on March 20, 1954. Al-though onlookers and townsfolk came with meals and helped carry equipment, the hiking was arduous. The group covered 23 miles a day and battled a snowstorm, and in the end, only nine men-including the 55-year-old Douglas-completed the eight-day hike to Washington, D.C.
What started as one man's effort to protect a treasured slice of nature soon became big news, carried by newspapers, magazines, and newsreels. Inspired citizens came out to hike with Douglas, and others gathered along the canal to express support. The effort to save the canal intensified, and the Post editors reversed their position.
On the final night of the hike, Douglas organized a committee to plan for preserving and protecting the canal and its resources. He chaired the group (which included a representative of NPCA and became the C&O Canal Association in 1957) and worked to create a park unit. The efforts paid off in 1971, with passage of the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal National Historical Park Act. Six years later, the park site was officially dedicated to Douglas.
Today, a portrait commemorating Douglas' historic hike hangs in the park's visitor center; a bust of the justice's likeness rests on the banks of the canal; and each year a canal hike is held in his honor. These tributes seem fitting for Douglas, the man who, historians say, walked C&O Canal National Historical Park into existence. Asked late in his life how he would like to be remembered, Douglas spoke not of the many historic decisions he was involved in while on the Supreme Court. Rather, he asked to be remembered as someone "who tried to make the earth a little more beautiful."
