Give the man room

by Robert J. Casey; Mary Montgomery Borglum

Gutzon declared, of course, that he never took these arguments seriously. No row, he said, was ever worth remembering after its cause was gone; and that, probably, is a true report on his reactions. The last time he and Boland met he was pleased with the course of the world and mellow toward Boland. He had his arm across the chairman’s shoulder and was calling him “Johnny.”

What Boland thought about these goings on is, of course, an entirely different matter. He never talks much about his struggles in behalf of majestic art. “Borglum was a great sculptor,” he sums it up. “He certainly was that.”

The matter of concessions on Mount Rushmore bothered Gutzon considerably more than most people interested in the project realized. Continuous importunities for jobs and for permission to sell souvenirs and postcards and photographs near the work were petty annoyances with which he found it hard to cope. He knew that some such items had to be provided as part of bringing knowledge of his work to the attention of faraway people, but he would not tolerate cheap workmanship or poor taste in anything sold near the carvings. He got along for a while by keeping this trade under supervision in the Rushmore studio, but the relief was only temporary. A resurgence of what he called “local petty politics” presently involved him so that he called on the Department of the Interior to send someone to protect him.

The Department of the Interior complied and Gutzon learned that nothing is so bad that government intervention can’t make it worse. The unimaginative, bureaucratic routines taught to Washington office workers were wholly out of place in a work so constantly changing and so free from fixed rules. The protector sent by the department turned out to be an earnest young man who started out to confuse the South Dakota politicians and did well at it. But he wished to do greater things. He became aloof and secretive.

After some weeks he was discovered to be corresponding with an engineering company in Switzerland known chiefly for its construction of cog-wheel railroads. He thought the company might be interested in building such a funicular line up and around the face of Rushmore so that visitors might walk under Washington’s nose or sit in Lincoln’s eye. Gutzon’s indignation set the young man right and was long remembered.

The Park Service of the Department of the Interior had formulas for all of its functions. Its personnel with whom Borglum came into contact believed that the heads should be carved in orderly fashion. First, the figure of Washington should be completely finished; then the workers should move on to Jefferson, and so on. This, they pointed out, would give people something to look at.

Once more the sculptor who had asked only that he be protected from the harangues of would-be postcard peddlers made a protest against the continuous suggestions of ignoramuses. Harold Ickes, head of the department, understood Borglum’s position clearly and told him in forceful language to ignore such suggestions. But the subordinates never seemed to comprehend. One of Ickes’ engineers went so far as to offer to relieve Borglum of all worry. “Why don’t you finish your models and give them to us to reproduce on the mountain?” he inquired. “We have plenty of men who can do that sort of work—and quickly, too.”

“Somebody has to put the life and expression into carved faces,” Gutzon began to explain as he had been explaining since his first days on Stone Mountain. “That’s why more good mechanics don’t turn out to be good sculptors.”

There was also the question of “hiring and firing” workmen. The bureaucrats could not understand that the sculptor had to discharge anyone who refused to obey orders, or that he might suddenly need a certain type of workman for a particular job and then need him no longer. It was such a complicated procedure to get a worker placed on the government payroll that it was no wonder they didn’t want to discharge him again in a few days. There are many letters to show that the sculptor’s relationship with the various heads of the Park Service was most friendly. Difficulty was due to a misunderstanding of what an art production of this unprecedented character required.

Even the Rushmore Commission suggested impractical sculptural plans and picked out certain parts of the work it would “like to see finished.” And while Gutzon was pushing the work, begging more funds to get more power, more workmen, skilled carvers, so that the work might be finished in his lifetime, it was irritating to be told that certain commissioners and local interests would like to keep the project going as long as possible because more tourists would come if they could see the sculptor at work.