Whenever someone talks about the “good old days,” there is the inevitable question, “good for whom?” America is not perfect, and never was. That’s why they call self-government by ordinary people “the American Experiment.” Every generation tries to come closer to the ideals of the founders, to leave America better for the next generation.
Some mistakes and abuses of the past have long been recognized, especially the mistreatment of Native American tribes, African-American slaves, and other minorities. In 1988 the U.S. Government officially apologized for the internment of Japanese-Americans in concentration camps during World War II, sent a $20,000 check to the survivors, and built a memorial in their honor in Washington, D.C.
There has been no such acknowledgment, apology, check, or memorial to another group similarly rounded up and displaced a few years earlier during the Great Depression – because to this day almost nobody knows about it. Yet the displacement (some felt “disregarded”) of hundreds of Virginia’s mountain people, to make way for a national park, left scars that have never fully healed.
In 1934 the Madison County newspaper printed a poem by John Nicholson, explaining his 73 year-old father’s heartbreak at the thought of leaving the only home his family had known for 200 years. Part of it read, “Some who left, wept and mourned, And said in words so sad, I would rather go to my grave, Than to leave my mountain home.”
The government had decided to create Shenandoah National Park, and President Franklin Roosevelt was convinced it would bring prosperity to impoverished rural communities in the area, and state leaders in Richmond agreed. To the National Park Service, it didn’t matter whether the people who lived there wanted it or not. Some probably did, but they were never asked.
In 1930, there were over 450 families, with at least 2,000 men, women, and children living within what is now Shenandoah National Park. They were mostly poor by today’s standards, as were most people in the 1930s. Very few people there had cars, only a third of them even had a horse, but they made a living, raised loving families, raised hogs, cured meat, operated distilleries and sawmills, tanned leather, and tended orchards. Some were blacksmiths, carpenters, and stonemasons whose work can still be seen in the area. They traded, lived off the land, held big dances, and kept alive the old mountain music now recognized as the root of bluegrass, country, western, swing, jazz, and rock and roll.
But people of the Blue Ridge Mountains were looked down upon, considered “hillbillies” by much of the rest of the country. A reporter from D.C. wrote, “Hidden communities of backward, illiterate people living in medieval squalor… illustrate the effect of both degenerative cross-breeding and difficult environment.” Another popular author wrote that “Most of these people had no skill or knowledge of the world.”
History may not want to admit it, but part of the purpose of creating Shenandoah National Park was to preserve its incredible beauty – and part of it was for the purpose of getting rid of these people. Congress appropriated money, and over $1 million was raised from donations, to buy the land, but many residents did not want to leave and wouldn’t sell. The Virginia legislature passed a blanket condemnation law covering the entire eight-county region, offering a fraction of the land’s value. In early 1934, the National Park Service gave the remaining people six months to vacate the land, but by the November deadline, 265 families were still there, facing the threat of forcible eviction.
Of those remaining, Mr. and Mrs. Melanchton Cliser were well-known, as the owners of 46 acres with a home, general store, café, and farm. He locked his gate, refused to budge, and told Park Service officials they were trespassing. He was dragged away from his home in handcuffs, and the government burned the property, ensuring he could never return. Hundreds of others were also burned out, their homes destroyed by the Civilian Conservation Corps, which was building the park’s roads and campgrounds.
Today, the Shenandoah National Park is among the country’s crown jewels, enjoyed by 1.4 million visitors annually. Like almost all things done in the name of progress, though, it wasn’t progress for everyone. Eighty-six years later, the Blue Ridge Heritage Project has completed memorials in seven of the eight counties. A new documentary called “Shadows,” from Wild Song Cybil Productions, attempts to tell some of the stories of these displaced people. They deserve to be remembered.
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