Unfolding as a late-night Washington drama of election-year intrigue and last-minute lobbying, the making of America's newest national preserve occurred in back rooms beyond the public eye.
The Washington Post's early September scoop on the surprise creation of the Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument stunned environmentalists and anti-federalists alike.Utah's chief executive was as out of the loop as anybody, as Gov. Mike Leavitt found himself scurrying to head things off in the remaining few days leading up to President Clinton's subsequent Sept. 18 proclamation.
By appealing directly to the highest levels of federal government, the governor apparently was able to influence management policy on the monument.
But he couldn't stop it, despite a lengthy 11th-hour session at the White House with one of Clinton's top advisers and a half-hour talk with the president himself in a post-midnight exchange on the very day the monument was created.
Leavitt shared his story a few weeks ago during a flight to a water conference in Las Vegas:
Sunday, Sept. 8 - The governor receives at his Salt Lake home a telefax of a Washington Post article, published the previous day, detailing a murky notion of setting aside a vast new national preserve in southern Utah.
The piece plays inside the paper, on Page A3, and begins, "The Clinton administration is considering a proposal to designate a huge swath of federal land in southern Utah as a national monument."
Presciently, the story suggests it might include as many as 1.8 million acres.
It is the first widely seen report on the subject, though a few days earlier the Los Angeles Times had published to little notice an article on a dispute in Utah over whether to let Andalex Resources mine coal on the Kaiparowits Plateau of Kane County. Deep in the body of that story, casual reference is made to a suggestion from unnamed sources in Washington that the area might simply be declared a monument by presidential fiat, rendering the Andalex effort moot. It is dismissed by the handful of people who read it as an inaccurate piece of reportage.
Monday, Sept. 9 - Leavitt calls Interior Secretary Bruce Babbitt, with whom he is constantly at odds in public, though the two men have a "cordial relationship," according to Leavitt.
The governor asks Babbitt about the Post story and gets this response: "I don't know; call the White House, that's their thing."
"So I called the White House, and they said, `Yeah, we saw that story, too. Sorry that happened. We don't know much, but we'll get back to you.' "
Wednesday, Sept. 11 - Leavitt's call is returned by a White House staffer, who offers what the governor considers an alarming assessment.
"Yes, there's a serious proposal, but there's no decision."
Leavitt's first question: "What's the timing?"
The staffer's answer is inconclusive. This troubles the governor.
"It sounds like a policy decision's been made," he tells the staffer. "I need to come to Washington to see (Clinton's chief of staff Leon) Panetta, or the president."
Leavitt says he planned anyway on being in Washington the following week to promote his 3-year-old notion of an "Escalante National Eco-Region" across the area in question.
"I said I'd be in Washington on Monday. They said they'd set an appointment for Tuesday."
Friday, Sept. 13 - Word begins circulating quietly but quickly that a pronouncement is suddenly imminent.
"I hear the first rumor that there's going to be an important environmental announcement," says Leavitt. "But nobody tells us when or where."
Clinton's re-election seems certain, but his campaign wants to bolster support in the environmental community by making a bold gesture. Though it would mean alienating conservative forces in the West, the campaign likely assumes those interests are a lost cause anyway.
"Everybody's scrambling now . . . local governments (in Utah) are going crazy with their congressional delegations," says the governor.
He takes a call from Babbitt.
"He says come back here Saturday by 5 o'clock."
"I say I'll stick on Monday," replies Leavitt, not always inclined to do Washington's bidding.
Sunday, Sept. 15 - Leavitt flies to Washington with Brad Barber, his chief economist.
Monday, Sept. 16 - "There comes confirmation there would be an event at the Grand Canyon," says Leavitt, who says news of the development comes from Ken Rait, a spokesman for the Salt Lake-based Southern Utah Wilderness Alliance. (Rait says he doesn't remember conveying the message.)
Word leaks from the president's Council on Environmental Quality that an "event" will be held in Arizona.
Leavitt contacts Panetta's office.
"The White House won't confirm it," says the governor, though he comes away with the distinct impression that staffers "are feverishly working on the proposal."
Tuesday, Sept. 17 - Leavitt makes contact with the powers-that-be.
At 2 p.m. he gets an audience with Panetta, the forceful chief of staff. In attendance is Kathleen McGinty, chairwoman of the president's Council on Environmental Quality, which - as it turns out later - is responsible for spawning the national-monument idea.
"I did a 40-minute presentation on my (proposed) national eco-region, trying to teach them the background and history," Leavitt says.
He explains he favors his approach because it would be less restrictive, allowing greater multiple use of the land while preserving certain areas as wilderness.
"Panetta is great, but it's very clear by his own suggestion that this is the first time he's been able to focus on this . . . and I've been told no decision is final yet, so I know I'm talking to the right guy because he says don't be too harsh on the president because there's still time for your input."
Panetta tells Leavitt, "You made a very compelling case," adding that Rep. Bill Orton, D-Utah, has also made a strong argument against the proposal.
"It is clear to me that Bill has put in some licks," Leavitt says.
"I said, `If this is compelling, then the president of the United States needs to know that he is setting aside a part of my state that is equal in size to Rhode Island, Delaware and Washington, D.C., put together.' "
Leavitt is exaggerating but only by a few thousand acres. Panetta's eyes widen.
"He was very surprised," says Leavitt, who, with Panetta, pores over a map of the area, color-coded to show private, state and federal lands.
"What are these little blue squares?" wonders Panetta, pointing out the dozens of sections of state trust lands that would be claimed by the monument.
"I said, `I need to talk to the president . . . and (Panetta) says, `Stay by the phone.' "
Panetta explains Clinton is off campaigning in Illinois and difficult to reach. Leavitt leaves the chief of staff the phone number of a New York City hotel where he is staying that night.
By dark, he has boarded a plane for New York to attend to more state business. Bad weather delays takeoff, however, and the aircraft sits for two hours on a taxiway. Finally, the governor makes his way toward the forward cabin, where he addresses a flight attendant.
"I don't want to seem over-dramatic here, but I'm the governor of Utah and I need to get to a phone so that I can receive a call from the president."
The crowded jet turns around, taxis back to the terminal and lets Leavitt out.
He returns to his hotel and waits, finally turning in at midnight.
Wednesday, Sept. 18 - At 1:58 a.m., Leavitt's hotel-room telephone rings.
"I thought it was my wakeup call."
But a voice on the line indicates otherwise.
"Governor," it says, "the president of the United States."
Leavitt spends the next half hour talking with Clinton, explaining his position on the issue and chiding Clinton for leaving him in the dark.
"I said something like, `I hear there's a wedding in my state and I'm not invited.' "
Noting that Clinton sounds tired, the governor closes by insisting there is a "win-win situation on this," offering to write him a personal memo outlining his argument.
Clinton tells him to go ahead. Leavitt sits down at a desk in his room to pen a 2 1/2-page note in his own hand.
He tells the president that if he were to announce creation of a monument, he should first put together a commission of state and local government officials to recommend boundaries and to solve a number of management questions. He says it should work toward a policy that "protects the land, preserves the assets and maintains the integrity of the public process."
"I know the local government leaders in this area would be reinvigorated in such a challenge. This could set a new standard," he writes, knowing full well that creation of the monument will proceed regardless of what he does.
At 4:30 a.m., he carries the memo downstairs to the hotel lobby and has it faxed to a phone number in Chicago.
He returns to his room for a nap, wakes up 30 minutes later and catches a 6 a.m. flight to New York.
At 2 p.m. Eastern time, President Clinton stands on the north rim of the Grand Canyon to announce the creation of the Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, a 1.7-million-acre expanse in Utah's Garfield and Kane counties.
At about the same time, Barber, the governor's economist, is making phone calls.
"We were trying to find some kind of map to show the boundaries of this thing, but there's no map!" he says. "Nobody knows!"
Leavitt listens to Clinton's speech, noting that it differs sharply from the official proclamation in at least one fundamental respect - it calls for local involvement of monument policy and management.
Later, he says, Babbitt tells him, "The hour and a half you spent with Panetta was very important."
"To Panetta's credit, and to the president's credit, I think they saw political events had run away with them," Leavitt says. "But they still wanted to make a good policy decision."