17 Mar 2026 A Conversation with Will Moore

Will Moore joins us today to discuss his new book, Southwestern National Monuments: Frank Pinkley and the Rise of the National Park System. Moore diligently explores the history as well as the quirky individuals who worked in some of the Southwest’s iconic national monuments. Under the leadership of Frank Pinkley, more than 30 diverse monuments were created and protected.

Moore is now retired from the Arizona Education Association and serves as a winter-season volunteer at Tonto National Monument in Arizona. His work has appeared in the Journal of Arizona History and on the National Parks Conservation Association website.

Who is your intended audience for this book and what do you hope they take away from reading it?

First, there are those who are actively exploring the southwestern national parks and monuments. If their experience is anything like mine was, they’re likely to want to know the backstory about the places they visit, and I hope they have a deeper appreciation for the monument or park for having read the chapter about that place. Secondly, there are those who know about the national parks but aren’t familiar with many of the lesser-known national monuments. Readers have told me, “I’ve made a list of the places that I have to visit now!” That’s exactly the response I was hoping for. Then, finally, there are those who may never be able to travel to see Rainbow Bridge or Tumacácori for themselves, but might still enjoy the story and gain an appreciation for why it’s important to maintain and protect those far-away places.

How would you describe Pinkley’s managerial style in his relationship to other NPS officials and rapport with rangers? How did his style change over the course of his long tenure?

When I was first researching Ranger Charlie Steen, his son—Professor Charlie Steen—told me that when his father and his retired ranger friends got together, they often spoke fondly of “the Boss” and what a likable character he was. Reading the correspondence between Pinkley and his staff—and there’s lots of that available to the historian—it’s apparent that his style was friendly, supportive, and usually spiced with a bit of humor. Pinkley only had a high school education himself and was largely self-taught. He developed an easy rapport and at times close friendships with the old-time monument custodians who often had backgrounds similar to his own. As time went on, however, Pinkley was able to hire young well-educated professionals—people like Charlie Steen. Tellingly, his supportive and friendly relationships, whether it was with the old guard or the new professionals, never seemed to change.

However, with some of the hierarchy of the National Park Service and the Washington bureaucracy, it was at times a different story. Pinkley believed that the national monuments were a special category of public land, as specified by the Antiquities Act, and he had little patience with the notion that these were “second-class” parks or national park “wanna-bes.” His push-back against reclassifying national monuments earned him censure more than once. After his particularly pointed criticism of one Park Service proposal the director responded, “Frank, have you been sitting on a cactus?”

Pinkley is not one of the better-known, early employees of the NPS, and your work helps to bring the man and his legacy to light. Aside from Stephen Mather and Horace Albright, was Pinkley singular in his contributions to the agency, or did you find other early NPS officials and employees who had similar impact?

I don’t think that we will find another National Park Service manager in Frank Pinkley’s unique historical situation. Unlike other parts of the country, the Southwest had this cluster of national monuments at a time when the NPS wanted one man to be in charge of them all. Pinkley had the opportunity to start from the beginning, developing a philosophy of protection and interpretation while mentoring a cadre of ranger custodians. In total, Pinkley was superintendent for thirty different national monuments across four states. By the time of his death in 1940, the days of his independence as a regional supervisor were about over as the NPS moved toward installing individual superintendents at individual monuments. I believe that the Park Service was fortunate to have such a devoted character available, and the various directors seemed to know that. At one point early on, Pinkley was considered for the position of Grand Canyon Superintendent. Wisely, Horace Albright knew where he wanted Pinkley and kept him at the Southwestern National Monuments.

National parks, national monuments, and the public lands as a unit are facing unique challenges due to underfunding and high visitation. Are there any specific lessons or events in Pinkley’s tenure with NPS that you think could inform approaches to today’s challenges?

There is no doubt that the ranger staff at all of our parks and monuments are stretched thin. Visitors can help by following a Leave No Trace ethic and—sometimes—by simply being patient. As a historian, I’m even more concerned with this presidential administration’s efforts to rewrite or eliminate the histories of our parks and monuments. Pinkley was an advocate for national monuments and historic sites as places to preserve our cultural and natural resources. In his view, the monuments contain more than great scenery and are not only places for scientific or historical research. He believed that the visiting public should learn what these places can tell us about our national heritage. I believe that Frank Pinkley would tell us that preserving and interpreting these sites is pointless if we “whitewash” the real stories, even when the story is difficult or makes us uncomfortable. 

You visited all of the SWNM sites during the course of researching this book, sometimes as a ranger-volunteer. Were there one or two that particularly surprised or delighted you?

Tonto National Monument in Arizona is where it started for me, and that small and rather obscure park gave me new surprises almost every day of the many winter seasons that I volunteered there. The cliff dwellings and other archeological sites are the heart of the place and always fascinating. But seeing a fresh mountain lion track on the trail or talking to a visiting child about the likelihood of pet dogs residing in the cliff dwelling could really make my day. 

I recently read that Petrified Forest National Park gets low visitor ratings because it isn’t what people expect. When I was a volunteer there, I met a visitor who looked around at the desert landscape and said, “I don’t see no forest.” I could only suggest that he leave the parking lot and explore the trails and backcountry. It’s a world lost in time.

The stone towers along the canyons of Hovenweep National Monuments in southeastern Utah make for another place well worth the trip off the main highways. Just like the earliest explorer-archeologists, the visitor will ask, “What was going on here? Why these structures? Why here?” You can join the archeological speculation or just get lost in the wonder of it.

But let me add that as I explored all of Pinkley’s territory, even the remote and undeveloped Yucca House National Monument in southwestern Colorado, I found none of them to be boring or uninteresting. They all have stories to tell.

During Pinkley’s era, the relationship between the NPS and Native Americans was seldom an equitable or even friendly partnership. How did Pinkley navigate working relationships with Native Americans in his territory?

Frank Pinkley was a man of his times. In many ways, he accepted the prevailing NPS notions that Native oral histories weren’t particularly valuable or that there was little reason to consider hiring Native people into the Park Service. But there are also clues that Pinkley had greater appreciation for Native rights than many of his colleagues and managers. For one, he befriended and admired John Wetherill, custodian at Navajo and Rainbow Bridge National Monuments, and a member of the well-known ranching family from Colorado. Wetherill was called “Hosteen John” by his Native neighbors, a title of respect. John and his wife Louisa probably had a closer and more respectful relationship with their Navajo and Paiute neighbors than any other NPS staff. Hosteen John served as a model for how the relationship could work, something Pinkley seemed to recognize and appreciate. 

Three other examples relate to Canyon de Chelly National Monument in northeast Arizona. It may be the only NPS site on land owned by a sovereign Native nation. When the ranger in charge asked Pinkley about Navajo farming practices in the canyon, Pinkley responded that the NPS job was to protect the archeology and deal with visitors; what the residents did on their own land—inside the monument—was not the business of the Park Service. 

Also, when the Park Service, in the 1930s, proposed a vast new national park in the Four Corners area, to encompass Monument Valley, at least three national monuments, and a lot of reservation land, Pinkley opposed the scheme. That may have been due to his consistent effort to preserve the unique identities of national monuments, but it also served to protect Navajo Nation land.

Finally, Pinkley supported and encouraged the work of Betty Budlong, wife of the ranger custodian at Canyon de Chelly. She proposed and implemented a collaborative project with Navajo elders to preserve and demonstrate the art of weaving, “from sheep to loom to blanket.” Betty took the role of supporting and recording a project that was by Navajos for Navajos, a concept that had often been ignored by the National Park Service.