December 2002 AGGMAN Geology

A Geologist’s Journey Through Life and Science

During the last year, I have shared stories about the founding fathers of geology, the scientific process, and some geologic theories and principles that evolved out of that process. I would like to conclude this year’s column by sharing the story of the life of one particular geologist; an exceptional man who is one of my personal heroes.
He was born March 24, 1834, and was named John. His father was a minister and was intensely opposed to slavery, which was flourishing in America during John’s youth. His father’s vigorous stand against slavery was often met with hostility, and young John was frequently stoned by his classmates. John was removed from public school and placed under the tutelage of a neighbor — a farmer and self-taught scientist. His neighbor emphasized learning first hand, and took John on many outings to collect specimens of plants, animals, birds, and minerals. John continued to pursue his interests in science over the objections of his father who wished him to become a minister. By the age of 24, John had made scientific collections on solo expeditions of nearly the entire lengths of the Mississippi, Ohio, and Illinois Rivers. But he had yet to experience his most adventuresome river-running.
Shortly after John began teaching in 1858, his career was interrupted by the outbreak of the Civil War. He enlisted as a private in the 20th Illinois Infantry and made his way up through the ranks. His arm was amputated because of injuries sustained during the Battle of Shiloh, but he never let the disability prevent him from undertaking the many strenuous exploring trips for which he eventually became famous. John returned to service as soon as his wound healed, with the understanding that his wife, Emma Dean, could accompany him wherever he went. After the war, he mustered out of the service as a major.
John then accepted the position of professor of geology and curator of the museum of Illinois Wesleyan University. In 1867, he led a party of students to the Rocky Mountains to collect specimens for the museum. His wife Emma was one of the party of 12, and became the second woman of European decent to climb Pike’s Peak.
By 1868, John was considering exploration of the Colorado River. He wrote, “The thought grew into my mind that the canyons of [the Colorado] would be a Book of Revelations in the rock-leaved Bible of geology. The thought fructified, and I determined to read the book.”
His determination paid off. On May 24, 1869, 10 men, including their leader — a one-armed Civil War hero — pushed their boats onto the Green River at Green River Station, Wyoming Territory. These men had just embarked on a journey that would cover more than 1,000 miles through uncharted canyons of the Green and Colorado Rivers in the present-day states of Utah and Arizona.
Some of the biggest hazards faced were running the numerous rapids. All too frequently, boats capsized and provisions and equipment were lost. Three months after starting the journey, only six of the original company would emerge from the depths of the Grand Canyon at the mouth of the Virgin River.
By this remarkable journey, John opened up the last unknown area of the continental United States. His river-running party had survived, as the late novelist Wallace Stegner wrote, by “observation, caution, intelligence, skill, planning — in a word, science.” But John was not satisfied. The few specimens he collected had been cached alongside the river. Some notes had been lost, and other notes of observations on topography and geology were not as complete or as reliable as John had expected because the scientific instruments had been badly damaged. On May 22, 1871, he began his second journey into the Grand Canyon.
Over the next decade, John would formalize his theories about the slow uplift of land masses and the effects of water on them. The expeditions furnished the basis for one of his major contributions to geology — the theory of antecedent rivers. John recognized that the canyon rivers were older than the surrounding mountains, and that the rivers excavated their beds into the rocks as the mountains were uplifted around them.
John’s interest in the West did not stop with geology. He had an intense interest in the Native American people, and was known affectionately to many of them as Kapurats, or “One-Arm-Off.” Unlike most white men of his era, John believed that Native American people had a right to live their lives according to their own traditions. It was because of this empathy that, when other scientific teams felt they needed military escorts, John never even carried a gun. In 1879, he became the first director of the Bureau of Ethnology, a part of the Smithsonian that was given the responsibility to conduct “anthropologic researches among the North American Indians.”
In March 1881, John was appointed the second director of the U.S. Geological Survey. He was the principal force in stimulating topographic mapping and investigations of geology, ground water, rivers, flood control, and irrigation throughout the country. He served as director for 13 years until his voluntary resignation. John suffered from failing health due in part to his amputated arm, and died from a cerebral hemorrhage on Sept. 23, 1902. He was buried in Arlington Cemetery among other heroes of the Civil War.
John was eulogized in the epilog from The Romance Of The Colorado River, by Frederick S. Dellenbaugh (1903), who wrote, “As a far-seeing scientific man, as an organizer of government scientific work, as a loving friend, and a delightful comrade whether by the campfire or in the study, and as a true sympathizer with the aspirations and ambitions of subordinates or equals, there has seldom been his superior.”
The geologist in this story is Major John Wesley Powell. I wish I could have met him.

William H. Langer is a geologist with the Mineral Resources Team of the U.S. Geological Survey.

December 2002 Carved in Stone A Geologist’s Journey Through Life and Science				A Geologist’s Journey Through Life and Science By Bill Langer During the last year, I have shared stories about the founding fathers of geology, the scientific process, and some geologic theories and principles that evolved out of that process. I would like to conclude this year’s column by sharing the story of the life of one particular geologist; an exceptional man who is one of my personal heroes. He was born March 24, 1834, and was named John. His father was a minister and was intensely opposed to slavery, which was flourishing in America during John’s youth. His father’s vigorous stand against slavery was often met with hostility, and young John was frequently stoned by his classmates. John was removed from public school and placed under the tutelage of a neighbor — a farmer and self-taught scientist. His neighbor emphasized learning first hand, and took John on many outings to collect specimens of plants, animals, birds, and minerals. John continued to pursue his interests in science over the objections of his father who wished him to become a minister. By the age of 24, John had made scientific collections on solo expeditions of nearly the entire lengths of the Mississippi, Ohio, and Illinois Rivers. But he had yet to experience his most adventuresome river-running. Shortly after John began teaching in 1858, his career was interrupted by the outbreak of the Civil War. He enlisted as a private in the 20th Illinois Infantry and made his way up through the ranks. His arm was amputated because of injuries sustained during the Battle of Shiloh, but he never let the disability prevent him from undertaking the many strenuous exploring trips for which he eventually became famous. John returned to service as soon as his wound healed, with the understanding that his wife, Emma Dean, could accompany him wherever he went. After the war, he mustered out of the service as a major. John then accepted the position of professor of geology and curator of the museum of Illinois Wesleyan University. In 1867, he led a party of students to the Rocky Mountains to collect specimens for the museum. His wife Emma was one of the party of 12, and became the second woman of European decent to climb Pike’s Peak. By 1868, John was considering exploration of the Colorado River. He wrote, “The thought grew into my mind that the canyons of [the Colorado] would be a Book of Revelations in the rock-leaved Bible of geology. The thought fructified, and I determined to read the book.” His determination paid off. On May 24, 1869, 10 men, including their leader — a one-armed Civil War hero — pushed their boats onto the Green River at Green River Station, Wyoming Territory. These men had just embarked on a journey that would cover more than 1,000 miles through uncharted canyons of the Green and Colorado Rivers in the present-day states of Utah and Arizona. Some of the biggest hazards faced were running the numerous rapids. All too frequently, boats capsized and provisions and equipment were lost. Three months after starting the journey, only six of the original company would emerge from the depths of the Grand Canyon at the mouth of the Virgin River. By this remarkable journey, John opened up the last unknown area of the continental United States. His river-running party had survived, as the late novelist Wallace Stegner wrote, by “observation, caution, intelligence, skill, planning — in a word, science.” But John was not satisfied. The few specimens he collected had been cached alongside the river. Some notes had been lost, and other notes of observations on topography and geology were not as complete or as reliable as John had expected because the scientific instruments had been badly damaged. On May 22, 1871, he began his second journey into the Grand Canyon. Over the next decade, John would formalize his theories about the slow uplift of land masses and the effects of water on them. The expeditions furnished the basis for one of his major contributions to geology — the theory of antecedent rivers. John recognized that the canyon rivers were older than the surrounding mountains, and that the rivers excavated their beds into the rocks as the mountains were uplifted around them. John’s interest in the West did not stop with geology. He had an intense interest in the Native American people, and was known affectionately to many of them as Kapurats, or “One-Arm-Off.” Unlike most white men of his era, John believed that Native American people had a right to live their lives according to their own traditions. It was because of this empathy that, when other scientific teams felt they needed military escorts, John never even carried a gun. In 1879, he became the first director of the Bureau of Ethnology, a part of the Smithsonian that was given the responsibility to conduct “anthropologic researches among the North American Indians.” In March 1881, John was appointed the second director of the U.S. Geological Survey. He was the principal force in stimulating topographic mapping and investigations of geology, ground water, rivers, flood control, and irrigation throughout the country. He served as director for 13 years until his voluntary resignation. John suffered from failing health due in part to his amputated arm, and died from a cerebral hemorrhage on Sept. 23, 1902. He was buried in Arlington Cemetery among other heroes of the Civil War. John was eulogized in the epilog from The Romance Of The Colorado River, by Frederick S. Dellenbaugh (1903), who wrote, “As a far-seeing scientific man, as an organizer of government scientific work, as a loving friend, and a delightful comrade whether by the campfire or in the study, and as a true sympathizer with the aspirations and ambitions of subordinates or equals, there has seldom been his superior.” The geologist in this story is Major John Wesley Powell. I wish I could have met him. William H. Langer is a geologist with the Mineral Resources Team of the U.S. Geological Survey.