In Yellowstone, Randy Caulder’s Story Remains One For The Ages

By Todd Wilkinson, 11-29-06

People often ask me if it's difficult to scratch lines of perspective in the sand, inviting readers to agree or disagree.

Occasionally, I share a remark that was once made to me by an anti-cattle-grazing-on-public-lands activist, who derives part of his income being a writer for the conservation media.

He said: "When I'm writing about the impacts of livestock, I don't enjoy interviewing ranchers because I end up actually liking them as individuals and that makes it extremely difficult to write negative things about what they do for a living."

All stories—every story—can be complicated.

However, some are not.

As I look back at the thousands of newspaper stories and columns I've penned, I think about the simple messages emerging from the interviews; the long lasting empathy that remains as strong today as the moment I lifted the notepad.

This is a column about one of those moments of clarity, though I didn't have the pleasure to interview the subject.

It's a story, too, that should serve as a cautionary tale for those in power and the risks they take when they allow partisan rancor to blur their vision of what matters.

A dozen years ago, the U.S. government shut down. Republicans had control of Congress and Democrats ruled the White House. Talks over passing a federal budget turned nasty.

Both sides refused to budge. Even national parks closed their gates because there wasn't money appropriated to pay the salaries of rangers.

While all this was happening, one young man, Randy Caulder, had other concerns. Caulder, a bright-eyed teenage school kid from Lumberton, North Carolina, was dying of terminal cancer. He didn't have time to worry about petty bickering between grown adults in the nation's capital.

Among the few priorities left in his life was seeing Old Faithful Geyser erupt.

Just once.

He dreamed of experiencing the impressive icon of Yellowstone firsthand.

Yes, of any place in the world and the possiblity of meeting any celebrity or sports star, he selected America's first national park in the middle of a cold winter.

Yet serving as a roadblock to Caulder's last wish was the following decree issued by the Interior Department ordering no visitation to parks during the shutdown:

"Two things can happen to a person who violates the law," the internal memo likely handed down from department lawyers stated. "First is prosecution resulting in a fine of up to $5,000, or two years in prison, or both. Secondly, the Secretary (of Interior) is obligated to report immediately any such violation to the President and the Congress."

Caulder's health was failing rapidly.

When word reached Yellowstone of Caulder's dire circumstances, civil servants led by Superintendent Mike Finley and concession employees at park headquarters decided they would break the law and quietly commit an act of civil disobedience.

"All of us wanted to do what WAS RIGHT," park spokeswoman Marsha Karle told me at the time. "National parks exist for the people and here was a young man who rallied his last strength just to see the inside of Yellowstone."

Upon arrival, Caulder was bundled up on a sled pulled by a snowmobile and ferried three hours to the Upper Geyser Basin. Rangers waiting for him at Old Faithful huddled at his side, no one else around, helping him predict the geyser's next eruption. He was giddy as bison, elk and coyotes filled the frame of a spotting scope.

The boy, who struggled to raise up his body against the disease pulling him down, fought off intense pain and rallied with a smile as he peered into the ethereal maw.

"Randy and I had a heart to heart talk during the trip to Yellowstone. He was the type of kid who would not give up and his courage gave other people strength," said close family friend Ron Nye who escorted Caulder out West. "But he was preparing himself for the inevitable. He asked me, "If I should die, what is it going to be like on the other side?'"

Caulder arrived at the conclusion on his own that maybe Heaven looked something like Yellowstone.

"I was extremely moved by his visit because rather than going to Disneyland, this young person came here—and to think we can't even keep the place open," park staffer Rod Robey remarked afterward. "In making Caulder's wish come true, a very important statement was made about values. At a time when morale is an issue, mine was lifted. At a time when our leader-politicians refer to our children's future and then close the parks, this is the reason they should be open."

Fortunately, the Interior Department memo proved to be a bluff charge. No one was hauled off in handcuffs or prosecuted for breaking the law.

Within hours of his visit, Randy Neil Caulder passed away at five in the morning on Jan. 11, 1996.

Randy reminded us that parks are for people. His story remains one for the ages.
[End of article]