The University of Wisconsin Campus:

A case study of human action and landscape change

By: Alex Felson

A thesis submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of

Master of Science (Land Resources)

at the UNIVERSITY OF WISCONSIN-MADISON 2005

 Advisor Approval

I hereby approve the following thesis, entitled, The University of Wis-

consin Campus: A case study of human action and landscape
change, to be submitted by Alexander J. Felson for the fulfillment of
the requirements for the degree of Master of Science (Land Resources)
at the University of Wisconsin--Madison.

Dr. William J. Cronon Frederick Jackson Turner Date

and Vilas Research Professor of History
 v

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Introduction 1

I Campus walk 9

II The early formative years: Responding to a glacial landscape 27

Human scale and Agency

III Vegetation changes : towards an identifiably human campus 53

Human action and/or inaction and campus landscape change

IV Planning, preservation and management: human 104

agency and campus development
Realized plans, piecemeal planning and unintended results

Conclusions 104

Front cover, aerial, 1990s. PC, 8/1/4 Overall from east.

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to thank a number of people for their role in completing this project.
Thanks to my wife Janine Coye Felson for her support and encouragement, and to
my mother, Nancy Felson, for her wonderful editing and moral support throughout.
Thanks also to my advisor, Dr. William Cronon for his encouragement and guidance
and to Dr. Evelyn Howell and Dr. Arnold Alanen for their roles as members of my
thesis committee. Thanks also to my original advisor Bill Tishler, for his advice and
feedback. I would also like to thank Jim Miller and Barbara Borns of the Institute for
Environmental Studies for encouragement and support. Bernard Schermetzler of
the UW Photo Archives and Michael Clayton of the Botany Department were also
very helpful with historic images. Thanks to Frank Cook, Daniel Einstein, Dr. David
Cronon, Karen Lawrence, Dr. Phil Hamilton and Bruce Allison for their thoughtful
ideas in interviews as well as their advice.
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Introduction

Campus landscapes provide a unique arrangement of human artifacts

within a park-like setting. The balance of human control with biological
autonomy produces a rich texture of human, vegetative and geological events.
This configuration creates a convenient opportunity to observe and evaluate
multiple factors that define and mold landscape conditions in human-dominated
environments. Utilizing a multi-disciplinary approach that relies on theories and
practices from ecology, environmental and landscape history, and geography, this
thesis investigates the major factors that have shaped the campus landscape of
the University of Wisconsin at Madison.
The thesis originated as a walk through the campus focusing on
significant trees and natural areas. As I poured over historic images and
other primary resources, I began to realize the value of the landscape itself
as a primary document that records and subtly expresses the blend of human
activity, biological factors, and the physical terrain. Intrigued by this capacity
of landscapes to absorb and express disparate events and occurrences, I
reoriented the walk so that it would enable me to map these out and to analyze
their interconnections and significance. Four broad topics emerged: 1) geology
and vegetation; 2) master plans and design; 3) history: activism, politics
and economics; and 4) culture, social factors and ideals. These topics are
interspersed throughout the specific sites I traversed in my walk through campus.
Over time, as the thesis took form, I also examined the feedback between
the development and the preservation of the land, as well as on biological
resilience and other non-human factors contributing to landscape change. In
particular, I asked what insights we can gain for future planning and development
from an in-depth investigation of the campus landscape, looking for patterns
and events that explained landscape evolution and land-use changes. Thus
the physical campus itself becomes the primary historical document. Other
research materials include historical photographs, maps and campus plans
from the University of Wisconsin Archives and the State Historical Society
Photo Archives, journal entries, newspaper articles, books and interviews.
 15

Chapter 1

THE EARLY FORMATIVE YEARS:

RESPONDING TO A GLACIAL LANDSCAPE
16
 17

Isthmus: City

The city of Madison and the University of Wisconsin owe much of their existence
to a cunning land speculator, Judge James Doty. Passing through the region in 1829,
Doty looked past the thick brambles and expansive marshland. Casting his glance
out over a flat swampy landscape with bodies of water on both sides and several
strategically located hills, Doty was able to imagine the potential of this terrain—
envisioning the relationship of water, land and topography as a site for a new city.
Doty purchased the isthmus (1,200 acres of land), anticipating that he could
convince a young congress to choose this site as the future territorial capital.1 He
also commissioned a map that would represent the fully matured capital. With this
scheme, he intended first to persuade the First Territorial Assembly into selecting this
location and to attract land speculators and settlers to invest in a site, which, at that
time, remained completely unpopulated and undeveloped.
In October 1863, at the First Assembly held in Belmont, Wisconsin, Doty
passed out buffalo robes to the councilmen and made gifts of choice land parcels on
the isthmus to influence the vote. Already, Councilman Joseph B. Teas (who later
aided in locating the college in Madison) had substituted Madison early in the session
for the proposed capital location of Fond du Lac. The alternative location, propelled
by Teas and Doty, passed through the various deliberations throughout the session
and the Assembly chose the isthmus over other sites.
While Doty’s initiatives fostered the creation of Madison, the features of the
land and their unique spatial layout must also have truly distinguished the site and
influenced the decision. An aerial view of Madison today shows the features in the
land that caught Doty’s attention. The isthmus—a narrow strip of land set between two
bodies of water— would provide a firm boundary to the city. The size and proportion
of the strip of land would also fit the scale required to create an environment of streets
and buildings. The two lakes forming the isthmus were themselves distinct features
that would play a fundamental role in the development of both city and campus.
Elongated hills, known as drumlins, found both on the isthmus and throughout the
surrounding region were also significant land features. Originally, much of this strip of
land was marshy, but two ridges running the length of the isthmus allowed passage
and provided high ground from which Judge Doty could view all of the landscape
elements.
18

Glaciers

The Wisconsin Glaciers produced the spatial organization of drumlins, lakes

and land to which Doty reacted. These features, now part of our everyday experience
of the campus, were made over 13,000 years ago when thick ice sheets, estimated
at more than 2,000 feet deep over parts of Madison, moved northeast to southwest
across the future state of Wisconsin. The powerful movement transported boulders
and sculpted the terrain.2 The slow grinding motion generally reduced the topographic
relief and also produced a wide variety of characteristic landforms and geographic
features.
The glaciers filled in parts of an ancient riverbed that ran through central
Wisconsin, to create a chain of four lakes running north to south.3 The two
northernmost lakes, now Lake Mendota and Lake Monona, together formed the
isthmus. Glaciers also produced various prominent drumlins, including Bascom,
Observatory and Capitol Hills. The terminal moraine, or front edge of the moving ice
sheet, stopped just southwest of Madison and left a long ridge of debris. These hills
and lakes and their spatial composition are now ingrained in the very form of the city
and campus. They create the geologic canvas and underlying framework on which
layers of urbanization have occurred.4
As a result of Doty’s choice, the City of Madison and the University would add
a new stratum to the existing layers of geology. Buildings and roads would commingle
with glacial artifacts, and the remnant soils and sandstone of past seas. The deposits
of glacial till would define land-use patterns, particularly farming, across the state.
Doty’s reaction to the glacial features exemplifies how cultural understanding
is translated into the planning and physical construction of urban space. In this case,
Doty skillfully assessed how well the restrictive boundaries of the isthmus would
accommodate the scale of a city. His early involvement in maneuvering the site
through political circles and in commissioning a paper map both influenced the growth
and layout of the campus. Doty’s tremendous impacts on the direction of Madison
suggest the importance of early participants in landscape change.
 19

Fig 1. This “paper city” of Madison rendered before anything really existed on the isthmus illustrates
Judge James Doty’s perception of the land and what his long-term intentions were in its development.
A grid of roads running parallel and perpendicular to the isthmus’ edge is applied to the land. Blocks
are wider than they are long, perhaps relating to the elongated shape of the isthmus.

BASCOM HILL

Fig 2. Comparing Doty’s map to an 1867 bird’s eye view of Madison, it is surprising to see how much
of his original design came through.
20

Choosing a Site

During the 1836 meeting of the First Assembly, initial proposals for a territo-
rial college were made. At the time, congressional members were concerned mostly
with colonizing the last piece of the northwestern territories and viewed the develop-
ment of a college as a minor concern. While members actively disputed the loca-
tion of the capital, a bill passed quietly with a unanimous vote to place the college in
Belmont, Wisconsin. This held for only two years.
In 1838, the subsequent Assembly, with greater interest in the future of the
college, passed a second bill locating the territorial college “at or near Madison.”5
Legislators also included a resolution requesting a land grant from the United States
Congress to support the new college. The United States Congress agreed to the re-
quest and pledged “a quantity of land not exceeding two entire townships [72 square
miles].”6 The public lands were not selected until 7 years later in 1845.7 Three more
years would pass before the Constitution of 1848 called for the “establishment of
a State University, at or near the seat of state government.”8 The Constitution pro-
posed the creation of a board of elected members, known as the Board of Trustees,
to oversee the organization of the school and the sale of land to generate a univer-
sity fund.
The Board was interested in obtaining “about fifty acres, bounded north by
Fourth Lake, east by a street [Park Street] to be opened at right angles with King [State]
Street, south by Mineral Point Road [University Avenue], and west by a carriage way
from said road to the lake.”9 They negotiated for the purchase of over 150 acres of
land representing a quarter section of land offered by a New York landowner named
Aaron Vanderpool. The Board claimed that this section was more than enough land
for the proposed university layout. Vanderpool sold the land at the high price of $15
an acre plus “the addition of the taxes for the present year, and a commission of 2
per cent.”10 Shortly after the purchase the Board admitted that the quarter section
did not include all the land they were interested in for the purpose of establishing the
college and that additional parcels were needed. The Board undoubtedly wanted to
obtain extra land to trade or sell so as to generate early profits for the workings of the
school.11
 21

Drumlins and landscape layout: Open-Ended Mall

As early as 1838, Madison inhabitants had begun to refer to one of the drum-
lins as “College Hill”. In that year a committee had been established “to examine the
lands proposed to be donated by Josiah A. Noonan [co-editor of Madison Enquirer]
and Aaron Vanderpool [of New York City],” which included the drumlin.12 The com-
mittee approved the location, but no action was taken. It was not until ten years
later, in 1848, that the newly established Board of Trustees would begin seriously
negotiating the land purchase.13
The drumlins—Bascom Hill and Capitol Hill—are the two most prominent
land features on the isthmus albeit in a flat marshy landscape. Doty’s foresight and
eventually the Board’s decision to locate the college and the city on the 13,000-year-
old drumlins have forged an intimate link between the cultural pattern of locating
civic buildings or institutions on higher ground and the glacial process that resulted
in the hills. The heavily trafficked corridor that is State Street has further influenced
the naturally occurring spatial relation of Bascom and Capitol Hills. State Street
establishes a strong axis linking the college and state. Since the origins of the city, this
axis has played an important role in the layout and development of Madison. In the
end, the decision to locate college and the city on the drumlins has in effect inscribed
a cultural layer upon these geological features.
It is unclear how the mall materialized in the earliest UW campus plans.
Union College in upstate New York (1813) and the University of Virginia (1817) were
the only universities to implement the mall centrally in their campus layout before
Wisconsin. Most early campuses in the United States exhibited some geometry, often
adopting the European-style square arrangement and applying a looser geometry
to the American landscape. Most likely the UW’s interest in establishing a physical
relationship between the campus and the Capitol influenced the resulting layout.14
The campus plans of 1850 called for an “avenue two hundred and forty feet
wide, extending from the main edifice [Main Hall] to the east line of the grounds and
bordered by a double row of trees.”15 The plans took advantage of the drumlin’s
northeastern facing slope, a slope typical of the thousands of drumlins spread
throughout much of the State. The open-ended mall captured and framed the slope
itself, maintaining it as a graceful lawn surrounded on three sides by buildings and
trees.
22

Previous glaciation
between 25,000 and
790,000 years ago

Driftless Area

Fig 3. The diagram above provides a general
overview of the extent of glaciation until 2.4 million
years ago (mya). Declining temperatures beginning
roughly 50 mya eventually created an environment
cold enough for the periodic southern advancement
of the great continental ice sheets.
Fig 4. The diagram above illustrates the glacial
advances, or lobes, extending into Wisconsin. Tem-
peratures did not decline continuously, but fluctu-
ated between warmer and colder conditions, lead-
ing to as many as 12 to 15 ice sheet advances over
the last 2.4 million years (see timeline Fig. 7). The
glaciers never entered the driftless area (see above
right). The Green Bay Lobe retreated as recently as
9,000 years ago.

Fig 6. The till covering much of the glaciated land-

Fig 5. The thickness of the ice sheet varies, but
can be several thousand feet. The glacier above
Madison is estimated to have been about 2,000 feet
thick, or almost half a mile.
scape is unstratified. The matrix of sand, silt and
clay in this finely ground soil make for superb agri-
cultural land. Stratified drifts also occur in certain
conditions, for instance in the outwash material,
streams, and deposits within the glaciers.
 23
Years Before
Present

Glaciation

Fig 8. As glaciers move they scour the ground, ripping up boulders

and pulverizing them into sand-sized to rock-sized particles. Eroding
hilltops and filling in valleys, glaciers reduce the relief in the landscape.
The sliding of heavier thicker areas of ice towards thinner areas occurs
in a conveyer belt-like motion, moving sediments along with it.

Fig 7. Glacial timeline.

N
Fig 9. The grinding motion of the glaciers produced a variety
of characteristic landforms and geographic features across the
landscape. The four lakes were once part of a larger single lake Fig 10. Drumlin Topography. Note
formed from an ancient river valley that remained as the glaciers the steepness of the eastern fac-
retreated. The line where the glaciers stopped their advance can ing slope and the more gradual
be seen on the map above as the Johnstown Moraine. slope of the western side.
24

The construction of an open-ended mall over the slope of Bascom Hill, and
the natural orientation of the slope towards Capitol Hill transformed the slope into a
hallmark of the campus with a flexible space large enough to hold ceremonies and
gatherings. At the same time, it exists as a large tilted plane directed towards the city.
Functionally and symbolically, the design provides a space that links the campus to
the public and the government.
This semi-public forum has provided a gathering place for students, faculty,
administration and the public at large since the earliest campus days. Events have
ranged from marching practice for soldiers of the Civil War, anti-war protests, to a
forum for the Civil Rights Movement, gay and lesbian activism, and many other rallies.
Students and the public continue discovering new uses for the lawn and continue to
use it for educational and political purposes. The once innocent glacial landform has
become a social and political forum and a charged land feature in human society and
memory.
The process through which a geologic aspect of the land becomes incorporated
and reconfigured into a cultural site is clearly illustrated in the remaking of this glacial
drumlin into the University of Wisconsin’s Bascom Hill. At once an unbiased outcome
of a geologic phenomenon that first produced the lakes, isthmus and drumlins, the Hill
has also become vested with cultural relevance and intrinsically linked to the identity
of the University.

Sandstone

The sandstone used to construct the first buildings on campus, are not linked
to the glaciers, but to the geologic history extending 500 to 600 million years prior to
glaciation. The formation of this material, called Madison sandstone dates back to a
time when large water bodies covered this entire region. Slowly and methodically over
time, these seas deposited silt and sand into thick sediment layers.16 The accumulated
layers were compacted into thick sedimentary rock. Most of the sandstone was later
covered with dolomite, a second type of sedimentary rock, and again with the glaciers.
Weathering and erosion exposed some sandstone, such as Maple Bluff along Lake
Mendota.
A quarry located two miles away in Shorewood Hills provided the hardened
sandstone used to construct the first campus buildings.17 At the time, the material
was a common and well-liked local and inexpensive building material.18 Somewhat
 25

Fig 11. The design of the first buildings followed an architectural movement from Italy, the renaissance
revival, based on Greek classical principles.

Fig 12. The simplicity of Bascom Mall’s design and the sensitivity to existing conditions allow us today
to read the geological landform through the designed space.
26

strapped for money in its earliest years after an effort to sell land did not go as well
as planned, the college also decided to take advantage of the lower cost material.
The contractors for these first buildings were able to bid lowest on the construction of
the buildings because the materials were close at hand and less costly than marble
or granite. In fact, the lowest bidder owned several quarries. The sandstone was
excavated and cut into large building blocks. In the end it still took ten years to
complete all three buildings. Two dorms proposed to flank North and South Halls
were never built.19
Conceptualizing the sandstone as a geological feature of the land and the
sandstone as a building material (now embedded in the campus) provides a new
cultural interpretation of this geological remnant. We relate to the deposited sediment
as architecture-- 2’ x 3’ blocks of rough sandy material configured to form inhabitable
structures. The sandstone not only represents an architectural component; it also
represents a historical component of the land. The beautiful light sand-colored stone
that weathers over time is both visual and tactile and gives Bascom Hill some of its
historic character. Unearthing a layer of the organic silt and transforming it into a
functional building material links the University directly to events occurring millions of
years ago.
The historic and cultural relevance of sandstone is unlikely to have been a
preoccupation of the early builders. Sandstone was chosen at the time for its economic
and practical value. Indeed, in the context of development, natural features of the
land are oftentimes valued in economic terms. As such, we define useful elements of
nature as natural resources and in turn unitize, commoditize, sell and trade them in
our markets.

Understanding Scale

Landscape scale was critical to the early development of the campus. This well-
studied concept is defined variously as “the landforms of the region in the aggregate,”
or “the land surface and its associated habitats at scales of hectares to many square
kilometers,” or simply as “a spatially heterogeneous area.”20 Landscape scale is
larger and of a greater range than urban scale. The scale of the campus could be
considered somewhere between a landscape scale and a typical urban scale because
the buildings are spaced out in a park-like setting.
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Fig 13. The elongated hills known as drumlins scattered across a large area of Wisconsin, are one of the
topographic glacial remnants. As many as 5,000 drumlins (including Bascom and Capitol Hill) exist within
the Green Bay glacial lobe. Note the general northeast to southwest direction. Because these hills form
under ice sheets as thick as several thousand feet geologists are still uncertain whether the landforms are
a product of erosion or deposition. The olive green represents unstratified glacial till. The dark green rep-
resents the terminal moraine.
28

The glaciers produced a particular set of large-scale landscape features.

Doty capitalized on these with his proposed plan for the city, developing urban
space situated in relation to the lakes, hills and isthmus. While the earliest designs
responded to these big landscape elements, they often ignored the smaller scale
anomalies on the land including the various Native American relics, creeks, wetlands
and remaining workers graves located on College Hill.21
The original design for the campus responded to the glacial scale terrain, with
the open-ended mall placed to take advantage of the drumlin’s gradual northeastern
slope facing the city. The design and layout of campus buildings, paths and roadways
fit site-specific circumstances at the landscape or glacial scale, while also catering to
human scale needs, include factors such as walkways widths, safety concerns and
circulation patterns.
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Fig 14. The city with the campus in the background in 1880. The houses in the foregrond are located
on the site of the present day Peterson and Humanities Building. Main, North and South Hall as well
as Music Hall and the first Science Hall are visible in the picture.

Fig 15. South Hall, 1892. The use of sandstone in these first buildings was more economic and prac-
tical than intentional. Those responsible for using the stone were unlikely to have considered the
linkage to the past; they were simply responding to what was available. This economic and practical
relationship to nature dominates human society today. We define useful elements of nature as natural
resources. They are unitized, commodified, sold and traded in our market systems.
30
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Chapter 2

VEGETATION CHANGES:
TOWARDS AN IDENTIFIABLY HUMAN CAMPUS
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Fig 16. Aerial of campus from the east, 1940.

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Vegetation changes

“There are no considerable portions that can be called timber land, it being almost
entirely oak openings or prairie.” I. A. Lapham, 184622

“There is no difficulty in making roads, as the burr-oak openings can be traveled

through anywhere, and there is nothing to do but blaze the trees and beat down the
luxuriant grass by use.” Col. William H. Trimble 1838 Letter23

With the founding and subsequent development of the University of Wisconsin

campus, students and faculty added a new stratum to the existing layers of geology
and vegetation. Campus buildings, roads and infrastructure as well as sports areas
and landscaping advanced slowly across the purchased land and brought organization
and identity to the site. Human impact on campus vegetation was sporadic and site
specific because the campus developed in a piecemeal fashion. As occupation
increased, the landscape became a complicated mix of human artifact and evolving
landscape conditions.
Although the city and campus arose on land that had been visited and
intermittently inhabited for centuries, Madison remained largely rural and unorganized.
Campus vegetation was less influential than the larger scale spatial organization of
glacial remnants, including lakes, drumlins and valleys, to which early surveyors,
campus board members and architect responded. Scattered oaks, prairies and
marshland were removed or otherwise incorporated to accommodate campus growth.
The subsequent vegetation conditions were partly planned—such as the lawn at
Bascom Hill—but also an outcome of disturbance and recovery, as buildings, roads,
and recreational areas spread.
Oak savanna and prairie ecosystems had dominated the land for many
centuries leading up to settlers’ arrival and prior to campus establishment. Fires were
integral to the spread and maintenance of these widespread southern Wisconsin
landscapes.24 Research has also shown that Native American tribes, who fished
and hunted seasonally on the isthmus, periodically set fire to the land to improve
hunting conditions. The fire setting practices were integral to the establishment
and maintenance of prairie landscapes. The tender plant stalks attracted game for
34

hunting.
The European settlers’ arrival in the area and the deportation of the last Indian
tribes to reservations in the 1830s changed the traditional relationship between
prairies and people. With the privatization of land and the construction of permanent
settlements, fire became an unwanted element, and active suppression occurred.
Without fires, more competitive plants, known as pioneer species, out-competed
prairie grasses. Within a few seasons the oak savanna and prairie ecosystems
lost their dominance, and a thick layer of brambles and fast growing shrubs and
trees undoubtedly overtook the grassy plains. The end of pre-settlement fire-setting
practices brought significant changes to campus vegetation.

Fig 17. The University of Wisconsin Arboretum, Green Prairie.

 35

Fig 18. Major plant communities of Wisconsin in 1840.

Fig 19. Root depth of common prairie plants.

Fig 20. Prairie burning, Minneapolis, Minnesota.

36

Fig 21. Engraving of Madison from Bascom Hill, 1858.

Bascom Hill

Bascom Hill is a “brush tangled hillside where small game scurried along hidden
paths.” John Lathrop, first University Chancellor, 1849-185825

The time interval between settlers’ arrival and fire suppression in the late 1830s,
on the one hand, and the initial development of university grounds in the 1850s,
allowed early stages of pioneer succession to occur. Lathrop’s above description of
Bascom Hill supports this notion. A similar metamorphosis from a prairie landscape to
brambles probably took place on most of the campus, especially with the occasional
grazing that occurred on the land. In the case of Bascom Hill, the decision to develop
a large rectilinear lawn abbreviated the processes of succession. Brambles and oaks
were cleared and grass planted as part of the original 1850 campus plan. Since
its inauguration, the 160,000 square foot lawn has been mowed in perpetuity and
is maintained as a meeting ground and student lounge. Maintenance is key to the
ongoing appearance of Bascom Mall; mowing, weeding and reseeding have kept the
lawn in a relatively fixed condition for 150 years. If current management practices
ceased, disturbance species would undoubtedly invade the sod-covered drumlin.
For most of campus history, two double rows of American elms set at 140’ with
the trees in each allee spaced 30’ apart, lined the face of the drumlin. The two allees
 37

were part of the original 1850 campus plan. The design created beautiful walkways
up and down Bascom Hill on either side of the lawn framing views towards the city.
Roughly one-third of the 700 saplings planted between 1851 and 1852 died in the
first two seasons. Replanting occurred in 1854. The next planting did not occur for
another 30 years, in the 1880s.26
The American elm was the tree of choice at the time. Like many other
successful urban trees, it developed in the floodplains.27 The majestic elm, with its
vase-shaped branching, shapely trunk, and grayish bark, quickly became a favorite
with city dwellers. By the 1940s and 50s the elm was an icon of the American city,
planted on main streets and throughout neighborhoods across the United States. In
the city of Madison, American elms graced State, Langdon, Park, Charter and Elm
Streets, as well as University Avenue.
The glory of these elm-lined avenues and streets took a terrible turn from
the 1930s onward with the introduction of a fungus, known as Dutch Elms Disease,
transported from Europe to the United States through Cleveland on an infested log.
Elm tree roots grow almost as wide as their canopy, and often overlap and graft with
the roots of nearby elms, thus creating ample opportunity for spreading to occur. The
easily transmitted and fatal Dutch Elms Disease spread rapidly, moving from tree to
tree—either in the mandibles of the Elm Bark Beetle or through underground root
systems.28 Dutch Elms Disease wreaked havoc on elms across the nation.29
Using a costly serum researched and developed on campus, the University
of Wisconsin preserved elms on Bascom Hill long after most had died across the
country.30 The Physical Plant also maintained a rigorous preventative effort, pruning
infected areas and digging trenches around elms to separate roots. In 1999, out of
over several hundreds elms, sixty-eight remained living. The Physical Plant’s recent
decision to halt the costly injections on the remaining trees leaves the elms to survive
on their own.31 The University Ground’s policy is to replace dying elms on Bascom Hill
with red oaks pruned to imitate elms.
38

Fig 22. Bascom Hill and City Map, 1867.

Fig 24. Elm and South Hall, 1998.

Fig 23. Elms by Music Hall, 1998.

Fig 25. Bascom Hill from Main Hall, 1940s.

 39

Fig 26. Quercus rubra (Red oaks) replace elms, 1998.

Fig 24-28. European elm bark beetle and

brood galleries with central egg gallery. Fig 29. Ageing elms by Education Hall, 1998.

Fig 30. Distribution of smaller European elm bark beetle (Scolytus multistriatus) as of 1974.
Muir Woods

“This is an area of virgin forest, in which venerable oaks predominate. The University
and alumni have always been most solicitous for its preservation as a forest.” Grant
Cottam, 196432

Muir Woods is filled mainly with oak, maple, cherry, hawthorn, hickory and other
hardwoods. During the cold winters of 1865 through 1870, students and faculty living
in the newly built dormitory, North Hall, collected wood from the forest to supplement
their poorly functioning central stove. Today it serves as a place of leisure and an
educational site for botany and ecology students.
Opinions differ as to the historic evolution of this woodland parcel. A predominant
view is that Muir Woods changed from prairie grasses to thick woods, like much of
the campus. An alternate view proposed by Dr. Arthur Hassler, emeritus professor
of Limnology, is that forests covered Muir Woods before 1850. Hassler’s argument
is based on observations of similar conditions in Southern Wisconsin, where forests
grow on northern slopes and the amount of sunlight does not support prairie grasses.33
University inhabitants’ active collection of wood here early in campus history may
support the forested argument although thirty years of fire repression from 1850
onward would allow time for vegetation growth.
Muir Woods remained undisturbed until 1961 when the University’s Board of
Trustees voted unanimously to remove a third of the forest to construct the Social
Science Building.34 This decision emanated from the need for additional space in
response to student influxes after WWII.
Replacing the forest with the Social Science building catalyzed more stringent
preservation regulations across the campus. By 1964, the proponents for the
preservation of the Woods were finally able to persuade the University to designate
the remaining forest a biological field station.35 Since the Social Science Building’s
construction, no intrusion has occurred, and the Woods remain intact, only suffering
from soil compaction and erosion due to heavy foot traffic.
 Fig 31. Muir Woods before construction of the Social Science Buillding, 1940s.

Fig 32-33. The Carillon Tower was one of the few structures built during the depression, 1932.
Shown during the removal of Muir Woods, 1961, and with the Social Science Building, 1985.

Fig 34. Carillon Tower seen from the west, where Van Hise and Ingraham Hall now stand, 1950s
42

Chadbourne Hall Oaks

The repression of fires in the 1830s led to a proliferation of white oaks across
the campus. A photograph taken of the area south of Bascom Mall where the women’s
dormitory, Chadbourne Hall, is located illustrates this pattern. The photograph shows a
hillside crowded with healthy even-aged oaks. These similarly aged stands resemble
vegetation recovery after clear cuts or fields left fallow, and indicate that the trees
germinated around the same time. In this case, the previously existing widespread
oaks had produced an abundance of acorns, which were more capable of germinating
and maturing after fire repression.
The life cycle and growth patterns of oaks are intimately associated with prairie
habitat. Oak saplings, for example, develop thick, deeply grooved fire-resistant bark
after ten years of growth, protecting them from periodic burning. Fires also thin out
the growth of young oak saplings and result in the typical wide-spaced and open-
grown oak savanna. Squirrels, with their harvested and buried acorn caches, are
responsible for a large proportion of germinating oaks as well.
Although the construction of buildings, roads, and lawns, has led to the removal
of many oaks, several can still be found in pockets across the campus today, some
older than the university. The remaining oaks serve as points of reference, providing
a window into the landscape of the past. Many of the remaining campus oak exist
in clusters, not as individual specimens. The clusters typically arose from squirrel
caches and differ from the specimen trees growing in prairie landscapes.

President’s Oak

The 300 year-old President’s Oak is the oldest tree on campus and one of the
few survivors from the landscape’s earlier oak populations. The tree germinated long
before settlers arrived, sometime in the early 1700s, and unquestionably had its share
of fires before the 1830s. Now at least seventy feet tall and four feet wide, the slow
growing and venerable oak is living its last years as a campus celebrity and acting as
a gatekeeper to the outdoor museum on Observatory Hill.36
Human pressures on oaks have changed considerably during the lifetime of
the President’s Oak. Throughout its first one hundred and fifty years, the oak lived
among forbs and grasses, surviving occasional burns and encroaching tree species.
Between the 1830-1850, livestock grazed on the campus, trampling and compacting
 43

the ground. Around the tree’s 150th birthday, suppression of fires occurred, allowing
pioneer species to compete for soil, nutrients and sunlight. During the Civil War,
soldiers training in Camp Randall used the tree for target practice. Gradually, through
its second century of life, buildings and roads spread across the land and led to the
demise of many similarly aged oaks. The President’s House (1855) and Washburn
Observatory (1870) construction on Observatory Hill in close proximity to the tree,
improved the oaks chances of survival. Experimental farming occurred on the north
and south hillsides adjacent to the tree and included orchards in the early 1900s.37
The President’s Oak is unique because of its age. Even though campuses tend
to evolve more slowly than typical urban space, retaining the land, upon which the Oak
is found, undisturbed for 300 years was no easy feat. Volatile real estate conditions in
city environments coupled with pollution, salt and compaction make it difficult to grow
most trees in highly urban conditions, especially along streets.38 According to soil
scientist, Phil Craul, seven years is the life expectancy of the average tree in an urban
setting.39 Altered soil conditions, road improvements and campus expansion all lead
to instability. The Observatory’s location on the hill deterred development and thereby
helped to ensure the Presidents Oak’s survival.

Fig 35. View along sidewalk at Park Street amongst oaks, 1920s.
44

Fig 36. Aerial of Park Street and University Avenue showing the oak stand growing around Ladies
Hall, and future site of Chadbourne Hall, around 1890.

Fig 37. Oak stand growing around Ladies Dormitory, 1892.

 45

Euthenics Oak

Abby L. Marlett, director of Home Economics, planted a very large bur oak in the
exact location of an original white oak which was located in front of the Home Economics
building, about 500 feet from the President’s Oak. The original white oak succumbed
to wind around 1927, after living through the school’s first seventy-five years. Marlett’s
choice to place the bur oak in the exact location of the original replicated an otherwise
wholly biological pattern of tree seedling dispersal and growth. Her decision to replant a
large specimen suggests sentimentality for the quality of the prior tree. She reproduced
a landscape condition and in so doing in effect memorialized a historical feature of the
land.
Marlett solicited the aid of campus landscape architect Franz Aust, along with her
students, to design and cultivate a flowering garden surrounding the oak. The plantings
transforms the individual tree into an intimate garden space, with a bench for sitting under
the tree. This enhances the tree and gives the land added value. It could also ensure
the tree’s long-term preservation. Continued care and protection have encouraged the
oak stationed in front of the Home Economics building to gain considerable stature over
its seventy-seven years. The mature tree and the surrounding garden produce a rare
moment of respite on an extremely small amount of land. Under the tree, a small bench
situated within the garden provides an escape from the adjacent 19-story building.

Picnic Point

Picnic Point’s history illustrates, on a small scale, the process by which time
disguises evidence of human occupation of land. One might assume that this richly
vegetated peninsula was spared from roads and structures; this, however, is not the case.
Picnic Point’s condition when settlers arrived was most likely marshland and meadow.
Farmers purchased the land and cultivated it in the late 19th century. A pleasure drive
wound its way along Picnic Point in the late nineteenth century. Two partners worked the
land and grazed their animals here over several years, following the turn of the century.
In 1925, they sold the land to a wealthy lumberman, who, in 1935, after a fire consumed
his farmhouse, sold it to the University. After purchasing the peninsula, the University
constructed a beach and changing house but left most of the land fallow. Vegetation
invaded, and overtime, forests grew.40 Few obvious traces remain on the land of these
46

Fig 38. A general map indicating single and clustered oaks on UW campus in 1998.

Fig 39. Aerial photo of Observatory Hill and surrounding campus indicating the oaks spread
out in the landscape, 1894.
 47

Fig 40. 2nd Euthenics Oak

being planted in 1927. Euthen-
ics is defined as “the study of the
improvement of human function-
ing and well-being by improve-
ment of living conditions.” Fig 41. Presidents Oak, Fig 42. Presidents Oak, 1997, after
1970s. losing lower limb.

Fig 43. Original Euthenics Oak on left.

48

historical shifts.
Presently, the Lakeshore Nature Preserve (LNP) is discussing adding yet
another layer to the accumulating history of Picnic Point. The LNP is interested in
converting this area from a forest into oak savanna. Such an alteration would require
tree removal, weeding, and burning, with a long-term maintenance plan.
Picnic Point illustrates a common landscape quality where the contemporaneous,
seemingly “natural” form obscures historical conditions. The toil and cultivation that
once occurred on this spit of land is now covered under years of plant growth. Today
exercise corridors slice through the re-grown forest. As is true for Picnic Point,
landscapes are invariably layered with history, and their previous conditions are not
always distinguishable.

Agricultural Campus

Dane County’s donation in 1862 of 195 acres of land extending west from
Bascom Hill ensured the UW-Madison campus as Congress’ choice for the new
agricultural land grant college.41 Congress wanted to incorporate agriculturalists
into universities in order to refashion farming into a science. The school would
train agricultural students and provide short-term courses for farmers. Successful
experimental crops, fruit trees, and agricultural inventions were to be made available
to farmers throughout the state.
The agricultural school successfully brought farming practices into the
classroom and carried new inventions and technologies back to the countryside.
Initially, farmers were not easily convinced of the utility of academic science for their
profession. Several early professors, including Stephen M. Babcock, F. H. King and
Harry Russell, were influential in convincing farmers of the importance of combining
theory with experimentation.42 They traveled around the state using the scientific
method to solve agricultural problems. They also developed several important
inventions that brought recognition to the school.
A large portion of the campus, including Observatory Hill and the western
campus, was cultivated as experimental farmland. As part of the federally funded
school, farming techniques, food storage, and the domestication and hybridization of
plants and animals were researched and improved. For the land itself, this initially
meant the removal of trees and stumps on the western campus in 1868. Annual
 49

Fig 44. Picnic Point viewed from Observatory Hill, 1890s.

Fig 45. Picnic Point viewed from Observatory Hill showing experimental farms, 1913.

Fig 46. Aerial view looking west, 1940.

50

Fig 47. Aerial view looking east, 1930s.

harvesting, tilling and fertilization were necessary for maintaining the experimental fields
of corn and wheat as well as apple and pear orchards.
The Agricultural School’s experimentation on campus began a long tradition of
local research. These experimental farms, along with Muir Woods, Lake Mendota, the
Arboretum, and the specimen trees scattered across campus, transformed the landscape
into an outdoor classroom and research station, where botany, horticulture, limnology and
agriculture students received hands-on training.
Today, many of the fields and research sites have succumbed to development in
the form of buildings, roads, sports fields and parking lots. Experimental farms have been
relocated to less populated areas.43 The educational function of the campus landscape
 51

Fig 48. View looking west towards 10 Babcock (Horticulture Garden), 1890s.

Fig 49. Aerial view of Observatory Hill with experimental orchard, about 1955.

Fig 50-51. Views of agricultural fields on campus, 1894 and 1912, Showing King Hall expansion.
52

itself is less apparent, although some horticultural gardens, and agricultural practices
still occur as well. For the most part, the campus is maintained for its aesthetic value
with lawns, gardens, parking, roadways and circulation paths taking up most of the
space for multiple users. Nonetheless, recognizing the landscape, and not just the
buildings, as a potential educational tool, is an important historical precedent that
suits college campuses. There has been some effort, first by the Arboretum and now
by members of the Lakeshore Nature Preserve to push for restoring areas within the
campus as oak savannas. Furthermore, Campus Ecology run by Daniel Einstein has
initiated experimental testing to reduce salt use and other environmental efforts, and
thus reintroduced the role of experimentation to the campus.

Linden Drive

Linden Drive’s history provides an example of the instability of urban space for
vegetation and the impact of society’s changing needs. Workers built the drive in 1880
and lined it with two rows of American lindens spaced 20’ apart. In 1908, these mature
trees created a beautiful narrow canopied allee. In the 1908 Master Plan—reacting
to the drives existing trees—the designers, Cret and Laird, identified Linden Drive as
the Great Mall, seeing it as a densely foliated corridor connecting Bascom Hall to the
Agricultural campus.44
The 20’ span was beautiful, but too narrow. In 1916, responding to automobile
traffic and parking problems, Linden Drive was widened and the southern row of trees
removed, thus undoing the original effect. A second row was planted 48’ from the
remaining lindens. These new lindens only lasted a decade. In 1927, the Wisconsin
General Hospital developed roadside parking on the south side of Linden Drive
necessitating the removal of the trees. Automobile pollution, winter salt, construction,
pedestrian compaction and the limited land for tree roots led to the death of several
more lindens.45 Linden Drive never recovered the healthy canopy that had warranted
its designation as the Great Mall.
Road and building construction in man-made environments often overshadow
the importance of quality vegetation and trees. Trees are often casually removed to
make space for urban growth. On the campus, there has been no exception, Linden
Drive being one such example. Similarly, in 1981, the widening of Park Street led to the
demise of several mature elms. Examples such as these illustrate the complexity of
balancing development needs and environmental concerns. Establishing the value of
 53

Fig 52. View of original 20’ foot wide Linden Drive between 1902-1910. The southern row of
trees (right side of image) were removed later to make way for cars and parking.

city trees is not straightforward. Much of the value is hidden behind people’s personal
health and quality of life. The environment is often subordinate to development,
particularly when a market-based approach is used. The tough conditions and volatile
circumstances in which city trees live, has led practitioners using fast growing short
lived trees.

Autumn Purple Ash

This tree is an example of how horticultural varieties originate. G. W.

Longnecker, the campus landscape architect from 1926 to 1967 and professor of
horticulture, recognized this tree’s form, the beauty of its orange to purple fall colors,
and its seedless nature. In 1955 he brought grafts of the ash to the UW Arboretum
and to several nurseries. Working together, they transformed this unknown
specimen into a trademarked cultivar. The tree became a commercial commodity for
the UW known as the Autumn Purple Ash. Millions of seeds have sold nationwide,
54

bringing income to the University and distributing identical copies of the tree to strip
malls, streets, suburbs, and parks across the country.
The Autumn Purple is an example of one of many “actors” that we have cast
into the generic landscape we are creating and spreading across the United States.
This landscape is concocted of items imported from all over the globe, including
trees, rocks, flowering plants, and bushes. These species are marketed and sold
based on looks, hardiness and fast growth under stressful conditions. They do
not take part in the traditional competitive evolution and adaptation to a particular
environment.

Human action and/or inaction and campus landscape change

In order to understand the evolution of the campus landscape, the social,

economic, political and ecological processes occurring over time must be taken
into consideration. Vegetation across the campus landscape has evolved through
human agency and the resilience and inevitable growth and decay of plant biomass.
Layered over the glacial topography, vegetation has been repeatedly altered with
many changes occurring at recognizable intervals within human generations. The
combined effect of human and non-human biological influences can be read in the
current landscape conditions through observation coupled with historic images, maps
and campus histories.46
Humans influenced plant growth and composition long before the formation
of the university. Native Americans contributed to the spread of prairies through
fire-setting practices. Early settlers cleared forests for farming and introduced
domesticated grazing animals, and town developers filled marshes and replaced
vegetation with buildings and roads.
The time interval between human actions also impacted the growth and
evolution of campus vegetation. Prior to the founding of the University, the intervals
between human disturbances were infrequent enough to allow recovery to occur.
With the founding of the University, changes were more frequent and the ability for
biological growth to occur was reduced. Buildings, roads, circulation paths, sports
and agricultural fields, lawns and woods altered or replaced brambles, oaks, prairies
and marshlands. Elm allees and manicured lawns were implemented on a large scale
throughout the campus.
 55

Fig 53. Home Economics Building (1912) with the Autumn Purple Ash in front (Photo taken in 1920s). This
was one of several buildings that Cret and Laird designed on Campus.

At the same time that people impacted the land, the inherent biological processes,
such as succession, seed dispersal and self-propagation also affect vegetative growth.
Human activity and biological events coincide and merge in the campus landscape
producing an integrated cultural and biological fabric. This interaction can be understood
as a landscape dialogue where the land responds to human action or inaction and vice
versa.
The appearance of the campus vegetation today is a mostly an outcome of high
maintenance. Bascom Hill’s manicured lawn for instance has been maintained for over
150 years. Many other areas are mown and kept as open lawns or used for sports. Muir
woods is partially managed as well, with the seasonally removal of common buckthorn
(Rhamnus cathartica). Significant efforts are made to preserve the appearance of the
campus landscape and to prevent the land from changing or otherwise returning to a
previous condition.
56
 57

Chapter 3

PLANNING, PRESERVATION AND MANAGEMENT:

HUMAN AGENCY AND CAMPUS DEVELOPMENT
58

Fig 54. View looking west towards the Agricultural Campus, before 1930.

Fig 55. Comparable view in 1985 after Van Hise Hall was completed in 1967.
 59

The Evolving Campus

With the implementation of the original buildings and the open-ended mall
by the 1860s, the campus landscape took on a strong cultural and architectural
expression. Buildings, roadways, paths and green spaces together articulated a new
order to the land. Beginning as early as 1862 and onward, the campus expanded
through land acquisitions, government grants and private gifts. Master planning also
played an integral role in campus development. Likewise, active and well-connected
presidents, faculty, and board members, along with the campus architect, exercised
agency at various moments in history to direct campus growth. Finally, student
population increases, war and depression impacted the rate of campus change.
Master planning documents found in the University archives not only provide
insight into the values and attitudes of planners and university members at the time,
but also reveal an extensive collection of forgotten dreams. The majority of planned
proposals for the campus were never implemented. And yet, extensive research and
planning went into these un-built plans. Studying the university landscape through
photographs, plans, oral histories, primary and secondary resources reveals a more
piecemeal process of campus growth.
Preservation efforts since very early in campus history have contributed to
making the campus landscape today. At several intervals in the past, forward thinking
individuals on campus, through activism, documentation and perseverance, have
implemented preservation efforts that led to the safeguarding of specific components
of the landscape. Many of their actions went on to influence state regulations and
even inform nation-wide movements. Management has also played an important,
60

Fig 56. Campus student population growth 1851-2005.

1851 1870 1880

1890 1900 1910

1920 1930 1940

Fig 57. Evolution of roads and paths on campus 1851-2005.

 61

Fig 58. Evolution of buildings on campus, 1851-2005.

62

although perhaps less public, role in the development of the campus.

The Indian effigy mounds

“We live surrounded by monuments which point to the almost forgotten past, telling of
our remote predecessors, the mound builders.” 47

Indian effigy mounds were once prevalent on the hilltops and shorelines
around the Four Lakes Region including the city of Madison. They are part of a
thousand year old tradition with the largest variety and number originating in the Late
Woodland Tribes period (800–1100 AD).48 Archeologists and historians debate the
purpose of these mounds. They might have been constructed to honor a spiritual or
seasonal gathering, to memorialize important individuals or the phenomenon of death,
or to indicate direction and identify territories of different tribal animal clans. Human
remains were found in several excavations, occasionally with soil imported from far
distances.49 Unfortunately, settlers mostly disregarded these subtle formations, and
within a single century, 80% of the estimated 1,500 mounds in the region were built
upon or succumbed to agriculture.50
Several animal and circular shapes can still be found across the university
grounds. The bird and turtle mounds on Observatory Hill are two of 38 extant effigies
(including the Arboretum).51 Construction of Main Hall between 1857-1859 covered
at least two mounds on Bascom Hill, while the construction of Agriculture Hall in 1902
also buried several conical mounds.52 A linear mound and panther effigy located
below the turtle mound were leveled during the construction of Observatory Drive
around 1922.53 Other mounds on campus can be found close to Lake Shore Path and
around Picnic Point and Eagle Heights.54
The preservation of the remaining mounds on campus and in Dane County can
be attributed to the efforts of Charles E. Brown—State Historical Society curator for
half a century—with the help of Increase A. Lapham. Lapham identified and mapped
Dane County mounds between the 1840s and 1850s. Brown later excavated and
catalogued these and other mounds in the area.55 Their efforts in the nineteenth-
century to document and promote these effigies as historical monuments slowly
changed public attitude towards them, and eventually helped preserve the remaining
mounds.56 It still took decades to enact laws backing the preservation efforts. In 1903,
the Wisconsin Archeological Society was founded with considerable participation
 63

Fig 59. Map of Indian Effigy Mounds in Dane County, 1998.

Fig 61. Turtle Mound on Observatory Hill, outlined and

Fig 60. Turtle and Bird Effigies. phohtographed in 1990s.
64

from Charles Brown. Markers were placed on the turtle and bird effigies in 1914.
The National Historic Preservation Act (1966) and Madison Landmarks Commission
(1970)—two legal acts that helped recognize unique historical relics—were passed
several decades later. More stringent protection came with the Burial Sites
Preservation Law (1985), providing tax exemptions for land with existing human burial
sites.57 The perseverance in documenting the mounds and publicizing them, were
essential to preserving the archaeological features.

Chamberlain Rock

The glaciers churning 13,000 years ago transported a large boulder from Canada
to the base of Observatory Hill.58 Known as an erratic, this is one of many similar
boulders brought down by the glaciers.59 T.C. Chamberlin— esteemed geologist and
campus president—had several men toil with pulleys and a wagon to drag the sixty-
ton boulder to the top of Observatory Hill for display.60 The act of moving this heavy
rock to a conspicuous site not only underscores the immense strength of the glaciers
in contrast to human engineering, but also illustrates Chamberlin’s commitment to
educating students about local geology.61 His conscious decision to move the erratic
into full view infused the boulder with cultural identity and gave meaning and value to
the land on which the boulder resides.

Observatory Hill: Outdoor Museum

Even while development pressures have engulfed other parts of the campus,
Observatory Hill has retained much of its original character and condition. Two major
constructions on the Hill, namely the construction of the President’s House (1855) and
of the Washburn Observatory (1870), may have contributed to its preservation.
Observatory Hill is steeped in artifacts illuminating both human and geological
history that have contributed to its intrinsic value. From the effigy mounds, glacial
erratic, 300-year old President’s Oak, to the Observatory and the expansive views of
the surrounding glacial landscape, this centrally located drumlin has become an ad
hoc outdoor museum. The Hill effectively and visually represents the concept of the
landscape as a historical document.
 65

Fig.62. Aerial looking west, 1940.

Fig 63. Chamberlain Rock, 1998.

66

Fig 64. Aerial photograph, 1894.

Fig 65-67. Historic artifacts Fig 68. Above: Topographic map, 1941.
on Observatory Hill.
Fig 69. Right: Aerial photograph, 1999.
 67

1 Washburn Observatory

2 Agriculture Hall

3 President’s House

4 President’s Oak
8

5 Chamberlain Rock

6 Effigy Mounds

7 Elizabeth Waters
3
7
8 Van Hise

6
68

Lake Shore Path

The Madison Park and Pleasure Drive Association (MPPDA) founded in

1892 developed and preserved city parks and pleasure drives within Madison and
the surrounding countryside.62 Law professor and founder John Olin worked with a
forward-thinking academic community in the late nineteenth century to push an act
through the Wisconsin legislature that would encourage private landowners to donate
money and land to the city for parks and drives.63 Olin’s strong ties to prominent
Madison residents, particularly Daniel K. Tenney, Thomas E. Brittingham, George E.
Burrows and William F. Vilas, assisted the MPPDA’s cause.
Through the efforts of MPPDA, park acreage went from three and a half acres
in 1900 to over 150 acres in 1908. This expansion includes many contemporary
parks.64 Other significant accomplishment of the group included the development of
the unpaved scenic route running along Lake Mendota for carriage use. This route is
known as Lakeshore Path.
Automobiles did not exist at the time Lakeshore Path was developed. By 1908,
however, their widespread use quickly became a serious issue. As pressure grew
to convert pleasure drives into vehicular roadways, the MPPDA became actively
involved in the debate. They lost the battle on most routes, but kept Lakeshore Path
and Picnic Point automobile-free.
Over the last century, Lakeshore Path has served new functions for its
surrounding community. In the 1930s, a few decades after the MPPDA’s initial efforts,
dormitories and the student union were built, making the Path indispensable as a
pedestrian corridor, connecting student housing to the campus. Subsequent land
donations and acquisitions extended the Path further west along the Lake, creating
a recreation corridor that extends several miles through and beyond Picnic Point.65
In the 1950s and 1960s, there was renewed interest in allowing vehicles on the
Path. Arthur Hassler’s strategic placement of the Limnology Building at the head of
Lakeshore Path quelled this growing campaign. It is important to recognize that it took
considerable activism to keep Lakeshore Path from possibly being transformed into
yet another paved vehicular drive.
Activism and foresight were responsible for preserving and enhancing land
around the city and campus for future generations. Residents watched as the
surrounding farmland succumbed to housing and urban infrastructure; they felt
compelled to preserve the landscapes they cherished.66 The willingness of early
 69

Fig 70. Lakeshore Path around 1900 when the MPPDA Fig 71. Lakeshore Path, around 2004.
preserved it as a pleasure drive. Their efforts led to the cre-
ation of most parks in Madison.

Fig 72. Lakeshore Path behind Agriculture Hall, before 1941.

70

wealthy inhabitants—businessmen and landowners—to donate land and money to

develop the parks and pleasure drives evidences the cultural value that was attached
to the landscape.

Madison-Sauk City Stage Road

Several existing roads—like the glacial drumlins and lake—played formative

roles in the initial campus layout. One such road, the Madison-Sauk City Stage Road,
known today as University Avenue, served as the southern border of the original 50-
acre purchased land.
Until about 1940, buildings predominantly remained within this boundary for
almost a century.67 The Stage Road connected Madison to Sauk City and served as
the major artery running through the isthmus. As the City grew and traffic increased,
Madison-Sauk City Stage Road became a busy four-lane road, and, at one time,
included a trolley system.
Between the 1940s and 1970s, the university spread across the road. By
1970, several departments including chemistry and zoology had already constructed
buildings across University Avenue. This expansion raised concerns among campus
planners over pedestrian safety.
Because University Avenue runs along the length of the southern campus,
conflicts between pedestrians and traffic affected multiple intersections. Starting
in 1959, campus planners began to develop various solutions, including: relocating
the entire roadway to a railroad corridor two blocks south and transforming the
original avenue into a pedestrian mall; sinking the road underground and creating a
traffic tunnel with buildings above; and, spanning the road with pedestrian bridges.68
Taking into consideration economic cost, planners eventually decided upon the least
disruptive plan to separate traffic before it reached the campus. They proposed
converting University Avenue into a one-way road and utilizing the railroad corridor
to shift lanes running the other direction to Johnson Street a block away.69 One-
way movement reduced stopping and starting to improve traffic flow and simplify
pedestrian intersections.
The evolution of the old Madison-Sauk City Stage Road to the University
Avenue illustrates the impact on development of artifacts embedded in the landscape.
 71

In many ways, University Avenue poses one of the most significant dilemmas for
campus planners. The 1959 and 1973 master plans both studied the roadway
conditions and proposed solutions. The innovative solution of shifting traffic using
a railroad corridor was a cost-effective and efficient strategy, however it remained a
short-term solution. Today, students still must traverse four lanes of fast-moving traffic
in order to get to classes. In a 1996 Campus Master Plan, wide pedestrian bridges
spanning University Avenue were again being contemplated as a solution to this
ongoing concern.

Fig 73. University Avenue in the early 1908.

72

Fig 74. University Avenue & campus, 1980s.

University Avenue
Fig 75. Land acquisition map, 1848-1856.
Fig 76. Left: Aerial view of University Av-
enue, 1999. Campus planners reworked
a rail-line right-of-way into an intersection
separating traffic.
 73

Agricultural Campus

When the UW-Madison campus was selected as Congress’ choice for a new
agricultural land grant college,70 a large portion of the campus, including Observatory
Hill and land to the west thereof, was cultivated as experimental farmland. The
expansion almost quadrupled the size of the original campus. For many years, until
the 1930s, large fields with experimental crops, fruit trees and domesticated animals
shared the land with students and faculty. The funding available through government
programs to public institutions was certainly a critical factor in the University’s
development.
The experience of the early experimental farms inspired a long tradition of local
research, transforming landscape into an outdoor classroom and research station.
The agricultural school continues to maintain a small amount of experimentation
and research on campus to date. Botany, horticulture and limnology are all taught
to students utilizing the campus for hands-on training. Muir Woods, Lake Mendota,
the Arboretum, and the specimen trees scattered across campus provide outdoor
laboratories for this to occur.

Fig 77. Aerial view looking east across agricultural fields, around 1890.
 Fig 78. Aerial photograph showing extent of original fields, 1999.

Fig 79. Map of Agricultural Campus, the original 40 acre tract expanded to 235 acres in
1866 when Dane County donated land for the new college of agriculture, 1875.
Henry Mall

The City Beautiful Movement, an outgrowth of the 1893 World’s Colombian

Exposition held in Chicago, influenced the 1908 Master Plan. The Plan’s architects
rejected the traditional piecemeal development of the campus, proposing massive
buildings and a partial overhaul of existing structures and roads instead. Their
Plan included large-scale civic buildings positioned along major axes to create a
symmetrical and ordered layout.71 The plan also positioned buildings on an outer ring
to create a strong interior space. The design included an orchestrated arrangement of
buildings with areas between buildings and a grander gateway.
A second significant aspect of the master plan, followed loosely for years, was
the proposal to use distinct building materials to identify academic zones on campus,
including the humanities, agriculture and the sciences. The architects took their cue
for color and materials from the Bascom Hill sandstone. The humanities would be
placed on the lower campus and constructed using sandstone and brick; the soft
sciences would remain on Bascom Hill with sandstone; the applied sciences would sit
next to Bascom Hill and be built out of tan brick; and the Agricultural Campus situated
around Henry Mall would use a darker brown brick. These zones were articulated
throughout the campus, and remain somewhat intact even today.
The 1908 Master Plan was the first of several campus plans that were
laboriously developed and then mostly disregarded. In this case, the two main
features implemented were Henry Mall72, the implementation of which was due in part
to the hiring of Cret and Laird as architects to design a building. Reflecting upon the
1908 Master Plan and what was actually constructed reveals some telling factors of
the utility of master plans.
Master plans are far-reaching proposals—blueprints for physical development.
They provide guidance for construction and landscaping as well as innovative solutions
to existing problems. For the University, the master plans in effect re-conceptualize
the campus. As with the 1908 Plan, there is a notable distinction between the ideas
promulgated and actual construction. Master plans are not necessarily strictly
implemented. Even if implemented, the process is often piecemeal. For instance,
Henry Mall was not formed in a single effort. The surrounding buildings that give the
Mall its definition materialized at different times. As a result of the passage of time,
the politics, economics and living conditions that originally informed the masterplan
will change and often influence the direction of the plan.
76

Fig 80. Cret and Laird Plan of 1908 showing location of Henry Mall in relation to Bascom
Mall. Note the distinct and grand entry proposed by the architects.

Fig 81. Cret and Laird rendering of 1908.

 77

Fig 82. Aerial photograph showing Henry Mall with existing housing to the east and the original Wiscon-
sin High School in the foreground by the Mall, early 1920s.

Fig 83. Henry Mall with cars, 1941. One of the failings of Henry Mall is the ongoing struggle with
soil quality which continue to lead to the death of trees planted here. The European Mountain Ash,
planted after the completion of the Mall around 1915, succumbed to the hot and dry climate by 1933.
Pin oaks were then planted, but their sensitivity to alkaline soils led to their death in 1962. The crab
apples existing today suffer from disease and structural damage.
78

Muir Woods

From early on in campus development, Muir Woods assumed a cultural identity

as the campus woodland. The 1941 and 1954 Master Plans praised the Woods as
a natural remnant and important research area. However, in 1961, after years of
reverence, the University’s Board of Regents voted unanimously to remove a third
of the forest to construct the Social Science Building. With the return in the 1950s of
WWII soldiers entering college, the demand for space buttressed by the activism of
President E. B. Fred, trumped the sentiments to preserve the Woods. Nonetheless,
in 1964, the University designated the remaining Woods a biological field station73 and
to date the Woods have existed largely intact.
Why was opposition against the Social Science building so strong when
subsequent building projects across the campus solicited little to no opposition? Van
Hise Hall construction, for example, removed evergreens planted early in the 1890s
and several original oaks. In 1995, the law building expansion led to the death of two
large elms on Bascom Hill. The University requested that they be preserved; however,
construction and vehicle compaction led to their demise shortly after completion of the
building. Although these arboreal deaths were unintentional, stronger regulations
could have insured survival. Muir Wood’s affiliation to the campus as a forest, and its
presence on the University grounds since the school’s origin are possible reasons for
the strong reaction.
The change in attitude towards Muir Woods illustrates the effects that population
growth and changing socioeconomic and political conditions can have on land. In this
case, the wavering attention to historical significance and beauty is linked to a shift in
the political arena and a post-war influx in population. Preservation and aesthetics
were ultimately subjugated to the demand for space and development. This event
further teaches that the value of green space fluctuates over time dependent upon
changing economic and political conditions. As such, open land exists in a more
volatile state than land on which buildings roads or other developments are already
situated.
The contrast between the surviving Woods’ continued presence and the
less attractive Social Science Building also provides a visual reminder of what was
removed. With increased urbanization on campus, green space such as Muir Woods
gain in value. Still, with the example of Muir Woods, even a highly valued land parcels
 79

Fig 84. Campus Master Plan of 1941 illustrates campus zones.

80

Fig 85. Muir Woods with Bascom Hill in the foreground in aerial, 1941.

Fig 86. Capital Times cover indicating heated decision over partial removal of the Woods, 1961.
 81

without buildings, can eventually fall to development. During periods of growth and
prosperity people appreciate the value of nature and green space, but external factors
such as depression or war in the case of Muir Woods can cloak this sentimentality.

Campus Natural Areas and Arboretum

The removal of part of Muir Woods influenced the development of more

stringent preservation regulations across the campus. One significant outcome
was the designation of the Arboretum Committee as overseer of all campus natural
areas. In the 1990s this role was transferred to the Lakeshore Nature Preserve. The
Arboretum Committee and, subsequently, the Lakeshore Nature Preserve have
influenced discussed the development of restored landscapes including oak savanna
and prairies across portions of the campus despite the associated management and
maintenance issues related to revitalizing such systems.
The idea of restoration has historical precedent in the activities of Aldo Leopold,
a naturalist, teacher, writer and founder of the Department of Wildlife Ecology at the
University of Wisconsin. Leopold reintroduced the traditional technique of burning
land to encourage the growth of a particular biological plant community as a means of
restoring prairie landscapes. First setting fires on his own land in central Wisconsin,
Leopold eventually teamed up with A. F. Gallistel, G. W. Longnecker and Grant
Cottam, to initiate the first biological station in the country to explore and implement
techniques for prairie ecosystem restoration.74
The approach of the Arboretum Committee and its successor the Lakeshore
Nature Preserve reflect the attitudinal change inspired by the events relating to Muir
Woods and the Social Science Building. As well, it draws upon a historical precedent
of using landscape as educational and experimental grounds.
82

Campus Planning Commission and the Bascom Hill Subcommittee

In 1945, responding to concerns relating to campus growth following increased

enrollment, the University created the Campus Planning Commission (CPC). The
CPC was formed to review building and construction proposals and allocate funds
for landscape maintenance. The CPC’s early role on campus ranged from acquiring
privately owned land parcels abutting the campus to deciding to inject diseased elms
on Bascom Hill with an experimental serum. Through their efforts, the UW successfully
purchased sites along University Avenue, and the east side of Henry Mall, and near
Library and State Street Mall.75
In the 1970s, the Campus Planning Commission appointed the Bascom Hill Sub-
committee (BHSC) to investigate building expansion around Bascom Mall. Several
schools including the Business and Law Schools requested permission to construct
new buildings or additions on the Hill. The appointed sub-committee challenged
these requests, recommending instead that Bascom Hill—as the original site of the
University and the emblem of the School—become the center of undergraduate study.
They recommended that graduate schools should develop their own distinct locales
in other parts of the campus. The BHSC passed regulations including building code
enforcement and green-space maintenance plans to preserve the Mall.
In the end, the Law School was still successful in obtaining permission to
build.75 The Law School’s proposed 1996-1998 addition moved quickly through the
bureaucracy in contrast to the Art Department’s request for a new building which had
been determined as a top priority through statewide voting but was never realized.76
Governor Tommy Thompson’s presence on the Law School’s Board of Directors
certainly contributed to the success of the School’s proposal and addition. As this
event illustrates, politics and personal connections have an important role in pushing
projects through the bureaucracies, and in challenging established practices. While
the BHSC did not control the Law School’s proposed addition, it did limit the extent of
the building’s footprint. In any case, the building construction led to the sacrifice of
two 150 year-old elms.
 83

Fig 87. Campus Natural Areas map, 2005.

84

Library Mall

Library Mall has always been and remains a central meeting place on campus. Its
strategic placement at the base of Bascom Hill links the city to the campus. Sports,
parades, speeches, military training and class rushes all took place on this flat open
ground. At one point, Library Mall served as the main sporting grounds, with a field for
baseball, softball or football, and a paved track around the perimeter. The construction
of the Wisconsin Historical Society (WHS) in 1900, an institution that serves the
university and the public, reinforced the importance of this space as a meeting ground.
After 1900, the area was reduced to roughly half its size. Sports fields were built
elsewhere on campus, but this area remained active as a meeting place and casual
sports ground.
Recreation here ended after WWII, when temporary structures, called quonset
huts, were placed on Library Mall to provide reading rooms, library storage and
office space for the increased student enrollment.77 It was not until 1953-54, with the
construction of Memorial Library, that the quonset huts, known as the “mother pig and
her four piglets,” were removed and Library Mall again became open green space.
With this transition and the later transformation of State Street into a pedestrian mall,
the area took on greater importance as a place for public expression. The performance
stage built in Library Mall during the State Street renovations is one of the main public
forums in Madison.

STATE STREET MALL

Since the founding of Madison and the University, State Street has played a key
role in connecting the Capitol and the University. This segment of road functions as a
corridor shuttling people and, for a long time, cars through the isthmus. Geologically,
the road demarcates the shortest segment connecting the two main drumlins on the
isthmus. The two endpoints of this line have become a meeting place for students,
faculty, politicians and the general public.
This connecting corridor has undergone all kinds of changes since the early
years in Madison, first as a dirt and sometimes mud road with electrical wires and
trolley cables fixed above, to an elegant street in the 1940s and 50s, with tall elms and
large sedans. In 1970 the city and University together decided to convert State Street
into a pedestrian mall. At that point, vehicles were beginning to cause congestion
 85

problems and pedestrian-vehicle conflict. Moreover, many of the trees had died or
otherwise removed. Sidewalks were extended, paving was changed, and only buses
were allowed to enter the road.

Park Street Construction

The Campus Planning Commission regulates campus landscape development.

While the Committee maintains its own regulations for this purpose, it also defers to
city zoning ordinances and requires the approval of the City Planning Committee.78
In 1981, when increase in traffic required the widening of Park Street, the respective
committees of the University and the City had to take a joint decision regarding the
future of mature elm trees lining Park Street.79 As in the case of Linden Drive where
the widening of the street led to the removal of a row of trees, the proximity of the
elms to the widened Park Street led to their demise. The decision begs the question
of the value and valuation of vegetation in cities and illustrates the ongoing struggle to
balance development and environmental concerns.

Fig 88. Library Mall showing the track and future site for Memorial Union, 1895. The president and
faculty occupied the houses located past the Armory.
86

Fig 89. Library Mall showing the State Historical Society, field and walking path with the former YMCA
next to the Armory, early 1900s.

Fig 90. Aerial of Library Mall after the Memorial Union was built, 1940s.

Fig 91. Rendering of lower campus by campus architect, 1908.

Fig 93. Quonset Huts and parking

Fig 92. Library Mall aerial photo, 1973. on Library Mall, 1945.
 87

Fig 94. Library Mall Aerial Photograph, 1999.

88

Murray Mall

The Campus Master Plan of 1927 suggested building an “arts and humanities”
pedestrian mall originating and running perpendicular to Lake Mendota across Library
Mall and University Avenue, all the way to a proposed museum and theater at its
terminus. The goal was to create a well-defined interior campus and a strong visual
and physical link to the lake. Depression and then World War II interrupted efforts to
construct this Mall.
For a short period beginning in 1964, a surge in construction resulted in five
structures built on the Lower Campus in eight years. The buildings were located
according to the 1927 Master Plan. However the creation of a cohesive central mall
was never pursued.
Concerned with the lack of direction on the lower campus and uncontrolled
growth in buildings, the Campus Planning Commission created the Lower Campus
Design Subcommittee (LCDS) to oversee future growth. The sub-committee’s faculty
and administrative participants worked with several design firms to further study the
problems and make recommendations on the lower campus.80 The LCDS brought in
Christopher Alexander, among others, a well-known west coast designer and author
of an influential book entitled A Pattern Language. Alexander developed extensive
plans for the area integrating psychology, experience and education into the site.81
The planning process lasted several years, and the university consulted
multiple designers, but the original idea of an interior mall and cohesive architecture
never materialized. Detailed documents—including sketches, studies, drawings,
master plans and meetings notes—are now filed away. There is very little to show for
the time and energy that went into studying the lower campus and developing new
proposals. According to one long-time member of the Lower Campus Design Sub-
Committee, Phil Hamilton, this was “among the most disappointing, frustrating and
maddening experience I have had in my 35 years of service here.”82
The extensive lower campus planning has something in common with the City
Beautiful proposal of 1908. Both plans call for the widespread upheaval of existing site
conditions and the construction of multiple materially related buildings. With the 1908
plan, only Henry Mall and the thematic layout of campus zones were implemented.
Similarly, only small portions of the elaborate plans made for the lower campus were
actualized.
 89

Fig 95. State Street Mall, before 1981 when Fig 96. State Street postcard, Memorial Library
State Street became a pedestrian mall. was built on the site of the Co-op on the left,
which moved across the street.

Fig 97. Park Street, 1890s. Fig 98. Widening Parks Street, 1981.

According to Phil Hamilton, the cycling of committee members, boards of

director, and even university presidents during the years of analysis and planning led
to communication and commitment problems that ultimately derailed the project. In
his words, it was like “throwing a ball at a moving target.”83 Committee members found
themselves re-explaining the circumstances to new faces and rallying recent recruits.
Another significant factor, clear in retrospect, is a general unwillingness of decision-
makers to vote for plans calling for a complete rehabilitation of a site. It is much
easier to preserve something that exists, or to construct buildings individually than to
completely remake a space. In the end, the extensive diagrams and social controls
proposed for the lower campus required a considerable amount of imagination and
trust to support. This contrasts with the proposed preservation scheme for Bascom
Hill where the Board of Directors could see what they were voting for when they
decided on preservation.84
90

Fig 99. Lower Campus Master Plan, Murray Mall, 1973.

Fig 100. Lower Campus Master Plan rendering showing Murray Mall, 1908.
 91

Fig 101. Lower Campus aerial photograph, 1973.

92

Memorial Union

An early response to a smaller scale landscape condition can be found in the

design of the Memorial Union Terrace. Sited on the former backyard of university
presidents, the design took advantage of the ageing white oaks scattered around the
large grassy yard extending down to the lake. The design and subsequent construction
of the terrace, begun in 1936, incorporated these native oaks as well as the local
prairie-style rock planters (horizontally laid) into the terrace. The preservation of the
original oaks and the layout of the terrace based on the location of the trees coupled
with the use of local and complimentary materials illustrate a sensitive and site specific
response.
While the Italian Renaissance building known today as the Memorial Union
adheres mostly to the original drawings, the existing terrace is completely different
from that envisioned by the campus architect, Arthur Peabody. Peabody intended to
plant a formal garden--which would have led to the removal of the oaks--to complement
his architectural design.85 Its formal plan disregarded much of the existing landscape,
except for maintaining a strong connection to the water. The terrace in contrast is
much less formal than the architect’s original plan.
The beauty of the resulting terrace is due to a seemingly insignificant
suggestion by the first Union Director Porter Butts. Seeing the opportunity for a higher
quality space, Butts took advantage of his position as Director and encouraged the
preservation of the existing oaks in the design of the terrace. Butts was not responsible
for the ensuing design, but his insistence changed the direction of the plans and the
subsequent actions on the land. In the end, the preserved trees informed the spatial
organization and the choices of material for the terrace. A document in the University
Archives suggests that Charlotte Peabody, Arthur Peabody’s daughter, developed the
Union Terrace design.
By preserving the existing trees and bringing them into a newly defined (and
highly used) space, pieces of the site’s history became part of the new terrace. Like
textures in a patchwork quilt, these pieces of the land are stitched together with the
newly built fabric to create a new and different form. In integrating the existing trees
as well as the topography sloping toward the water, the designer provided references
to the past, suggesting what the area was like before the construction of Memorial
Union.86 The soil level in the planters provides a reference to the original elevation in
the backyard of the president’s mansion and suggests the amount of earth removed.
 93

Fig 102. Rendering of Memorial Union by campus architect, 1930s.

Fig 103. Aerial view of the Union, 1980s.

94

The remnant trees are the very ones under which university presidents from the 1900s
walked, or which they viewed through a window in the house.

Lake Mendota (Fourth Lake)

Unlike the campus landscape, which is quickly being filled with school
buildings and increased traffic, Lake Mendota and the other lakes are at least visually
undisturbed (if you disregard the common outbreak of algae). The undulating tree
line across Lake Mendota still manages to overpower the geometry of the buildings
and the occasional smokestack. Madison has slowly encased the lakes, but the
water bodies provide no foothold for construction and remain open areas for boating,
swimming and relaxation.87 Nonetheless, although Lake Mendota might look the
same on the surface as it has for thousands of years, human influences have altered
the water considerably.
Lake Mendota is actually more impacted than the campus terrain because it
receives input on a regional scale, whereas the terrain is more locally affected. The
area of land that is topographically slated for Lake Mendota is referred to as the Lake
Mendota Watershed. All the chemicals, rain and leachate that fall on this region either
flow across the earth and enter into rivers, or seep through the soil into the ground
water; in both cases, they eventually make their way to the lake. The lake, like a filter
in a sink, collects all of the incoming chemicals, eroded soil and other run-off. Because
of this run-off and ground water pattern entering the lakes, ecologists use them as
indicators of what is occurring in the much larger area or the watershed. Lakes are
unique and important for ecologists. They are one of the few geographical areas that
possess discernable boundaries for discreet studies, and also provide insights into
much larger areas.
The application of fertilizers and pesticides on golf courses, private lawns,
and agricultural fields across this watershed changes Lake Mendota’s physical and
chemical composition. In a process called eutrophication, the fertilizers normally used
on crops stimulate algal growth, disrupting surface water activities and reducing the
amount of sunlight that penetrates into the lake’s waters.88
Further disruption of the lake’s habitat occurred with the introduction into the lake
ecosystem of game fish as well as a variety of exotic plants and animals. Introduced
organisms often have deleterious effects on other species because they multiply and
take over niches. Unfortunately, it is proving extremely difficult to eradicate these new
 95

species from the lakes.

Ecologists studying changes in lakes base their hypothesis on evidence
gathered over the last century. In fact, two early biologists on campus, Birge and
Juday, experimented and recorded data on Lake Mendota as early as 1875.89 Their
experiments were continued on this and other lakes in Wisconsin. These long-term
studies revealed that lakes are useful indicators for changes in the surrounding
drainage area.90 Lakes can act as a kind of thermostat, gauging the levels of
contamination of the surrounding countryside through comparisons with levels in the
lakes overtime. Ecologists study the run-off and ground water entering the lakes, as
indicators of what is occurring in the much larger area or the watershed.
A second realization that came out of similar long-term studies was that there
are many long-term cycles and patterns that get overlooked in the common one to three
year period of most graduate research grants. This is a seen as a problem because,
as ecologists point out, many of the studies investigating impacts on environmental
systems are conducted over short time periods.91 Management decisions are often
based on short-term research, where important cycles may go undetected. Long-
term ecological research is recommended as an essential step towards a better
understanding of the processes and cycles in systems, and for stronger management
plans.
The inability to predict the effect today’s actions will have on the future makes
it difficult to determine how to manage human action in relation to biological systems.
We are clearly reliant on many biological processes for our survival.92 Furthermore,
we are inevitably impacting the processes and cycles around us.93 Long-term
ecological research performed on Lake Mendota is one method of improving tools
for people to study these predictability issues within ecological research. Campus
planners, administrators and academics have an opportunity to utilize the campus
and artifacts in the land, such as the Lake to establish long-term experiments coupled
with historical analyses. Hopefully, for the 21st century, experimentation utilizing the
campus landscape, especially for long-term research, could can have a revival, and
the campus could grow into an outdoor museum, the campus can take advantage
emerge again as a experimental, educational and cultural center station for the
21st century, where experimentation, education and cultural layering can infuse the
campus landscape with new meaning.
96

Conclusion

The campus landscape, with its richly textured and well-documented history
reveals numerous lessons about landscape change. Denser than rural land, yet
not quite urban, the campus follows a common cultural practice in the United States
of arranging buildings within a park-like setting. The resulting landscape maintains
some of its original character, blending existing topography and geographic features,
remnant oak populations and biological activity, with an active urban cultural institution.
The campus’s identity lies somewhere between park and urban space. As such, it is
a convenient case study to research the physical manifestation of cultural, biological,
chemical and geological activities on the land and to track their interactions.
My study of the campus has revealed the coexistence of a variety of
impressions upon the land arising out of influences from diverse time periods and
of multiple scales. Landscapes are in constant flux: although events contributing to
landscape evolution can occur at vastly different time periods, the landscape appears
as a collective whole. The fusion and continual accumulation of events on the physical
land produces a richly textured perpetually changing terrain. At any given moment
they land functions as a complex sign, which, once interpreted, can clarify the multiple
forces that have shaped their evolution. The University of Wisconsin, like other human
impacted landscapes, manifests the interactions between people and nature in the
physical terrain. By evaluating the current landscape and comparing it to historical
images and other documents, I identified and was able track clues to the factors
responsible in shaping the land. Many of these factors related to patterns of human
society, and together, began to define cultural forces in ecological terms.
As important as these intentional influences were on campus development,
unintentional events, as my thesis reveals, also affected landscape change.
Sometimes these unintentional events are side-effects of other activities on campus,
and sometimes they result from collective intentional actions. World wars and
depression had a tremendous impact on campus development: for example, the
influx of college students after World War II initiated a boom in building and campus
development. Simultaneously, activities and patterns on the land not related to the
intentional planning developments contributed to the campus layout and evolution.
University Avenue—the four-lane road bisecting campus—for example, started as an
old stagecoach road between Madison and Sauk City, and before that as an Indian
trail running along the ridgeline crossing the isthmus.
 97

Fig 104. Lake Mendota showing bank where Union Terrace was later constructed. The boat house and
lawn are in the University president’s backyard, 1890s. Note the scattered oak trees on the lawn.
98
 99

ILLUSTRATIONS

ARMS UW Archives and Records Management Services, Memorial Library. (608) 262-5629.
PC UW Photography Collection (Iconography), Archives and Records Management Services.
Steenbock Library, (608) 262-8899.
WHS Wisconsin Historical Society, Visual Materials Collection. (608) 264-6460.

Chapter I The early formative years: responding to a glacial landscape

Cover image, View of Bascom Hill, 1900. PC, Folder 7/3 (mislplaced in 7/2) x2-5265.
Inside cover, Infrared Landsat satellite image of Dane County, Wisconsin, May 9, 1976.USGS.
1. Paper City,
2. Madison, Wisconsin, birdseye view 1867. From Wisconsin Tales and Trails, December, 1976
Calender. Original from HSW.
3. Glacial map. Farb, Peter, 1963. Face of North America: The Natural History of a Continent,
Harper and Row Publishers, New York, 11.
4. Collage by author with maps from Clayton, Lee et. al. 1991 (revised 1992). Glaciation of
Wisconsin, UWEX, Geological and Natural History Survey.
5. Drawing by author, 1999.
6. Till overlying sand and gravel. Mickelson, David M. 1983. A guide to the Glacial Landscapes
of Dane County, Wisconsin, Field Trip Guide Book 6 Wisconsin Geological an Natural History
Survey: Madison, 11.
7. Modified from Clayton, Lee et. al. 1991.
8. Muddy Moraine at Glacier Bay, Alaska. Farb 1963. 67.
9. Dane County physiographic diagram showing landforms and geology. Mickelson, 1983.
10. Campus Topography and Building Locations, 1941. A Campus Development Plan for the
University of Wisconsin, Map VI. Wisconsin State Planning Board, Madison, WI. Archives and
Records Management Services (ARMS) Master Plans.
11. Bascom Hill, 1859. PC Folder 9/1 Bascom Hill.
12. Bascom Hill with Abraham Lincoln Statue in Foreground, PC, Folder 9/1 Buildings.
13. Map of drumlins around Madison, 1979. Mickelson, D.M and M.C. McCartney, Glacial
Geology of Dane County, Wisconsin.
14. Bascom Hill with Madison in the foreground, 1880s. PC Folder 9/1 (1) Bascom Hill, 3643.
15. South Hall, 1892. PC Folder 9/1 South Hall.

Chapter II Vegetation changes : towards an identifiably human campus

Cover image, Tightly spaced elms planted along State Street seen from Bascom Hill, 1954,
PC, Whi (x3) 24742.
16. Aerial view looking west, 1940. A Campus Development Plan for the University of Wisconsin,
194. Wisconsin State Planning Board, Madison, WI. ARMS, Master Plans.
17. Jordan, William III, ed. 1981. The Arboretum, University of Wisconsin-Madison, 13.
18. Curtis, John T, 1959. The Vegetation of Wisconsin. The University of Wisconsin Press:
Madison, inside cover.
19. Collage by author with images from Smith, J. Robert and Beatrice S. Smith,1980. The Prairie
Garden, The University of Wisconsin Press: Madison, 198-201.
20. General Mills Corporate Office landscape design by Michael Van Valkenburgh, http://
www.mvvainc.com/.
21. Engraving of Bascom Hill view, 1858. Wisconsin Trails, Vol. 13 (2), Summer , 17.
22. Madison, Wisconsin, 1867. Birdseye view of Bascom Hill. WHS, Wisconsin Tales and Trails,
1976 Calender. December.
23. Elms by Music Hall, February, 1997. Photograph by author.
 24. Elm by South Hall on Bascom Hill, February, 1997. Photograph by author.
25. Bascom Hill, 1940s. PC, Folder 9/1 Bascom Hill.
26. Red oaks replacing elms on Bascom Hill, April 1997. Photograph by author.
27. Elm bark beetle.Johnson and Lyon,1976. Insects That Feed on Trees and Shrubs, Cornell
University Press, 219.
28. Brood galleries. Johnson and Lyon, 219.
29. Row of elms in front of the Education Building, February, 1997. Photograph by author.
30. Map of European elm bark beetle distribution as of 1974. Johnson and Lyon, 218.
31. Muir Woods, 1940s. PC, Folder 8/1 Overall views south.
32. Carillon Tower during tree removal before Social Science construction, 1961. PC, Folder 9/1.
33. Carillon Tower and Social Science Building, 1985, PC Folder 9/1.
34. Carillon Tower seen from the west where Van Hise now stands 1950s. PC Folder 9/1 (1)
Carillon: Before Social Science was built .
35. Park Street. 1920s. PC, Folder 7/3 postcard with double.
36. Park Street and University Avenue, about 1890. PC, Box 113; 7/2. x251572.
37. Ladies Hall, 1892, PC, Folder 9/1 (2) Chadbourne Hall (old).
38. GIS map of oak locations, including individual trees and clumps on the UW campus,1998.
GIS Map from Daniel Einstein.
39. Aerial photo with oaks, 1894. PC, 8/1/2 overall view west.
40. Second Euthenics oak being planted, around 1927. PC, Folder 7/12 trees on campus. The
euthenics definition is from The American Heritage Dictionary 3rd ed., Dell Publishing, 1994.
41. President’s Oak, 1970s. Folder 7/12 trees on campus.
42. President’s Oak, February, 1997. Photograph by author.
43. Euthenics Oak around 1900. photograph by Charles Brown. PC, Folder 7/12 trees on
campus.
44. Picnic Point, 1890s, PC, Folder 7/5 natural walks.
45. Picnic Point, July 1913. PC, Folder 7/5 (1) natural walks.
46. Aerial view looking west, 1940. A Campus Development Plan for the University of Wisconsin,
194. Wisconsin State Planning Board, Madison, WI. ARMS, master plans.
47. Aerial view looking east across the agricultural campus,
48. Agricultural campus, 1875, Hove, Arthur, The University of Wisconsin: A Pictorial History, The
University of Wisconsin Press, 1991.
49. Aerial View of Observatory Hill, about 1955. PC, 8/1/3 overall view.
50. Agricultural fields and King Hall, 1894. PC, Folder 9/3 King Hall.
51. Agricultural fields and King Hall, 1912. PC, Folder 7/7 (3) agricultural campus.
52. Linden Drive, 1902-1910. PC, Folder 7/7 (1) agricultural campus.
53. Home Economics Building (1912) with the Autumn Purple Ash in front, 1920s, PC, Folder 9/1
Buildings. This was one of several buildings that Cret and Laird designed on Campus.

Chapter III Planning, preservation and management

Cover page, Aerial from west, 1980s.

54. View looking west, before 1930. PC, Folder 7/7 agricultural campus.
55. View looking west, 1985, PC, Folder 7/7 agricultural campus.
56. Campus student population growth 1851-1940, by author.
57. Evolution of roads and paths on campus, by author, 2005.
58. Evolution of buildings on campus, from UW Historical Development and Growth of the
Student Body, 1851-1940. Redrawn by author.
59. Map of Indian Effigy Mounds in Dane County, from Native American Mounds in Madison and
Dane County, Madison Heritage Publication, 1994.
60. Turtle and Bird Effigies, Ibid.
61. Turtle Mound on Observatory Hill. WHS: Negative No. WHi (x3) 188.
62. Aerial of orchard and western campus 1940. PC, Folder 8/1/4 overall from east.
63. Chamberlain Rock, 1998, by author.
64. Aerial photograph, 1894. PC, 8/1/2 overall view west.
65. Observatory Hill Photograph by author, 1998.
66. Turtle Effigy mound, HSW: Negative No. WHi (x3) 30469.
67. President’s Oak, 1970s. Folder 7/12 trees on campus.
68. Topographic map, Campus Master Plan, 1941.
69. Aerial photograph, May 14, 1999. State Cartographer’s Office, www.geography.wisc.edu/scco.
70. Lakeshore Path, around 1900, PC, Folder 7/5.
71. Lakeshore Path, 2004, http://www.uc.wisc.edu/profile/slideshow.html.
72. Path behind Agriculture Hall, before 1941. PC, Folder 7/7 (2), NS-31, agricultural campus.
73. University Avenue,1908, PC, Folder 8/1/4 overall from east.
74. University Avenue, 1980, PC, Folder 8/1/2 overall from west.
75. Land acquisition map, 1848-1856, source.
76. UW aerial of University Avenue, May 14, 1999. State Cartographer’s Office.
77. Aerial view from the west, 1890s. PC, Folder 7/7 agricultural campus.
78. UW Aerial photograph showing extent of original fields, by author 2005.
79. Map of Agricultural Campus, 1875, Hove 1991.
80. Cret and Laird 1908 Plan with overlay showing Henry and Bascom Malls, by author, 2005.
81. Cret and Laird rendering for campus master plan, 1908.
82. Henry Mall and Agriculture Hall, before 1941. PC, Folder 7/7 (2) NS-31, Agricultural Campus.
83. Henry Mall with cars,1941, PC, Folder 7/7 (2), agricultural campus.
84. Campus Master Plan, 1941, ARMS, master plans.
85. Aerial view, 1940. A Campus Development Plan for the University of Wisconsin, 194.
Wisconsin State Planning Board, Madison, WI. ARMS, master plans.
86. The Capital Times, Tuesday March 14, 1961.
87. Friends of the Campus Natural Areas map, 2005. http://www.uwalumni.com/fcna/map.html.
88. Library Mall, 1895, PC, Folder 7/2 lower campus.
89. Library Mall, early 1900s, PC, Folder 7/2 lower campus.
90. Aerial of Library Mall, 1940s. PC, Folder 7/2 lower campus.
91. Lower Campus Development, Arthur Peabody, campus architect, 1908. PC, Folder 7/2.
92. Library Mall aerial photograph, PC, Folder 8/1 overall views.
93. Cars and quonset huts on Library Mall, 1945. PC, Folder 7/2 lower campus.
94. Aerial Photograph Library Mall, May 14, 1999. State Cartographer’s Office.
95. State Street Mall, 1970s, PC, Folder 7/2 (2) Lower campus/mall area.
96. State Street from what is now Library Mall, postcard. PC, Folder 7/2 lower campus.
97. Park Street, 1900-1910. PC, Folder 7/5.
98. Parks Street construction, 1981. PC, Folder 7/5.
99. Campus Master Plan, 1973. ARMS, master plans, Department of Planning and Construction,
series 5/66 (1).
100. The Lesser Mall. 1908 Campus Master Plan, PC, Folder 7/2 lower campus.
101. Lower Campus aerial photograph from north, 1973. PC, Folder 8/1 overall views.
102. Memorial Union, 1930s, original rendering in Memorial Union management office, 4th floor,
photograph by author, 1998.
103. Aerial view of the Union, 1980s. PC, Folder 8/1 overall from north.
105. Lake Mendota, 1890s. PC, Folder 7/2 lower campus.
102

REFERFENCES

Chapter I The early formative years: responding to a glacial landscape

1
Doty purchased the land with Governor Stevens T. Mason of Michigan. Landmarks Community and
City Planning Department, A City in the Four Lakes Country: A Preservation Handbook for Madison,
Wisconsin (1976), 3.
2
Lawrence Martin, The Physical Geography of Wisconsin (University of Wisconsin, Madison, 1965),
10-11. David M. Mickelson, “Wisconsin’s Glacial Landscapes,” in Wisconsin Land and Life, R. C.
Ostergren and T. R. Vale, eds., Madison, University of Wisconsin (1997), 41.
3
David M. Mickelson, A Guide to the Glacial Landscapes of Dane County, Wisconsin, Field Trip Guide
Book 6 (Madison, Wisconsin Geological and Natural History, 1983) 4-5, 12-18. Several bodies of
water covered Wisconsin (approximately 500-600 million years ago) before the glaciers occurred. In
fact, during the Cambrian period seas formed and dried out in this area seven times. The presence of
these seas contributed to the areas flatness.
4
“The Wisconsin Landscape is analogous to a chalk board that has been written on and mostly
erased many times. Only the most recent scribings on the landscape are preserved for us to read.” In
Mickelson, “Wisconsin Glacial Landscapes,” 37.
5
Merle Curti and Vernon Carstensen, The University of Wisconsin: A History, 1848-1925, vol. 1,
Madison, University of Wisconsin (1949), 40. Also see Reuben G. Thwaites, University
of Wisconsin Its History and Alumni, Madison, J.N. Purcell (1900) and Historic
Madison, Inc. at http://danenet.wicip.org/hmi/madhist.htm.
6
The land was to be chosen “out of any of the public lands within the Territory of Wisconsin, to which
the Indian title has been, or may be, extinguished, and not otherwise appropriated.” Curti and
Carstensen 1949, 40.
7
Ibid, 42-45. It was Judge James Doty who again played a significant role in renewing interest in the
college. Elected governor of the territory in 1841, he sent agents out to select a majority of the land
donated by Congress. They elected two-thirds of the land, however, Congress rejected a portion of
the proposal because they were said to include land with minerals.
8
Ibid, 49.
9
Curti and Carstensen, 66-67.
10
Ibid, 59. His land was the northwest quarter of section twenty-three, in township seven, and range
nine east.
11
In selling both the land in Madison and the land grants located around the state, the Board
developed an attitude that was clearly geared more towards attracting settlers (through inexpensive
land purchase) and making immediate profits rather than acting as landowners working for long-term
profits. The board actually debated these issues and chose to focus on generating the early profits
to run the school. The decision to sell off land proved short sighted. Only a few years after selling
several parcels of the Vanderpool quarter section, the board repurchased a number of pieces back
at a higher cost. They sold much of the land around the state from the land grant at far lower prices
than originally planned. These flowed into the University Fund. See Curti and Carstensen’s chapter
on Land and Buildings 120-152.
12
Ibid 41-42. The committee later reported, “they had made the said examinations and that in their
opinion the site proposed by Mr. Noonan and others was most eligible.”
13
The hill was described as a “brush tangled hillside where small game scurried along hidden
paths.” Sara Rath, Easy Going: Madison and Dane County Tamarack (1977), 151. Quote from John
Lathrop, University Chancellor from 1849-1958. College Hill was also characterized as “a steep slope
covered with blackberry bushes, located near a marsh.” The area around University Avenue and
Park Street was once all marshland. Marsh existed on the western portion of the campus as well.
14
See Paul V. Turner, Campus an American Planning Tradition, Cambridge, MIT Press, (1984)
87. The mall originated in France as a long wide avenue developed to enhance the prowess of
 103

landowners and kings as they strolled through their estates. Malls stretched views out across the
land, positioning villas geographically into the landscape and creating a sense of vastness and depth
by incorporating distant forests and mountains. L’Enfant, a Frenchman, introduced the mall
to the United States in 1791 with his design for Washington D.C.
15
Curti and Carstensen, vol. 1, 67. The proposal was the work of the chancellor Lathrop and two
members of the Board of Regents, Simeon Mills and Nathaniel W. Dean. J.F. Rague, a Milwaukee
architect prepared the drawings.
16
David V. Mollenhoff, Madison A History of the Formative Years (Dubuque, Kendall/Hunt, 1982), 5.
See also, “Geology of Wisconsin,” a pamphlet in the Memorial Library Archives.
17
Ezra L. Varney held exclusive rights over the first quarry of Madison Sandstone. The contractors,
Bird and Larkin, required “20 quarrymen, 15 stone cutters, and 24 teams for hauling stone.”
Contractors continued using sandstone for years afterwards. They relied on a number of quarries that
had opened around the Hoyt Park-Shorewood area. “Sandstone Structures Build Quarry Heritage,”
in On Wisconsin, Spring 1982. It can be found in the Memorial Library Archives within the Biographies
files under Gordon D. Orr.
18
“Madison cream colored stone is easily wrought, susceptible to the highest finish, and when placed
in a wall presents a finer appearance than any other stone which we ever saw,” quoted in the Daily
Argus and Democrat in 1853. See “Sandstone Structures Build Quarry Heritage,” 1982.
19
Financial constraints influenced the decision to use this material. At the time, the school relied
on the University Fund, an account created through the sale of government issued land. Poorly
executed sales had resulted in far less profit than anticipated. Jim Feldman, The Buildings of the
University of Wisconsin, Madison (1997).
20
Monica Turner and Robert H. Gardner ed., Quantitative Methods in Landscape Ecology New York:
Springer-Verlag (1991), 4.
21
The graves were located just north of the Lincoln Statue platform. They were identified with
markers with the construction of the Statue in 1916. Two workers, killed while constructing the
Capitol (one of them struck by lightening) were buried here. University of Wisconsin—Madison, “Tour
Guide: Bascom Hill and Lower Campus,” Office of Public Information (1989), 10.

Chapter II Vegetation changes : towards an identifiably human campus

22
I. A. Lapham, Wisconsin: Its Geography and Topography (Milwaukee, 1846) 173.
23
Col. William H. Trimble, letter of 1838, Quoted in Judge Elisha W. Keyes’ History of Dane County,
Madison (1906), 38-40.
24
See Mary Thielgaard Watts, Reading the Landscape of America 2nd ed. (New York, Collier Macmillan,
1975) 112-117, for a description of prairie and oak savannah landscapes. See William Cronon, Changes
in the Land.
25
Sara Rath, Easy Going: Madison and Dane County (Tamarack, 1977) 151. Quote from John Lathrop,
University Chancellor from 1849-1858. Rath also describes College Hill as, “a steep slope covered with
blackberry bushes, located near a marsh.” See Rath’s “The University of Wisconsin: A Walking Tour,”
in Easy Going. The area around University Avenue and Park Street was once all marshland. Marsh
existed on the western portion of the campus as well.
26
See Thomas, William R. and Edward R. Hasselkus, “The Trees of the University of Wisconsin-
Madison Campus,” 1975 : 3, and Charles E. Brown, “The Trees of the Campus,” WHS (1925) : 5.
27
Flood plain trees are commonly transplanted to city environments. A flood plain is the land adjacent to
rivers that experiences periodic water inundation. The trees existing on these plains survive high stress
situations, sometimes living for weeks with saturated roots, other times living through long dry spells.
The hydrologic stress and harsh soil conditions of flood plain life help condition them
for urban survival. The silver maple (Acer saccharinum), honey locust (Gleditsia triacanthos), ash
trees (Fraxinus), sycamore (Platanus), elms (Ulmus americana) and red oaks (Quercus rubra), Lindens
(Tilia americana), Norway maple (Acer platanoides) are examples of flood plain trees used in cities.
104
28
Ray Evert, personal communication, 12 May 1998. The beetle chews on a fungus-infested tree and
then brings pieces of the fungus to the next tree in its mandibles. Johnson, W.T. and Howard H. Lyon,
Insects that Feed on Trees and Shrubs an Illustrated Guide. (London, Cornell University Press, for the
purchase of Picnic Point. His plan to construct a house on the top of Eagle Heights was thwarted due
to his premature death. Camp Gallistel was established near Picnic Point to provide cheap summer
housing for educators and their families. It lasted at least from 1915-1960. Hove, 98.
29
Streets, neighborhoods and institutions across the United States were devoid of trees. The
contrast of bare streets to the once beautiful elm-lined roads was a lesson to urban dwellers.
People realized that planting a monoculture can encourage the spread of diseases and lead to
serious consequences. This issue contrasts with the fact that only a handful of trees survive in
city environments, which limits the plant diversity and cities. Hydrology, drainage, soil volume and
quality, compaction and physical damage to trees all create stressful growing conditions in urban
environments. Planting a mixture of tree species and providing better habitat conditions, especially
soil quality, would contribute to the health of important for vegetation in the city.
30
Thomas 5. Injections started in the 1940s. The elms suffered considerable losses between the late
1950s and early 60s while G. William Longnecker headed the Department of Buildings and Grounds.
31
Daniel Einstein, personal communication, 15 June 1998. See Ray Guries and Karen Lawrence,
UW-Madison Dutch Elm Disease (DED) Management Plan (May 19, 1999).
32
Cottam, Grant, “John Muir Park-An Object Lesson,” Arboretum News 13.1 (January 1964).
33
Hasselkus, E. Personal Interview, 1998.
34
Only 2 out of 12 board members within the Board of Regents were from Madison.
35
David Cronon, personal interview, 21 May, 1998. The issue has remained controversial. According
to former Letters & Sciences Dean and Campus Historian, David Cronon, most of the trees were
weedy species. Old photographs of the Carillon Tower seem to confirm this theory, however, if the
opportunity had existed for the forest to grow until today, the trees would be mature.
36
See Bruce Allison and Elizabeth Durbin’s, Wisconsin’s Famous and Historic Trees, Madison,
Wisconsin Books (1982) 89. See also James P. Jackson, The Biography of a Tree, Middle Village,
Jonathan David (1979) for a description of an oaks life in the forest. Campus construction led to more
alkaline soils, which made it difficult for oaks to obtain their required nutrients for growth.
37
Thomas np. Charles E. Brown, “The Trees of the Campus,” WHS (1925) : 9. The orchard on the
north slope of Observatory Hill was first planted around 1902.
38
The UW’s valuation of campus trees does not reflect their importance. The large elm near the
newly constructed Biotechnology building on Henry Mall is an example of more precautionary
measures. A $100,000 price tag was placed on the tree and contractors are held responsible if the
tree dies due to construction.
39
Phil Craul, personal communication, February 2, 2000.
40
Thomas D. Brock, “Eagle Heights,” in Historic Madison: A Journal of the Four Lakes Region
12 (1995) : 40-41. Breese Stevens and Morris E. Fuller were the original owners. They sold to
Edward J. Young, who lived on Picnic Point for a decade with a wife and children. In a deal with
the University, he received 28 acres of land around Eagle Heights and $205,000 for the purchase
of Picnic Point. His plan to construct a house on the top of Eagle Heights was thwarted due to
his premature death. Camp Gallistel was established near Picnic Point to provide cheap summer
housing for educators and their families. It lasted at least from 1915-1960. Hove, 98.
41
John W. Jenkins, A Centennial History (Madison, College of Agricultural and Life Sciences, 1991)
2-6. Curti 296-300. The Morrill Act (or Land Grant College Act) of 1862 issued 260,000 acres of land
towards the establishment of agricultural colleges around the country. Because several places around
Wisconsin were competing for the grant, Dane County donated the experimental farm west of campus
to entice congress into placing the school in Madison. By the 1890s most of the land acquired from
the land grant (which was located around the state) had been sold for $ 1.25 an acre. The majority of
this land was purchased in parcels of 800 acres or more, suggesting that prospectors were purchasing
and then reselling.
42
Jenkins 9-18, 21, 28-29 & 31-33. Farmers were not easily convinced of the utility of academic science
 105

in their profession. The round silo (1891), the Babcock Butterfat Test (1890) and tuberculin testing on
cattle were all designed on the University of Wisconsin campus. Both the Agricultural Experimental
Station (1883) and the Wisconsin Farm Short Courses (1885) were also effective in publicizing the new
program.
43
Outdoor experimentation and research occurring on campus have been reduced to tree identification,
ecology in Muir Woods, limnology in Lake Mendota, horticulture and urban ecology. The school owns
agricultural land, lakes and forest around the State. Trout Lake experimental station is five hours away,
the experimental farm is on the West Side of town, and prairie remnants are utilized throughout the
southwest.
44
Allison, 92-93. Thomas, n.p., W. P. Laird, “Preliminary Draft of the Report of the Architectural
Commission on the General Design of the University of Wisconsin.” Papers Meetings of the Board
of Regents, Oct. 21, 1908-Oct. 20, 1909. Box 22 folder Dec. 16, 1908, UW Archives Series 1/1/3,12.
Laird noted that Linden Drive provided, “a view of unusual beauty. Its foliage and greensward should
be preserved unbroken between present building lines.”
45
Brown, Trees, 7. Thomas, n.p., Ground Supervisor Karen Lawrence, personal communication
29 June 1998. According to Lawrence, “The trees on Linden are still there but newer more tolerant
cultivars have been substituted for the old Tilia americana. The terrace area adjacent to the road is
too narrow in a lot of cases to support this mesic tree species...a lot of them have come out due to
construction, car accidents and soil compaction. The salt and vehicles parking ruins soil structure and
makes the soil like concrete impervious to water and nutrients.”
46
Curtis 4, and 454-455. Griffin 95-111. Several natural histories have been written on Wisconsin.
Professors, including Knapp, Lapham, and Chamberlin, as well as students in the University performed
field studies as far back as 1877.

Chapter III Planning, preservation and management

47
The earliest history books on Wisconsin and Madison mentioned the mounds. Park & Co. (1877),
184 and 188.
48
J. Jefferson MacKinnon, “Report of the University of Wisconsin-Madison Campus Prehistoric Mound
Assessment Project” (1985),1-2.
49
Charles E. Brown, Lake Mendota Files box 21, SHSW.
50
MacKinnon 17-18, 20.
51
Personal communication Arnold Alanen, June 26th, 2005.
52
MacKinnon, 41. Excavations were not performed on either mound. William J. Park & Company,
Madison, Dane County and Surrounding Towns (Madison, Wm. J. Park & Co., 1877) 184. Where
the central building of our State University stands, was a large mound crowning the eminence, but
necessity compelled its removal.
53
MacKinnon 1-2. At least forty-seven mounds existed at one time on the campus and Arboretum.
Thirty-five of these remain today. A great mound on State street was used for grading the hollows in
that locality.
54
Larry Johns, discussion, Native American Pre-college Program, Observatory Hill Effigy Mounds,
Madison, WI, 5 August 1997.
55
Robert A. Birmingham and Katherine H. Rankin, “Native American Mounds in Madison and Dane
County,” (City of Madison and Native American Center, 1994) 5-6. Charles E. Brown, Lake Mendota
Files box 21, WHS. The Burial Sites Preservation in Wisconsin pamphlet, WHS. Brown was Curator
for the WHS (SHSW), 1889-1945.
56
The notion of preservation of landscape was part of a larger movement within the United States
that also led to the formation of National Parks, the identification of wilderness area, and even the
development of the U.S. Forestry Department. It included such figures as John Muir, Frederick Law
Olmsted and Theodore Roosevelt. Preservation has also spread to architecture and to parks and city
spaces around America. Ideas of preservation inform the reestablishment and restoration of types of
nature, like prairies and forests.
106 57
s.157.70, Wis. Stats. beginning in the late 1990s, geographic information systems was being
used to analyze patterns in the layout and organization of these mounds across Southern
Wisconsin to assess larger scale patterns.
58
James B. Stoltman, personal interview, 2 March 1998. The Wisconsin Glaciation was the
most recent of several glaciers that span back from 1 to 3 million years ago. David M. Mickelson,
“Wisconsin’s Glacial Landscapes,” Wisconsin Land and Life, eds. R. C. Ostergren and T. R. Vale
(Madison, University of Wisconsin, 1997) 40-43.
59
Tim Baden, personal interview, 25 June 1998. In actuality, boulders are dispersed all
over Southern Wisconsin. Known as an “erratic,” these can be found everywhere including
mountaintops.
60
E. B. Fred, A University Remembers (Madison, University of Wisconsin, 1969) 53 and 73. Curti
534-560. Thomas C. Chamberlin had a distinguished career as geologist, professor and president.
He served as State Geologist of Wisconsin between 1873 and 1882. In 1875 Chamberlin produced
the first Geological Survey of Wisconsin, his most important work. He was also first to identify and
name the glacial drifts common to this area. His term as President of the University lasted from
1887 to1892.
61
Elizabeth McCoy et. al, “Seeing” the University of Wisconsin-Madison Today (Madison,
University of Wisconsin Foundation, 1978) 48. “It originally rested flat upon the hill near what is
now Observatory Drive...they [the Reynolds Transfer and Storage Co.] did succeed in skidding
the rock into place by a system of cables and pulleys and finally of turning it upward, as you see
it today.”
62
Carolyn J. Mattern, “The Madison Park and Pleasure Drive Association and the Problem of
Progressive Landscape Design in University Heights,” Historic Madison: A Journal of the Four
Lakes Region 12 (1995) 18-23. Mollenhoff 231-232. A plaque recognizing the MPPDA was
placed on the Willow Creek Bridge.
63
Mollenhoff 324-329.
64
James G. Marshall, “The Madison Park System 1892-1937,” Journal of Historic Madison 5
(Date) 2-17. Madison Park and Pleasure Drive Association, Annual Reports, incl. newspaper
clippings (1907-1916) : 72. Senator Welton introduced the Park Bill between 1898-1900. The
MPPDA’s greatest success was the use of monetary donations received from several wealthy
businessmen in Madison to establish city parks. Tenny Park (1900), Yahara River Parkway
(1903), Henry Vilas Park and Drive (1904), Brittingham Park (1905) as well as Burrows, Burr
Jones, James Madison, and Olbrich Parks The only park in Madison before the MPPDA’s efforts
was Orton Park, a three and a half acre site on the east side of Madison that was first planned
(and used briefly) as a cemetery.
65
Thomas Brock, email to the author, 25 August 1998. The corridor is now about four and a half
miles of lakeshore and forest paths.
66
The landscape that they wished to preserve, curiously enough, was an agrarian one. This
could be viewed as a response to the Industrial Revolution and an idealization of the simplicity
and familiarity of agrarian societies. Nonetheless, these rural landscapes that they favored were
human landscapes developed partially through filling marshes throughout Madison. While many
people in the community were concerned with the loss of the countryside in the 1900s, few had
been worried about preserving the quickly disappearing marshlands. In recent years, attitudes
have changed again, and efforts to restore marshlands are becoming more common.
67
Curti 66-67. The campus consisted of “about fifty acres, bounded north by Fourth Lake, east
by a street to be opened at right angles with King [Now State] Street, south by Mineral Point
Road [this is the Madison-Sauk City Stage Road and now University Avenue], and west by a
carriage way from said road to the lake.”
68
The Wisconsin Department of Transportation was the first to suggest a transportation corridor
to counteract anticipated traffic increases through the isthmus. Department of University
Planning and Construction, The Sketch Plan for the University of Wisconsin-Madison (Madison,
1959) major thoroughfares. Also see the Department of University Planning and Construction,
Campus Development Plan (Madison, Campus Planning Commission, 1973) 23-26.
69
Planners utilized the railroad corridor to link University Avenue with Johnson Street. UWPA
 107

7/7.
70
A. F. Gallistel, A Summary of Campus Planning: The University of Wisconsin 1850 to 1954,
Memorial Library Archives, 5 November 1954.
71
Wand 22-23.
72
Philip Wand, “Henry Mall: The University of Wisconsin-Madison as City Beautiful,” research paper,
UW-Madison, 1996, 11-14. The Lesser Mall took form mainly because the same architects who
proposed the mall were also commissioned to complete two buildings that defined the space. The
decision to construct these buildings in the architects recommended location was a serious choice
for the University because the eastern side of the Mall was privately owned, and to construct these
buildings, the University had to purchase the land. The architects constructed both the Agricultural
Chemistry Building (now Biochemistry) completed in 1913 and the Wisconsin High School completed
in 1914 (demolished in 1992 and replaced with the Biotech Center).
73
The Committee on Campus Wooded Areas, “Report of the Committee on Campus Wooded Areas,”
22 October 1962. James H. Zimmerman, “Muir Park,” Wisconsin Alumnus Magazine (May 1959) 2.
74
Nancy D. Sachse, A Thousand Ages: The University of Wisconsin Arboretum, 2nd ed. (Madison,
Regents of the University of Wisconsin, 1974) 11-18. It was actually the MPPDA who originally
proposed the idea to establish an arboretum. The group of men mentioned identified a site that was
originally agricultural fields. Volunteers repeatedly worked the land, planted trees and prairie grasses,
burned and re-seeded the land, and eventually succeeded in rebuilding many of the community’s
interactions. The Arboretum continues testing and refining these techniques, with the goal of gaining a
deeper understanding of prairie and forest ecosystems. Through these studies and others around the
world, this indigenous practice has made its way into academia, into the scientific study of restoration
ecology.
75
Wisconsin State Planning Board, A Campus Development Plan for the University of Wisconsin
(December 1941) : 14. Wisconsin State Planning Board, Campus Plan (1941) 18-19. E.B. Fred,
“Scientist-Educator: He Outlines Campus Building Program,” The Wisconsin Alumnus 47.5 (February
1946) : 7.
76
Hamilton, personal communication. The Business School moved to University Avenue. Somehow
the Law School addition’s new glass façade facing Bascom Mall passed through these strict
regulations. The brightly lit library casts glaring rays across the lawn at night. Cronon, D. interview
May 21, 1998.
77
Hove 188. Enrollment more than doubled from 1946 to1947 to 18,598. The metal rounded-roof
buildings were purchased in 1946 from the military stationed at the Dane County airport.
78
Cronon, D., interview.
79
Einstein, communication.
80
The buildings constructed on the Lower Campus included the Peterson Building (1964), Humanities
Building (1969), Elvehjem Museum of Art (1970), Helen C. White (1971), Vilas Hall (1972) and the
Alumni House (1965-67).
81
The challenge for this site, according to Christopher Alexander, was to accommodate the
University’s multiple uses as well as demands from the city.
82
Phil Hamilton, personal communication, 26 June 1998.
Ibid. Phil Hamilton’s statement resembles a similar sentiment held by many ecologists regarding our
biological systems. C.S. Holling, writes, “Ecosystems are moving targets, with multiple futures that
are uncertain and unpredictable. Therefore human management has to be flexible, adaptive, and
experimental at scales compatible with the scales of critical ecosystem functions.” In, “Investing In
Research for Sustainability,” Ecological Applications, 3(4), 1993, 552-555.
83
Hamilton, personal communication, 26 June 1998..
84
The plan for the lower campus was generated in a democratic procedure that included students,
faculty, staff, planners and citizens of Madison as well. This contrasts to Bascom Hill, where the
Committee alone developed the plans.
85
Allison, Bruce, Personal Communication, September 9, 1997. Arthur Peabody, A Short Resume
of University Buildings (1934) : 33. These are papers that Peabody prepared regarding his work as
108

campus architect (1905-1915) and state architect (1915- date). Peabody states in these papers that
he asked his daughter Charlotte to design the Terrace. This was the only reference I found regarding
the Terrace design.
86
The Terrace is a central feature of the campus. Students, professors and other Madisonians relax,
meet and talk, listen to music and recreate here. In this way, the Union, like State Street and Library
Mall, is a place where university and city overlap.
87
President E.B. Fred once suggested building a parking structure on the lake near Lakeshore Path.
88
David W. Schindler, “Experimental Perturbations of Whole Lakes as Tests of Hypotheses
Concerning Ecosystem Structure and Function,” Oikos 57.1 (1990) : 28. Likens 381-382. This
phosphorous enters Lake Mendota and stimulate large algal blooms that cover entire portions of the
lake. The blooms change the water temperature, let off putrid odors and affect swimming.
89
Juday started the first Limnology (study of fresh water) program in the country at the UW-Madison.
He taught and researched here between 1908-1942. He was one of the first scientists in North
America to utilize lakes as experimental sites. Birge later went on to become a University President
between 1918-1925.
90
Schindler 34-37. Daily temperature, water height, turbidity, and pH were measured on this lake
and then on Trout Lake in northern Wisconsin beginning in 1875. Short-term research, for example,
the common one to three year field research leading to a PhD thesis, could be performed during an
irregular climatic or vegetation period.
91
John J. Magnuson, “Long-Term Ecological Research and the Invisible Present,” Bioscience 40.7
(1990) : 497. Gene E. Likens, “An Experimental Approach for the Study of Ecosystems,” Journal of
Ecology 73 (1985) : 390.
92
Perhaps this is not the case so much in the short-term, but certainly for long-term survival. If
nothing else, we should at least view the relationships we have within the larger ecological
community as an important blue print or spreadsheet that illustrates our functional relationship to our
surroundings.
These relics do not have to exist as physical objects. ideology, cultural ideas,
planning practices, and general construction techniques (“this is how we have
always done it”) can affect a landscapes growth similarly to a relic embedded in the
landscape.
93
If our goal is to provide for the human race for as long as possible, planning needs to account for
unknown variables, identifying important processes for human survival and addressing their potential
disruption. The integration of greater species diversity and more biological processes at different
scales into our lifestyles and habitats is a goal to work towards.
109
110