I have never understood why authors wait until the end to thank the most important people. I vowed not to make that mistake. Nothing I do would be possible without Julie. She married a promising lawyer and ended up with a struggling academic. Most would rank that a downgrade; she has not. Julie remains incredibly supportive of my passions and has patiently provided perspective when I needed it most. This project is dedicated to her and our amazing young sons, Aidan and Axel. Thanks, too, to all our family members for sticking with us. Our decisions may not have always made the most sense, but they have made us happy. Thank you for understanding.
I have been fortunate to have a diverse array of advisers who have met my every intellectual, professional, and social need. Sara Pritchard at Montana State University (and now Cornell) graciously introduced me to the world of academia and patiently guided me through the thicket of environmental historiography. Edmund Russell at the University of Virginia (and now Kansas) is the best adviser in the business. Not only does Ed rigorously poke and prod the intellectual content of his students’ work, but he dedicates enormous energy to ensuring we know the professional rules of the road. From conference talks, to job cover letters, to book proposals, and more, he has demystified one of the most arcane professions known to man. I am very lucky to have him on my side. Christian McMillen at the University of Virginia is quite simply the academic I want to be. His scholarship is unassailable; its rigor matched only by the thoughtful and creative narratives Christian constructs. He has pored over this manuscript more times than is fair to ask of anyone, and any improvements are largely to his credit. Most important, Christian’s priorities are always where they should be, a lesson I will not forget. I consider them all great friends and giants in their fields.
As for future academic greats, I have met, socialized with, and studied with many of them. My graduate student cohort provided inspiration and support throughout this long and winding process. It started with the “Gang of Four” in Bozeman, Montana—Jerry Jessee, Megan Raby, Mike Wise, and myself—but certainly included Bob Gardner and Brad Snow as well. In Virginia, the list is long thanks to Ed Russell’s community-building efforts. Our “Russell Lab” was a supportive rock in an otherwise isolating ABD world. Many thanks go to Bart Elmore, Thomas Finger, Leif Frederickson, Philip Herrington, Laura Kolar, Andrew McGee, Katy Shively Meier, Eric Stoykovich, and Stephen Macekura. In particular, Stephen and Brent Cebul provided great friendship and desperately needed non-academic banter. Thanks for keeping me sane.
Many supporting institutions made this project possible. Montana State University’s Research Enhancement Award funded my initial journeys to the reservations of southeastern Montana. At the University of Virginia, numerous grants from the History Department, the Raven Society, and the Bankard Fund for Political Economy allowed me to return to the American West, to spend summers in both dingy archives and vibrant tribal communities. A fellowship from the Cody Institute for Western American Studies supported oral history interviews on the Crow and Northern Cheyenne Reservations, and funds from the Charles Redd Center for Western Studies carried me to archives across the Southwest. A residential fellowship at the Hagley Museum and Library in Wilmington, Delaware, provided key insights into the murky world of global energy development, particularly the coal business, and the American Society for Legal History’s Cromwell Fellowship helped me discern the legal implications of the energy tribes’ struggle to control their resources. Finally, my year as the Sara Shallenberger Brown Fellow in Environmental Writing at the University of Virginia’s Brown Residential College provided an incredible space to bring it all together. The final chapters of this book were drafted on the grounds of James Monroe’s law office and family farm. Although my current digs at Christopher Newport University cannot match the grandeur of the former president’s residence, neither can the warmth of my new colleagues be surpassed. It is a welcoming community to call home, and I am grateful for their support during the revisions.
Of course, along the way there were dozens of archivists, librarians, and generally helpful folks who assisted me. A few stand out. Bill Bryan was instrumental in getting me “inside” the Northern Cheyenne revolt that is at the center of this book. He introduced me to Marie Sanchez, who patiently walked me through the concerns of her community and the brave actions she and her fellow Northern Cheyenne took decades ago. On the Crow Reservation, dozens of people opened up to me about past coal debates and current mining concerns. More than any other, though, Faith Bad Bear Bartlett, the former archivist at Little Bighorn College on the Crow Reservation, made this study possible. Faith was an imposing woman. She once told me she played high school football with the boys in southeastern Montana and I believed her. But over the course of numerous visits to her tiny archive in Crow Agency, this intimidating figure gradually welcomed me into her records, her community, and even her home. This story could not be told without her. She is missed and greatly appreciated.