McMansionizing History

Starting in 1890,Congress authorized the creation of the first four national military parks -- at Chickamauga, Shiloh, Gettysburg and Vicksburg. But, over time, even major battlefields suffered from chronic federal budget shortfalls. At Fredericksburg, for example, the northernmost stretch was overrun by housing; the southern sector by an industrial park and a General Motors factory; and what's known as the Slaughter Pen Farm, at the center of the battleground, was zoned for commercial or industrial development.

Over the years, the federal bureaucracies "lost deals because they couldn't get appropriations, and they lost deals because they moved so goddamn slow when they had the money," Lighthizer says. "And a lot of the important battlefield land is outside the Park Service boundaries, because the boundaries are arbitrary. They are political."

Slaughter Pen Farm is outside the boundaries. "Some farmer went to his congressman 50 years ago and said: 'Screw you. Don't put me in that battlefield. I don't want to be in it,' " Lighthizer says. "And so it's not."

At Chancellorsville, the federal government owns all but 1,703 acres of the 7,517-acre "core area" of the battleground, "where the heaviest fighting took place," says Russ Smith, the Park Service superintendent there. The greater, federally recognized "study area," which includes land on which the armies maneuvered or set up camps and field hospitals, is 21,874 acres. The threat of development led to the founding of aggressive local groups in Gettysburg, Northern Virginia and other locales, as well as two national organizations -- the Civil War Trust and the Association for the Preservation of Civil War Sites -- to buy land. But their efforts were unfocused, and by the end of the 1990s, the preservation association was $7 million in debt. Lighthizer was on the board of the Civil War Trust when the two groups merged in 1999, and the new trustees asked him to serve as president. There were 24 employees at the trust when Lighthizer took office; only four remained after six months. The rest were fired or left on their own. To replace them, Lighthizer tapped a community of battlefield buffs to find young professionals who had experience running political campaigns, congressional offices or commercial real estate operations. With the help of well-connected trustees and donors, he put his lobbying skills to work in Congress and state legislatures and retired the $7 million debt.

"We never ask for outright grants. Everything, we match," he says. "I was in government. I know that when people come in with their hand out, you want them to have some skin in the game. So I say: 'Lookit. You give me a million, and I will make it two {lcub}hellip{rcub} And, by the way, I will give the land back to you, if you want it.' It's a good argument."

Membership in the trust tripled. A new direct-mail program brought in millions of dollars. And more than 20,000 acres of land at storied places -- Manassas, Fredericksburg, Shiloh, Gettysburg, Harpers Ferry, Antietam, Brandy Station, Malvern Hill -- were bought outright or saved via conservation easements, which give landowners tax breaks for giving up the right to develop their properties.

Buying property from willing sellers was one thing. It was quite another to rescue land that had already been purchased by developers and designated for high-density residential and commercial growth. Lighthizer accepted that challenge at what became known as "the second battle of Chancellorsville."

The first volleys were fired in 2002 after the Spotsylvania County Board of Supervisors voted to move the Zoan ridge property out of the county's rural preserve and into its "primary settlement" district, thus opening the land for high-density development. In June, the Dogwood Development Group of Reston announced plans to build a town center on the spot, with more than 2,000 homes and 2.4 million square feet of commercial space. In November, the county planning commission approved the developer's plan, dismissing the growth-related concerns of a large crowd of local residents who waited hours to testify. When Lighthizer tried to negotiate, the developer and the county government ignored him. Furious, he decided to fight the development by orchestrating public pressure and, if necessary, defeating the pro-development supervisors at the polls.

"Nothing we have ever done compares to this. Nothing," Lighthizer wrote in a fundraising letter to his membership. "If you never give another dollar to help save another battlefield, I need you to help with this one. If we succeed {lcub}hellip{rcub} not only will we save 140 essential acres at Chancellorsville, but in years to come, savvy developers {lcub}hellip{rcub} will think twice about going head to head against us {lcub}hellip{rcub} they'll go build their strip malls somewhere else."

The Coalition to Save Chancellorsville Battlefield was formed that summer. A pollster was hired to gauge community sentiment, and the results (showing that almost two-thirds of nearby residents opposed the development) were released to local news outlets. The coalition held news conferences and lured national media such as Washington Post columnist George Will and National Public Radio to report on the controversy. Volunteers conducted a petition drive, collecting 27,000 signatures from residents who opposed the development. They canvassed neighborhoods, distributed leaflets and yard signs, held candlelight vigils and attended public hearings. A Web site kept the anti-growth forces alert to fresh developments, and served as a community rallying point. There were radio ads and a direct-mail appeal.

Dogwood fought back with telemarketing and mailings of its own, dismissing the 1863 action on the Zoan ridge as a "skirmish" that could suitably be honored with a small "memorial park."

"These outsiders {lcub}hellip{rcub} think they know what's best for you," the developers' political action committee said in a mailing to area residents. "They came from places like New York, New Jersey, Ohio and Pennsylvania. They've never been stuck in our traffic, worried about improving our schools, or had to travel out of the county to spend their money {lcub}hellip{rcub} to shop."