The neighborhood where I grew up 50 years ago was a modest, middle-class neighborhood on the South Side of Chicago called Beverly Hills. It was a diverse neighborhood of single-family homes within a broad price range, a delightful place to live. One of the reasons for this was that all of the residential streets were completely canopied by elms. They had been well planted by somebody so that they were lined up and down all of these streets, probably three or four miles long by two miles wide, so full that they met in the middle.

So the whole neighborhood had a beautiful, shaded, natural ambience that leads one to have a peaceful frame of mind. Those huge elms gave you a feeling of comfort and security, not to mention beauty. When the elms died, the character of the people didn’t really change, but the tone and ambiance of the neighborhood changed dramatically. It happened over a 10 year period. There was a slow recognition of what was happening. People couldn’t believe that the ultimate devastation could be so complete. I was gone to college near the end of that, but at some point realized that they were all gone. There was a high level of frustration because everybody was told there was nothing that could happen except to cut them down. It reduced property values, clearly, because the community was simply not as beautiful as it had been.

I think it did have an emotional impact on people; these elms were our friends. You didn’t spend a lot of time focusing on the elm trees, but they were there, they were part of your ambiance, your environment. It was hugely important, especially when they were gone, but then it was too late.

I now live in Annapolis, Maryland, where we’re trying hard to plant a lot of trees. My son works for Conservation International and I’m involved with the Chesapeake Bay Fund. My interest in the environment probably stems from growing up with the elms. They’re a childhood memory I’ll never forget.

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