Theodore Roosevelt said he never would have been president but for his experiences in North Dakota. Now, more than 100 years after his death, he’s returning the favor: North Dakota wouldn’t be opening a presidential library were it not for Theodore Roosevelt.
Just in time for the nation’s 250th birthday, the Theodore Roosevelt Presidential Library is set to open July 4 atop a butte overlooking the historic cattle town of Medora, nestled in the North Dakota Badlands and just outside the national park that bears the 26th president’s name.
The exterior of the sprawling, low-slung building, designed by the Oslo-based architecture firm Snøhetta to blend with the region’s jagged terrain, is mostly complete. Work is proceeding on the vaulted rooms, featuring rammed earth walls and timbered ceilings.
It won’t be much like the 13 modern presidential libraries affiliated with the National Archives, dating back to Herbert Hoover. In fact, it won’t be a library at all; most of TR’s papers will remain out East.
Instead, this library will feature dioramas and exhibits that take the visitor through Roosevelt’s hyperkinetic life: narrative galleries that tell the story of his youth in New York City, studies at Harvard and family life, on to his meteoric rise from state legislator to president; and adventure galleries on his ranching days in Dakota, his Rough Rider exploits in Cuba, his yearlong African hunting safari and a Brazilian expedition to an uncharted jungle river that nearly killed him.
But half the fun will be outside its doors, where you can approach the library on foot, bike or horseback. The site is designed to encourage the vigorous outdoor life that brought Roosevelt to the Badlands and today draws up to 800,000 visitors annually to Theodore Roosevelt National Park. The library’s earthen roof, dotted with 140,000 plugs of native plants, is walkable, and a boardwalk will encircle an area where cattle can graze.
Robbie Lauf, the library’s executive director, says there won’t be a better place to learn about Roosevelt than here, amid the bluffs and canyons to which he fled as a young man after the deaths of his wife and mother on the same day in 1884. He lived in the Badlands, on and off, over a four-year period in the 1880s and returned sporadically.
“His ghost is in New York, but his spirit is in the Badlands,” Lauf said on a recent tour of the construction site. “This is the place where you can feel his living ethos.”