National Park Service

The utility and hazard of the early windshield sticker Before the National Park Service became a master of aesthetic branding, its graphic output served a purely functional purpose. Starting in 1918, the service introduced windshield stickers to track fee payments. These weren't mere decorations; they were the precursors to modern digital passes, allowing rangers to verify at a glance that a visitor had paid their entry dues. However, the success of these stickers birthed a unique safety crisis. As the public grew enamored with the collectibles, visitors began plastering their windshields with so many badges that they effectively blinded themselves to the road. This "collectibility fad" forced the National Park Service to progressively shrink the designs until 1940, when the safety hazards—and media backlash—ended the practice. These artifacts also reflect a transitional era in American transit; early versions explicitly featured instructions that automobiles must yield to horse-drawn carriages. Dorothy Waugh and the birth of intentional promotion In 1934, the National Park Service shifted from administrative function to active self-promotion. They tapped Dorothy Waugh, a landscape architect with a surgical eye for typography and form, to lead their first true ad campaign. Working without the luxuries of modern graphic software or even Letraset, Dorothy Waugh hand-cut her fonts and utilized lithography to create bold, two-color posters that defined the parks' visual language. Dorothy Waugh was a rarity in a male-dominated field, yet her influence extended beyond posters. She authored manuals for the Civilian Conservation Corps, providing the blueprints for the iconic rustic architecture still seen in parks today. Her work transitioned the National Park Service from a government bureau to a destination for "life at its best." The rare legacy of WPA silk screens Following Waugh's campaign, the Works Progress Administration (WPA) posters emerged as the most iconic examples of park graphics. Produced in batches of roughly 100 at the Western Museum Lab in Berkeley, these silk-screened works were never intended for longevity. They were ephemeral objects, often discarded or repurposed. Archivist Eleanore Kohorn notes the incredible scarcity of these originals. For instance, the Yosemite National Park WPA poster exists in only one known original copy. Because these were government property, they were often treated as scrap paper—cut up to serve as file dividers or used to press botanical specimens in the Bandelier National Monument collection. Modern resonance of historical ephemera Today, these designs enjoy a massive resurgence in the public domain, yet the hunt for lost originals continues. The discovery of a vibrant Grand Canyon National Park poster tucked inside a piece of legislation illustrates how light-deprived storage can preserve the vivid, 1930s pigments that would otherwise have faded. This graphic lineage proves that the National Park Service was willing to be bold and striking from its inception, cementing a visual identity that remains unmatched in the public sector.