The Montana Memorial

By editor

Fort Benton, Chouteau County, Montana

Fort Benton, Montana, a dusty little town on the upper Missouri River, decided to throw its hat into the Bicentennial ring in 1976 with a grand gesture of bronze and granite. This wasn’t just any statue; it was Montana’s official nod to the Corps of Discovery, the Lewis and Clark Expedition, those two gentlemen who set off in 1804 to poke around the unknown West and came back with maps, stories, and a whole lot of “first contacts.” The Montana Memorial cost a tidy sum of $175,000 -- a king’s ransom for a town of a few thousand souls, especially considering this was the decade of disco and gas lines.

The statue itself is no shrinking violet. It weighs two and a half tons and rises 21 feet high -- bigger than life, or at least one-sixth larger than the actual men and woman it portrays. The sculptor, Bob Scriver, didn’t just slap together some rough likenesses and call it a day. No sir, he spent a full year digging through dusty archives, examining artifacts, and, as he claimed, “trying to be as accurate as possible without turning it into a museum exhibit.” The hands of Lewis clutch a telescope modeled after the very one he carried on the expedition, while Clark’s hand holds a compass copied from the real deal. The rifles? Not just generic muskets but Harpers Ferry rifles with the name on the hammer plate, down to the last detail.

Getting this colossal bronze piece to Fort Benton was its own chapter in frontier logjam. Cast by the lost-wax process at the Modern Art Foundry in New York City, the statue was transported upright on a semi-trailer across the country. Now, hauling a 21-foot-tall metal man through the interstate system is like trying to thread a needle with a haystack. Interstate underpasses and highway signs turned into obstacles, causing traffic jams and curious glances. Locals along the way stared at the statue, but it wasn’t until the rig was west of the Mississippi River that anyone recognized the figures as Lewis and Clark. Before that, it was “a massive statue of some sort, maybe a giant lumberjack or an oversized road worker,” according to one bemused truck driver.

The base of this monument is no less impressive. Tanner Brothers Quarry near Square Butte, Montana, donated an 85-ton granite block to serve as the statue’s pedestal. Now, moving 85 tons of granite is no picnic, especially in mid-winter, when the roads are icy and the weather could freeze a rattlesnake’s rattler. To protect the roads from damage, the granite was hauled over frozen roads on a thirty-wheeled trailer. Thirty wheels, mind you. That’s a convoy fit for a cavalry charge, only slower and with more creaking axles. This logistical feat underscored the community’s determination to make the memorial a reality -- no matter what the cost in frozen fingers and bent fenders.

Bob Scriver’s research didn’t stop with the captains. He had a keen interest in the Native American side of the story, especially Sacagawea, the Shoshone woman who accompanied the Corps of Discovery as a guide and interpreter. The statue depicts her in the traditional dress of her people, complete with rings and bracelets. This wasn’t just artistic license. William Clark himself noted Sacagawea’s fondness for jewelry, often gifting her pieces during the expedition. Around her waist hangs a strike-a-light -- a flint and steel kit used to start fires -- and at her side, she carries a skinning knife and an awl, tools essential for survival on the trail. On her back, Jean Baptiste, her infant son, is bundled in a blanket folded to free both her hands, a detail that captures the constant juggling act she performed.

One particularly fascinating detail is the serpent’s pouch secured to the baby’s blanket. This small leather pouch contained Jean Baptiste’s umbilical cord, a Plains Indian custom for male children meant to provide spiritual protection. The pack board, normally used to carry loads, is absent in the statue -- it had been washed overboard during the real expedition a few days earlier, a small but telling nod to the hardships the Corps endured.

It’s worth remembering that while the memorial paints a dignified image, the real expedition was a messy affair--fraught with tensions, cultural misunderstandings, and economic ambitions. The Corps of Discovery wasn’t just a scientific mission; it was also a political and economic gambit by President Thomas Jefferson to stake claim on the vast territory west of the Mississippi, at a time when fur traders, miners, and land speculators were circling like hawks. Fort Benton itself was a key hub in these contests, serving as the last stop on the Missouri River for steamboats laden with goods destined for the frontier.

The $175,000 price tag for the memorial was met with both pride and skepticism. The Fort Benton Community Improvement Association spearheaded the project, raising funds through local donations and state support. In 1974, the Fort Benton Chouteau County News editorialized, “This monument will cement Fort Benton’s place in the story of the West, reminding all who pass by of the grit and determination that shaped this land.” Whether a statue can do all that is a matter of debate, but the effort itself reflected a community grappling with its identity in a rapidly changing world.

The project reminds us of the gulf between myth and reality. Lewis and Clark are often portrayed as flawless heroes, but their journals reveal moments of doubt and frustration. Clark once wrote, “The hardships of this journey may yet prove too great for our small party.” Sacagawea’s presence, while invaluable, was also a source of tension. Some expedition members viewed her with suspicion; others relied heavily on her knowledge of the terrain and Native languages.

In that light, the Montana Memorial is as much about the stories the town tells itself as it is about the actual expedition. It’s a reminder that history is shaped by who gets to tell the story and which parts they choose to emphasize. The statue’s meticulous details -- the exact rifles, the compass, the umbilical pouch -- suggest a desire for authenticity. Yet the very act of erecting a monument in 1976, amid a wave of national pride, also hints at the selective memory of a nation celebrating its westward expansion while glossing over its costs.

In the end, Fort Benton’s Lewis and Clark Memorial is a curious blend of art, history, and local ambition. It is a bulky bronze sentinel watching over a town that once was the “World’s Innermost Port” -- a place where steamboats unloaded goods that fed the mining camps, where railroad interests jockeyed for influence, and where the fate of Montana’s frontier was debated over whiskey and poker. The memorial may not capture every nuance of that complex history, but it certainly gets people talking, looking up, and wondering about the men, woman, and child who began the long, tangled story of the American West.

See also

• The Montana Memorial at Fort Benton, Chouteau County
• [Lewis and Clark Trail](/historic-mark