Smokey Bear hangs on as icon

He’s a war hero who became a media mogul, celebrity pitchman, pop icon and philanthropist. He’s so famous he was given his own ZIP code, 20252, to handle the fan mail. He is 65 years old but has no intention of retiring. In fact he looks fitter than ever.

Working outdoors with a shovel will do that.

Smokey Bear was born in August 1944, sired by a committee of ad men and government bureaucrats hoping to safeguard a key war material: wood. Smokey today remains the face of the longest-running public service campaign in American history — a simple message delivered by an anthropomorphic bear.

But Smokey’s story is anything but simple. His uncompromising stance — “Only you can prevent forest fires” — helped to alter the landscape by reinforcing the idea that fire was an enemy that should be eliminated, that the price to be paid for living in the path of wildfire was vigilance and will.

Smokey’s critics say decades of fire suppression helped create forests unnaturally thick with fuel, setting the stage for the infernos that march across the West every year. A sign on forestry professor Ron Wakimoto’s office door at the University of Montana sums up this thinking: “Smokey is dead — prescribe forest fires.”

A few years ago Smokey’s message was tweaked. “Only you can prevent wildfires” makes a subtle distinction intended to reinforce that there are bad fires (intentionally or accidentally set) and fires that promote healthy, less-combustible forests.

Still, Smokey seems a slightly out-of-step missionary in the ever-evolving politics of fire in the West. His message avoids the complex social issues surrounding wildfire. What should be allowed to burn and what should be burned on purpose? If we choose to live in fire country, who should protect us and at what cost?

“I’m not an ad man,” Wakimoto said. “With all the different messages that should be conveyed, I can’t see Smokey laying out something that nuanced.”

Bring this up with one of Smokey’s legion adoring fans — baby boomers who see him as an emblem of a wholesome, bygone era — and you risk getting punched in the snout.

And please don’t call him Smokey the Bear because the big fella has no middle name.

The protectiveness afforded Smokey begins with the government. His image is tightly controlled. Unauthorized use violates federal law (88 Stat. 244; 31 U.S.C. 488a; 488b-6; 18 U.S.C. 711, 711a). Those who tread on the government’s trademark risk a visit from the FBI and a $150,000 fine. But most cases are solved with a stern letter from the company contracted to license Smokey’s image.

Smokey works for the Department of Agriculture and doesn’t shill for anyone. His appearance in 1998 at several car shows as part of a deal between Subaru and a nonprofit foundation that raises money for the Forest Service prompted a federal investigation and criticism in Congress. Subaru dropped out.

Smokey Signals, of California, is one of three companies authorized to manufacture and sell the Smokey Bear costume. It comes with washable “fur,” Smokey-sized jeans, a cooling vest with reusable gel packs and an optional battery-operated fan built into the plastic head.

The costume can be sold only to government agencies or approved groups that agree to follow the copious rules spelled out in the “Smokey Bear Guidelines”: