James F. Phillips | |
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| Born | (1930-11-20)November 20, 1930 Aurora, Illinois, US |
| Died | October 3, 2001(2001-10-03) (aged 70) |
| Other names | "The Fox" |
| Occupation | Middle school science teacher |
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James F. Phillips (November 20, 1930 – October 3, 2001) was an American schoolteacher andenvironmental activist who became known in theChicago area during the 1960s for his environmentaldirect action under the pseudonymThe Fox (stylized as 'The F🦊X').
James Phillips was born in Chicago in1930 to Albert and Rose Phillips, one of five children, according to the 1940 U.S. Census[1]
Phillips was employed as a middle school science teacher and later a field inspector for theKane County Environmental Department. In his personal life, he was an avid historical boater who educated and demonstrated native American and early trapper fishing and boating techniques.
Phillips was first motivated in the 1960s to plug asewage outfall after seeing dead ducks in the Fox River.[2] In the following years, his activism included erecting signs criticizingUS Steel, plugging sewer outlets, placing caps on top of smoke stacks, leaving skunks on the doorsteps of the owners ofpolluting companies, and, in one case, transporting 50 pounds of sewage fromLake Michigan into the reception room of the company that had discharged it.[3] His direct action techniques predated those ofGreenpeace and otherenvironmental organizations.
Phillips discovered Armour Dial (Henkel Corporation) had been polluting Mill Creek which emptied into theFox River, which violated a 1962 law that limited the amount of chemicals companies could dump into the surrounding water. Phillips created stickers issuing warnings that read "Armour Dial Kills our Water" or "Armour Dial Pollutes our air". He organized a group to travel to supermarkets around the United States and put these stickers on bars of Dial soap. ColumnistMike Royko called Phillips's attack "the most ambitious anti-pollution prank of his colorful career." The prank started an independent boycott of all Armour-Dial products, and after seven years, the state of Illinois sued Armour Dial's Montgomery plant for violating Illinois pollution standards.[4]
He was radicalized as a founding mentor of theEarth Liberation Front movement[5] after witnessing toxic dumping into the Fox River over decades, polluting the river to near-death. Phillips gained notoriety after dumping a bucket of said toxic waste upon the desk of aStone Container Corporation executive in Chicago. He was rumored to have also plugged drainage pipes from toxic industrial plants from his canoe along the Fox River.[6]
When U.S. Steel adopted the slogan "We're Involved", Phillips erected a 70-foot-long banner that said, "We're Involved in Killing Lake Michigan". He retired in 1986 to start the Fox River Conservation Foundation and was on the board of "Friends of the Fox".[7] Phillips authored an autobiography titledRaising Kane: The Fox Chronicles, explaining his rationale and activism.[8][9] A memorial dedicated to Phillips and his efforts to clean up the Fox River is located in Violet Patch Park on the Fox River inOswego, Illinois. The dedication was held in 2006.[10][11]
Although he never admitted to his role as the Fox, family and friends confirmed this identity.
Reactions to his activism were mixed. David Dominick, Commissioner of the Federal Water Quality Administration, suggested that the Fox's activities represented a challenge as to whether "we, as individuals in a technological society, have the will to control and prevent the degradation of our environment."[12] The police said they would charge the Fox if he were caught, but were unable to do so.[13]
Dick Young, Kane County's first environmental director who helped create Kendall County's forest preserve system said this about him: "Phillips made a difference. The Fox helped change the way we think about our waterways. Scenic bike trails have been built over old railroad tracks along the Fox River". Jim Phillips received the Living Treasures of North America Heritage Award on Earth Day, April 20, 2002. Chicago Reader[14]