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Freeman’s Tasting Festival

Editor’s Note: This story is revised from the March/April 2008 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call 800-456-5117.

Knowing how much food to order for the thousands who attend the family-style dinner served at Freeman’s four-day Schmeckfest isn’t easy. Supplies for one evening include 260 pounds of potatoes, 500 pounds of beef and 2,400 slices of kuchen.

But that’s just part of the grocery list since the menu features green bean soup, noodle soup, fried potatoes, knepf, lettuce”salat” and egg, sauerkraut, stewed beef, sausage, wheat buns, zwiebach, poppyseed rolls and pluma moos. The German dishes are served fresh every night. Leftovers are against the rules of the kitchen.

Schmeckfests, or tasting festivals, are an age-old German tradition. As chairwoman of Freeman’s festival in 2000 and 2007, Joyce Hofer ordered the supplies and supervised the 50 volunteers who feed a thousand people at one meal.”I’ve worked all the years of Schmeckfest in the basement where the meal is served,” she said.”I’ve worked in every capacity in the kitchen and serving food.”

The chairwoman must wear a comfortable pair of shoes. Her day starts at 8 a.m. with food deliveries and ends 14 hours later when the last dish is washed and dried. Experience with German cooking helps, too.”You almost have to know how to cook each dish, so if there’s a question, you can answer it,” Joyce said.

Schmeckfest preparations begin in December, but Joyce has been preparing for it all her life. She grew up on a farm west of Freeman, the granddaughter of German immigrants. Her older sister helped their mother with the housework, but Joyce was a tomboy.”My dad always had me out on the tractor, doing chores, milking, whatever,” she said.

She also learned the German language.”I think we spoke it more often because our grandfather lived with us,” she said.”I got a good part of my German from him.” She wishes more children could do the same.”That is lost now with grandparents living far away, or being in nursing homes,” Joyce said.”I feel it was a real benefit to me.”

She and her siblings spoke German less after starting school. But she and her husband, Ray, find themselves talking German around the house.”If you don’t use it, you lose it,” she said.

Joyce believes German words are more expressive than English. She recalls her mother telling a story about a childhood fight she had with her brother.”It was terribly funny in German, but not so funny in English,” she said.

Will Joyce be working at this year’s Schmeckfest? Absolutely. She believes it encourages young people to get involved in the German culture.”I’m proud of my heritage,” she said.”I want to pass it on and keep it going.”


Schmeckfest in 2012

March 30-31 is the second and final weekend of the 54th annual Schmeckfest. In addition to great German food, the festival features culinary and historical presentations, bake sale and a musical. This year, local actors will perform The Wizard of Oz. Proceeds benefit the Freeman Academy, the local Christian middle and high school.

For more information on Schmeckfest, visit their website or call 605-925-4542.

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Art al Fresco

Editor’s Note: This story is revised from the May/June 1997 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call 800-456-5117.

How many pieces of outdoor sculpture exist in South Dakota? In the early 1990s, when that question was originally asked, the highest estimate was 50 works. By the fall of 1994, volunteers with Save Outdoor Sculpture South Dakota had inventoried nearly 200 pieces. Reviewing the geography of South Dakota’s cache of outdoor monuments, one is struck by the democracy of the phenomenon — they are found in communities ranging from Allen, Bowdle, Bullhead, Epiphany, Marty and Salem to bigger cities like Aberdeen, Mitchell, Rapid City, Sioux Falls and Yankton. Score one for the artistic vitality of South Dakota.

South Dakota is proud of its most celebrated outdoor sculpture, an awareness that has led to serious proposals that the state should call itself “The Monument State.” The Shrine to Democracy at Mount Rushmore and the Crazy Horse Memorial, with their international appeal, have made South Dakota famous for monumental sculpture, and these works dominate our sense of what public sculpture should be.

But to fully understand South Dakota’s heritage of public sculpture, we must revere the more modest works that enrich our parks, campuses and city squares. Despite the hardships of prairie life and the sparseness of population, communities across the state began early to mark their benefactors, heroes and moments of triumph and tragedy with outdoor sculpture.

Among the oldest outdoor pieces in the state are monuments to valor in war — the Civil War, the Spanish-American War, and World War I. An early example is the 17-foot granite sculpture in Watertown titled “Company H Monument” dedicated in 1902. Located on the Codington County Courthouse lawn, it was erected in memory of soldiers who fought in the Spanish-American War and the Philippine Insurrection of 1899. As is frequently the case with such early statues, the artist is unknown but the piece was erected by the Watertown Monument Works.

Perhaps one of the most dramatic war memorials in the state is “Spirit of the American Doughboy” in Bullhead. This mass-produced metal tribute to those who served in World War I was created by artist E. M. Viquesney in 1920 and erected in 1935. The war memorial was presented by the Hunkpapa Band of the Sioux Nation. There are at least 138 life-size copies of “The Spirit of the American Doughboy” in 35 states, but few presented with such attention to setting.

Other outdoor sculptures were inspired by important community leaders, like the six-foot stone sculpture of General John A. Logan at the South Dakota State Veterans’ Home in Hot Springs. General Logan served in the Civil War and was the third Commander-in-Chief of the Grand Army of the Republic, the Civil War’s Veterans’ Association.

The number of South Dakota’s public sculptures grew with the Works Progress Administration (WPA) during the Depression. The concrete and stone “Dinosaur Park” in Rapid City is an example of this, as are the various concrete and stone works in Chamberlain.

Following the Second World War, a new generation of academic and professional artists began to work in the state on an ever-increasing number of public and corporate commissions. Assisted by a vital public arts movement invested largely in the newly-formed South Dakota Arts Council, the 1970s saw the beginning of an explosion in public sculpture. Across the state, sculptors like Michael Tuma and Dale Lamphere made reputations for themselves in the area of public monuments. Lamphere’s 1991 seven-foot, seven-inch bronze and granite work “Citadel”is an excellent example of the vitality of public art in South Dakota.

In addition, there are always those very special artistic spirits who, moved by the moment or by a sense of fun, create immediate expressions of joyous perception. Often considered the amateur, these artists fit the essence of the definition — one who does for love. South Dakota is blessed with a tradition of the folk sculptor who creates for the joy it gives him and the people who see his work. Today, new talents are emerging in South Dakota, who continue to capture our history and culture, our momentous events, and our aesthetic musings for public reflection and celebration.


Outdoor Art Today

Outdoor art has experienced a resurgence since this story was originally written in 1997. Here’s a few of the communities in which you can take in fresh air and great art.

  • SculptureWalk Sioux Falls adds art appreciation to the Phillips Avenue shopping experience.
  • Rapid City is now the City of Presidents, with bronzes of our nation’s past leaders.
  • RiverWalk sculptures grace downtown Yankton and Riverside Park.
  • Pierre is developing its Trail of Governors, which will feature life-size statues of South Dakota’s chief executives
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Love Letter From Grant County

Katharina Redlin was the widow of a German officer when Allied Troops occupied Munich in 1945. Already starving, she thought she would be assaulted and killed. Instead, the American troops persuaded her that she was safe and they delivered groceries for her and her child.

The U.S. troops told her she should come to the United States for a better life, but she needed a sponsor so she participated in a program that helped young women find sponsorships and possible husbands. The pretty brunette’s photograph appeared in a St. Paul, Minn., newspaper and soon her Munich mailbox was overflowing. As she sorted the letters, she was charmed by a note from Alfred Redlin, a Summit, S.D., farmer who said he would build her a house and send her son to college.

They met at the New York harbor, where Alfred told her he’d rented two rooms and that she didn’t have to marry him to stay in the U.S. They married in Dell Rapids on the way home to Summit. Alfred proved to be a loving husband, and the Norwegian farmer appreciated his German bride’s good cooking. Katharina loved farm life, and especially enjoyed tending the Redlins’ popular purebred Hereford herd. They had two children together and were married 46 years, together until Alfred’s death in 1999.

Editor’s Note: This story was taken from “Here We Are: A Sampling of South Dakotans”, which originally appeared in the January/February 2010 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call us at 1-800-456-5117.

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Staging Comebacks

Citizens gathered at Yankton’s opera house in the city’s early years. Photo courtesy of the Dakota Theatre.


Editor’s Note:
This story is revised from the March/April 1997 issue of
South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call 800-456-5117.

The manager of the touring acting company peered out from behind the curtain. It was a cold and windy January day in Scotland, S.D., and his actors grumbled nobody would show up for their performance. The manager smiled at the sight of a full house. The happiness faded, however, when he looked out later. The crowd had taken off their heavy winter jackets and the house was, in fact, only half full.

This story notwithstanding, actors played to full houses all over South Dakota between 1880 and 1920, the golden age of opera houses. Nearly every city in South Dakota boasted one. “Opera house” was preferred to the term “theatre” because the former sounded more cultured. Opera houses showcased live theatre from either touring groups or local talent. Their multi-purpose stages also saw bands, lectures, minstrels and vaudevillian shows. Most importantly, they promoted civic pride and camaraderie in the hard times of settling a new state.

Now, a century after most opera houses were built, these buildings are regaining their former stature as integral parts of many S.D. towns. “Opera houses tell so much about who we were and who we are,” said Gale Ries, former chairman of Watertown’s Goss Opera House restoration committee. “We worked diligently building them long ago. Now we work hard trying to preserve them.”

Opera houses ranked with general stores and schools as important buildings in early South Dakota. Like the others, the opera house provided unique services. The entire city received entertainment and culture from these theatres. Civic boosters quickly recognized the correlation between good entertainment and attracting settlers. Jeff Logan, owner of movie theaters in Mitchell, Huron and Dell Rapids, noted that, “because South Dakota was largely settled by the railroad, people arrived with ideas of culture already implanted. They wouldn’t wait to have it, either.” If one town didn’t have a good opera house, another town down the line certainly did.

Local businessmen built most opera houses on the second and third stories of buildings with a business on the ground floor. Downtown real estate costs ran high, even then. It made sense to double the use of a large building. This way, if the theatre took a loss, the rest of the building still covered the rent.

The most popular second use for the hardwood floors of opera houses was as roller skating rinks. The sport swept the nation in the mid 1880s. Many roller skating rinks opened with the intention of switching to theatres once the fad diminished.

Most touring actors loved their craft and life on the road. Still, many balked at coming to South Dakota. It fell in an area called the Circle. One actor explained his reluctance in a poem. It went:

“I love to be an actor, and travel with a show.
But I do not crave the Circle when it’s 34 below.”

The troupes that did come learned to adapt. The most durable company, the M & M Show, built a lower tent. It sat underneath the wind, and avoided the common complaint of tents blowing away. They dubbed it their “South Dakota tent.” Another company hauled thick particle board around the state. It reinforced the tent quite nicely until a bad hail storm blasted holes through it; they never returned.

In all fairness, it must be noted South Dakota weather, then as now, cannot overshadow South Dakota people. The actors who braved the weather returned with many fond stories of appreciative, sturdy settlers who traveled miles through the worst weather to watch performances. During the bleak winter of 1888 several communities staged “Blizzard Blockades.” In northeast South Dakota, this required digging tunnels for the audience to enter the theatre.

Although weather remained the most visible aspect of South Dakota theatre, the railroad proved the most important. By 1881, a web of metal lines linked every major city east of the Missouri. West River development happened several years later. Because of the Black Hills gold rush, settlers arrived in western South Dakota long before the railroad. Almost overnight, towns sprang up from mining and supply camps.

With towns came opera houses. Before late 1890, when the first train arrived in Deadwood, actors braved unknown land and the higher cost of stagecoach travel to reach the Hills. Actors who came stayed for a while. One such actor was Jack Langrishe, the most famous name in Deadwood theatre. His acting company lasted over a decade in the town. Langrishe faced the constant challenge of varying his repertoire. In the east, troupes knew only a couple plays. The entertainment changed when the railroad carried in new actors with new plays. His company sometimes performed five different plays in one week.

The gold rush attracted a raucous crowd to the opera house. These gamblers, prospectors and outlaws did not limit their criticism to unenthusiastic applause. The most famous derogatory review came from the renowned Calamity Jane at the play “East Lynne.” Charles E. Chopin, a child actor during those years, wrote of his experiences years later.

Chopin recalled that “she and ‘Arkansaw Bill,’ a famous stage robber, occupied front seats. Calamity dolled up for the occasion in a corduroy suit and sombrero and appeared particularly vain of her green kid gloves. Soon as she was comfortably settled, she bit a chunk of tobacco and chewed as industriously as any miner throughout the evening. She and her escort clapped in noisy appreciation until Lady Isabel eloped with Sir Francis and then Calamity showed her disapproval of the erring wife’s conduct by marching down to the footlights and squirting a stream of tobacco juice over the front of Lady Isabel’s pink satin evening gown.”

A fight nearly broke out when Mr. Lord protested the insult to his wife. Only after Calamity Jane tossed a handful of gold coins onto the stage to pay for the damages did the actors continue the performance. Chopin recalled that thereafter, “she chewed her cud in courteous silence.”

Citizens of the Hills loved theater. After Deadwood burned twice, and once after being destroyed by a flood, the opera houses were rebuilt even before houses.

Part of the Spearfish Arts Center, the Matthews Opera House is home to the local community theatre.

Traveling companies in the east benefited from cheap and easy railroad transportation. Troupes employed more actors and more elaborate sets. Both commanded larger audiences, because both created larger spectacles. Acting companies often faced hardships arising from railroad inconsistency, however. In the rush to make the end of the line, engineers often bypassed several towns if they were not required to stop. This wreaked havoc with play bookings.

The actors wised up quickly. They started carrying around a single pig, but not for any theatrical purpose. Federal regulations forced railroads to pick up livestock. So, the manager placed the pig in full view on the platform. The engineer stopped, and the troupe made their next booking.

Temperance and moralistic dramas endured longer than any other performances. Plays like “Ten Nights in a Bar Room” and “Victims of the Bottle” championed the rising sentiments of prohibition.

The most popular of all was “Uncle Tom’s Cabin.” In 1902, 50 years after its premiere, no fewer than 16 troupes toured with that play alone. These “Tom shows” compensated for their lack of originality by adding unrelated tricks. Minstrels sang during intermission. Actors broke character to tell recent jokes. Real blood hounds chased down slaves. Willa Cather remarked on one show she saw in her youth that, “The barking of these dogs used to make us catch our breath!”

Unfortunately, most South Dakota opera houses have been lost. The advent of “talkies” ended the age of touring live theatre. Most changed to show movies. Many more sat dormant over the years; fire claimed some. Water damage and neglect relegated others to “condemned” status. The wrecker’s ball moved in quickly in the name of progress. Still, many opera houses survived. They are seeds for a rebirth of live theatre in South Dakota. Citizens are using modern technology and old-fashioned elbow grease to restore them to their former status.

Success stories come from all over the state. Lead’s Homestake Opera House was resurrected following a fire in 1984. The Goss Opera House in Watertown sat empty for 40 years, but now hosts concerts, weddings and special events and houses Charley’s Restaurant, galleries featuring local artists, and a coffee shop. The Grand Opera House of Dell Rapids has been restored to 1888-style splendor. Community theatre troupes in Pierre, Aberdeen, Sioux Falls, Spearfish and Yankton all found homes in their local opera houses. Restoration provides a wonderful mix of historic preservation and modern utility. The building’s availability alleviates booking concerns and sometimes provides a headquarters for day-to-day operations.

Just as the opera house stage held many functions, the buildings themselves possessed several connotations. What occurred within those walls reflected people’s social values and personal needs. Attend a summer performance, and one could well watch a melodrama upon a serious political topic. During the winter, the same stage could host a farcical comedy to help settlers forget about the bitter cold. Their purpose bordered between economic and social, but ideology flowed throughout. They symbolized the childlike dreams of South Dakota and hopes for the future. A century later, people are discovering opera houses still speak for South Dakota as it looks forward from adolescence into adulthood, and takes with it the best things of a previous age.

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High in the Saddle

Wall’s Galen Wallum paints a vanishing breed

Editor’s Note: This story is revised from the September/October 2000 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call 800-456-5117.

Maybe it’s in the water. First the tiny town of Manchester produced South Dakota’s favorite son artist, Harvey Dunn. By age 14, long before he’d heard of his famous predecessor, Wallum was selling paintings at his Uncle Donne’s gas station.

His early years were on a farm a mile south of the little Kingsbury County town.”When I was a kid we raised corn and wheat and sheep and cattle and hogs. We worked seven days a week. I asked my dad for a half day off one time and he had a mouthful of mashed potatoes and it looked like a blizzard.”

When Wallum was 13 the house blew up. The family moved to Wallum Corner, and Galen enrolled in Iroquois High School, which he would eventually finish,”under duress. If I ever get far enough ahead to write a book,” he said,”it will be ‘How Six Years of High School Finally Paid Off.'”

The year the house burned down, Galen’s uncle Deonne encouraged him to start painting. Galen had done a paint-by-numbers he got for Christmas, but decided he could do better on his own. His first medium was barn paint on plywood.”It was latex paint,” he said.”The paintings were kind of crude, but one is still holding up on the tailgate of a junk trailer. At least they dried in a hurry. I could sell them the next day.”

And sell them he did. Deonne Wallum peddled Galen’s first works at the service station for $4.

“I feel I’m painting the last of the old cowboys out there, the real good ones,” says Wallum.

After a year on a helicopter in Vietnam, Wallum was discharged in Oklahoma. There he studied commercial art at Okmulgee Tech, and he’s been a full-time artist ever since.

From the beginning Wallum painted what he knew and loved: cowboys and horses and western scenes.”I feel I’m painting the last of the old cowboys out there, the real good ones. They’re vanishing fast. You don’t see real cowboys much anymore. Cowboys these days may be riding four-wheelers.”

He found a market for his work at shows in Arizona. And there he met a woman who”showed me more in three days than I ever learned in art school,” technical details like variations in brushes and how to mix paints. He’s worked with oils ever since.

For a while he sold most of his work in Arizona, but two galleries went broke and his paintings disappeared. By then he had connections to sell more of his work to private collectors.

For 17 years Wallum painted on his ranch south of Tulsa. Then in 1991 his wife died of cancer, and he brought their two younger daughters home to South Dakota because he thought this would be a better place for them. Lured to the majesty of the Badlands, they settled in Wall. Both girls worked as teenagers at Wall Drug.

Galen never lived again at Wallum Corner, but he did transport parts of Wallum Corner to Wall. He tore down the old corrals and hauled the lumber home to recycle as frames for paintings and paneling for his studios.

Now that the girls are grown, friends are tugging Wallum one way and another, he said, to Arizona or Montana. But he wants to stay in western South Dakota, because that’s where he finds the people he needs to paint. And except on occasional commissions, he restricts himself to depicting cowboy life.

“I stay away from painting Indians and cavalry and mountain men,” he said.”There’s a thousand things you can paint in cowboy life. The old-style cowboy was always on the move. He works on one ranch awhile, and maybe he has a little falling out and he moves on up the line, but maybe later they’ll need him back there again. The old cowboy is a different breed.”

Wallum knows first-hand the life he paints.”We always had cows and horses when I was growing up, so I just picked it up. These old guys are a lot better than me, but I’m a fair horseman and cowboy. When they get short-handed they still call me up.” Shaggy mustache and sunburnt hide, Wallum looks the part. With a coat of dust on his black felt hat and a little manure on his boots, he would blend in with the old timers.

Besides roping and painting ropers, Wallum invented a practice roper.”The bugs are finally out of it,” he said.”It’s made of square tubing. You sit on it like a rocking horse, with a plastic head that rolls out on a wheel, and you rope it. If you miss, gravity brings it back. It even has legs in case you want to throw a heel loop.”

Wallum even built a stagecoach. He had sold paintings to Marriott Hotels, so he asked them to sponsor his stage in the South Dakota Centennial Wagon Train in 1989. Even though they had no hotels in the state, they finally agreed to back him for the summer, and then they bought the coach. He also drove a cavalry wagon for the film”Dances with Wolves,” and raced a wagon in”Far and Away,” a movie about the 1892 land run in Oklahoma.

The constant need to market his work keeps Wallum on the road more than he’d like, sometimes to shows and sometimes to peddle his work to specific clients. His paintings are mostly 24×36-inch scenes of roundups and branding and ranch chores in rain and snow and every kind of weather, every task in cowboy life, plus the loafing that sometimes follows a job. And always horses. Framed, Wallum’s canvases start at $1,500.”You have to take the paintings where the money is,” he said.

Wallum’s marketing strategy, learned early in his career in Oklahoma, is a bit unorthodox. It’s direct, and often effective.”I had arrangements to display paintings in a couple of steakhouses where I knew the big oil men came late in the evening,” he said.”I’d come in on Friday and Saturday nights and switch paintings while they were there. It was a good trick. Otherwise they probably wouldn’t have paid much attention to my work.”

“The other trick I’ve learned is that if anybody ever opens their mouth and wants to buy a painting I move in with them,” he chuckled.”They have to buy one to move me on down the road. But actually I have a lot of repeat customers, and that’s always nice.”

The constants in Galen Wallum’s paintings are cowboys and horses.

None of his work has been reproduced; every painting is one of a kind. But now that he feels better established, he’s considering selling prints of a few of his best.

“I figure I’ve done close to 2,000 paintings in 41 years,” Wallum said.”I used to really crank them out, sometimes three or four a night. They were awful weak back then. I found that it’s better to take your time.” Wallum produces about 30 oil paintings a year. Even at that pace, along with marketing, he’s a busy man.

“Lock me in a room and I can paint,” he said, but it works best if I have references, models or good photographs.” He sketches only a basic outline before he paints, because”sketching will make your eyes burn like crazy.” He usually has two paintings going at once, which he calls”sister paintings.” He moves from one to the other as he adjusts his colors.

Though working on commission limits his freedom more than he likes, Wallum occasionally does paint what other people conceive.”If somebody brings me something they want done I tear into it and get it done and make them happy,” he said.”An advantage is that you learn some discipline along lines you might not normally tackle.” And that’s good for an artist, he says.”If you get locked into something because it sells and just keep repeating yourself, that’s kind of risky business.”

What does the future hold for Galen Wallum?”I don’t know. I hope I can keep painting ’til my last days,” he said.”That way I won’t have to get a job. I’ve always avoided that.”

Wallum says he can paint cowboy life because he’s lived it. He knows if a painting feels right.”I try not to romanticize this life. I’ve seen a lot of old cowboys all banged up, and I knew I wanted to quit cowboying before I got like that. But I’ve been there. I can paint a picture of an old man pulling a calf on a snowy day and I can do it pretty accurate.”

Galen Wallum knows that his particular realism will one day be nostalgia, as the life he memorializes fades into the sunset.”And it’s coming on fast,” he says. But right now, on the plains and in the Badlands of South Dakota, the last of the old cowboys still live ó in the saddle, and on Galen Wallum’s canvas.

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The Wheat Ritual

Teams of combines often assemble to harvest the sprawling fields of Sully County, easily the wheat capital of South Dakota. Farmers there generally plant more than 230,000 acres of wheat. In 2007 they grew 10.5 million bushels. Photo by Dave Tunge.

Dakota Wheat Field

By Hamlin Garland

Like liquid gold the wheat-field lies,
A marvel of yellow and russet and green,

That ripples and runs, that floats and flies,
With the subtle shadows, the change, the sheen,

That play in the golden hair of a girl, –
A ripple of amber — a flare

Of light sweeping after — a curl
In the hollows like swirling feet
Of fairy waltzers, the colors run

To the western sun
Through the deeps of the ripening wheat.

Wheat is just dark bread to most Americans, but it encompasses history, geography and a way of life for thousands of South Dakota farm families who harvest 3.5 million acres in summer rituals that connect us to the very first homesteaders.

The grain harvest was once a community event, as families joined forces for the labor-intense binding, shocking and threshing. Today, lone farmers race across wheat fields in gleaming and computerized five-ton metal combines with GPS systems and air conditioned cabs that harvest more than 100 acres on a good day, but the principle remains the same as when the work was done by hands and horses.

Modern combines eliminate much of the toil and tedium from the wheat harvest. Still, a flurry of activity can be seen in farm country as the heads ripen and droop with grain.

“Like liquid gold the wheat field lies,” wrote pioneer Hamlin Garland, a Dakota homesteader who later became a popular American novelist. Garland found farm life tedious, but he appreciated the beauty of a ripening wheat field and the bounty that it represents.

West River cowboys and city residents who haven’t experienced the appeal of harvest might compare it to the satisfaction of the last day of a good school year, to the serenity of a hike in some quiet woods, or to the success of a roundup when every cow and calf is accounted for.

Cultivation of wheat began 10,000 years ago when the Neolithic people of Asia began to replant wild grasses and collect the seeds for food. European emigrants brought seeds overseas. Today 10 percent of the world’s 22 billion bushel wheat crop is grown in the United States, mostly in the six prairie states that stretch from the Dakotas to Texas. South Dakotans raise and harvest about 76 million bushels every summer.

Corn, soybeans and cattle are economically more significant statewide, but wheat is still king to some farmers in north central South Dakota. John O. Overby homesteaded in Spink County near Northville in 1883, and then moved to a farm east of Mellette in 1886. He and his wife raised five sons who became wheat farmers. Overbys have lived in the same farmhouses and planted the same fields for five generations.

“When they first came here, wheat was the predominant crop,” says Glenn Overby, today’s patriarch.”Of course everybody had some livestock but wheat was the big cash crop into the 1940s.”

Humans have been planting and harvesting wheat for 10,000 years. Glenn Overby was raised in a family that was devoted to perfecting wheat and other aspects of farm and ranch life.

The Overby brothers owned an Avery threshing machine.”It took 12 bundle racks to keep it going with spike pitchers,” Glenn says.”We had a cook car in the yard. Can you imagine all the bread they had to bake and all the chickens they had to butcher to just feed the workers?”

Tom Kilian, a longtime Sioux Falls educator and conservationist, grew up on a Miner County farm where threshing was a summer highlight. In his 2007 book Old Days on the Prairie, Kilian recalled the quick pace.”All the tasks were performed as fast as possible and this provided opportunity for the more macho of the young farm hands to demonstrate muscle,” he wrote.”Who could load and unload the fastest? Who could get out to the field, load up and come back the quickest, driving the most spirited horses? And who could do those things with flair and careless energy so as to stand out in the group?”

Despite the size and speed of today’s combines, a sense of urgency still surrounds the harvest. Any change in the weather — wind, rain or hail — might dramatically decrease the yield. Though a field may be golden brown and heavy with heads of grain, farmers don’t consider it a success until it is harvested and hauled to the safety of a steel bin either on the farm or at a local elevator.

Even then, there’s the question of price. Wheat milling, like meat-packing and other food processing industries, has experienced massive consolidations in the last half-century. More than 1,200 mills competed to buy wheat in the heydays of the 1940s; today fewer than 400 operate, and they are generally located near metropolitan populations far from the prairie wheat fields. That leaves farmers dependent on the vagaries of a less-competitive market, and also on the resourcefulness of the railroads to move the grain out-of-state.

Despite such uncertainties, South Dakota farmers carry on the 10,000-year human tradition of planting and harvesting wheat. The Overbys have always exemplified the determination to continue our wheat-growing ways.

Glenn’s dad, John, wanted better yields and more consistent quality. He had a South Dakota farmer’s healthy aversion to the commercial seed companies so he experimented for decades with his own seed plots. He kept extensive records, handwritten in pencil.

“Creating a new wheat variety is a long process,” says Glenn, who has all the record books, as well as an understanding and appreciation for what his dad accomplished.”First, one needs a vision to pick the varieties that have the qualities wanted in the new plant. Wheat has both male and female parts in each kernel’s blossom so it is self-pollinating. Before the female blossom is mature the three male antlers must be removed by opening the hull with a tweezers to take them out,” he says.”Several days later, when the male blossom ripens the pollen sacs are transferred by tweezers to the female blossom. When the pollen is mature it is only viable for about five minutes so timing is critical.”

His dad cross-pollinated up to 100 different plants a year using 10 to 15 kernels each. The selection process occurred when he planted the hybrid plant the next year. It took between seven and 10 years for him to get enough grain to just do a milling and baking test.

The Mellette farmer-scientist had only an eighth grade education but he learned agronomy from reading books.”Dad was interested in getting a better variety for himself and his neighbors,” said Glenn.”He wasn’t interested in starting a big business. He wanted a high protein wheat with a strong stalk that didn’t shatter or shell out too easily, was drought resistant and disease resistant.”

The work was so exacting that he insisted on doing it personally, but the entire family lived with the experiments.”When he harvested he would pull the wheat stalk out by the roots because he wanted to see how the root was growing. He would tie a single row into a bundle and 20 rows into a larger bundle. In two rooms upstairs, he stored the bundles, threshed each row in a box with a wood block, weighed, recorded notes, evaluated and decided which to continue crossing or discard for the next year.”

He devoted 50 years, often on his knees with a tweezer, to improve the tradition of growing wheat …

John Overby started his experiments in 1915 and by 1928 he was selling his own variety, Marvel Wheat, for $2 a bushel. Because of Marvel’s high protein and test weight it sometimes sold for 50 cents more per bushel than other kinds of wheat.

The part-time plant breeder developed another variety known as Spinkcota and gradually he attracted loyal customers. Glenn helped his father clean wheat seed and loaded it for customers. He remembers when the well-known Asmussens of Agar became the first farmers to buy more than 100 bushels.”We loaded their truck and took it to the Mellette elevator to weigh and then they stayed for lunch,” he says.

Farmers believed Spinkcota had higher yields and was better suited to the South Dakota soil than its corporate competition. Ralph Sorensen, the Spink County extension agent in the 1940s, became a believer and he got the attention of Darrell Wells and other plant scientists at South Dakota State College in Brookings.

When academic researchers reported at a Minneapolis milling and baking conference that Spinkcota was not a favorite among commercial bakers, Sorensen retorted that the South Dakota seed had endured the 1953 rust epidemic better than the competition and that farmers were developing quite a liking to the variety.

As Overby was nearing the end of his career, he witnessed the beginning of what is now called the green revolution. Wheat yields doubled in the 1960s and 1970s due to an expansion of modern farming practices, better seed varieties and the use of chemical fertilizers and pesticides. A leader of the movement was Norman Borlaug, an Iowa-born scientist who — like Overby — saw farming as a way to improve the world.

Ruth and Glenn Overby (far right) live in the house where Glenn’s father experimented with wheat varieties. Pictured with them are their son, Philip, his wife, Linda, and grandson A.J., who represents a fifth generation on the same farm.

Overby grew test plots even as an old man, and he continued to gain respect from both his neighbors and the agricultural community. In 1962 the Brentford Congregational Church held a John Overby Appreciation Banquet. Charles Croes, the first leader of the South Dakota Wheatgrowers Cooperative, was one of the dignitaries who came to pay tribute.”Probably one of man’s most tragic shortcomings down through the ages has been his lack of interest in doing something for the benefit of his fellow man, his neighbor, without being first assured that he would profit money-wise for the doing,” Croes said.”The richer reward, the knowledge that his action has helped his fellow man, has been all too often overlooked, given second place or lost entirely.”

Not John Overby, however. He devoted 50 years, often on his knees with a tweezer in his fingers, to improving a South Dakota wheat-growing tradition that was in its infancy during his lifetime.

Glenn and his wife, Ruth, live on the farm where the test plots were raised and bundles were stored and inspected. They have all of John Overby’s journals and records, and many of his tools and memorabilia.

Their son, Philip and his wife, Linda, live just across the grove of trees. Philip farms the land today, with help from Linda and their son, A.J., who studies agriculture at SDSU and represents the fifth generation of Overbys to harvest wheat in Spink County.

“In many ways it’s the same even though the equipment has changed,” Glenn says, as he watches Philip cross a field in a combine that moves like a ship at sea, only noisier and dustier. The sky over Spink County is a deep blue, contrasting with the golden wheat stalks and green corn in the neighboring field.

The land here is so flat that you can see another combine a mile away, sailing above its own square sea of wheat. Nothing is certain in life, but the Spink County wheat harvest has become a predictable summer rite thanks to families like the Overbys who have tended to both the land and the custom.


Overby Inventions Exhibited at SDSU

John Overby’s creative mind roamed well beyond plant breeding. He and his brothers invented several farm improvements, and some can be seen at the State Agricultural Heritage Museum in Brookings.

Curator Dawn Stephens says the Overby inventions include a windmill regulator, a stock waterer, a contraption that mounted on the wheel of an automobile to harvest small grains and, naturally, a better mouse trap.

Stephens assisted the Overby family in producing a documentary,”John Overby: Wheat Breeding Methods,” that can be purchased for $15 at the museum (or by phone at 688-5904).”He and his brothers were very inventive. I can’t believe the things they thought to make,” she says.”And they were not afraid to voice their opinions and stand up for what they believed in. They worked hard to make farming life better.”

The ag museum, located on the South Dakota State University campus, also has antique wheat harvest equipment such as a Norwegian hand crank thresher, an 1890 Case Agitator with original paint, a Massey combine, an IH grain binder and a 1915 John Deere hay press that still works.

The museum staff will play the Overby film for visitors upon request.

Editor’s Note: This story is revised from the July/August 2009 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call 800-456-5117.

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Saving Their Language

Speakers try to revive Lakota and Dakota before they disappear

Red Cloud Elementary School teacher Fred Stands helps third-graders learn Lakota.


Albert White Hat spoke Lakota for the first 16 years of his life, but that ended the day he walked into the Jesuit-run boarding school in St. Francis on the Rosebud Indian Reservation.”I came from a community where we sang and danced and did everything in our language,” White Hat recalls.”I walked in that institution and my peers were making fun of us, the ones from the country, for being big Indians, savages. And they were all Indian kids. Many years later I found out they had been in that institution since they were 5. By the time they were teenagers they were conditioned to deny their Indian heritage.”

That was in the early 1950s, the decade in which the Lakota language began disappearing. Today just 14 percent of Indians living on reservations in North Dakota and South Dakota speak Lakota, according to 2000 census figures. And estimates suggest the number has dropped another 25 percent in the last eight years.

Lakota’s official status is”endangered,” according to David Rood, a professor and linguist at the University of Colorado in Boulder and the country’s leading Lakota scholar. There are between 8,000 and 9,000 speakers, but they are growing older. In 1993 the average age of Lakota speakers was about 50. Today it is 65. In those 18 years, fewer children learned Lakota. When fluent elders die, there are no speakers to replace them.”The transmission is broken,” Rood says.

That perilous situation has prompted a movement to create a new generation of Lakota speakers. In South Dakota, Lakota is spoken by seven tribes who live on the Pine Ridge, Rosebud, Cheyenne River, Standing Rock and Lower Brule reservations. Dakota, which is closely related to Lakota, is spoken on East River reservations and is split into two dialects — Santee (Sisseton) and Yankton. Most serious preservation efforts occurred in the last 15 years. In the 1990s several tribal councils adopted resolutions declaring Lakota their official language and required schools to teach it. But White Hat has been trying to save the language for nearly 60 years.

He was raised at Spring Creek, a small community of five or six families on the Rosebud. Children learned Lakota ways, and spent winter evenings listening to storytellers explain Lakota history, culture and spirituality using the Lakota language. But in the early 1950s the tribe adopted the state’s education standards, which said nothing about Lakota studies. When his children started school in the Todd County district in the late 1960s, White Hat lobbied for a Lakota language and history program.

Albert White Hat, Lakota speaker and instructor.

“They really gave me a bad time,” he says.”None of them would accept it. They laughed at me. Finally in 1970, they said, ‘You can have a half an hour during noon hour to play your tape and dance.'”

Soon White Hat was teaching Lakota studies part time at St. Francis and Sinte Gleska University, which opened in 1971, even though he knew little about teaching. He had no books and learned how to formulate lesson plans from colleagues. The university hired him full time in 1983.

The Lakota Language Consortium’s goal is to make children on Dakota reservations fluent in Lakota by eighth grade. The consortium, headquartered at the University of Indiana, formed in 2004 when schools on the Pine Ridge reservation teamed with the university to preserve Lakota. The organization helps train teachers and provides textbooks, materials and assessment. The immediate focus is on Native children, but they also work with schools in Rapid City and Sioux Falls. Executive director Wilhelm Meya hopes it fosters reconciliation.

“A lot of people over the last 30 or 40 years have been going through the schools and coming out when they’re 18 and not knowing the language. And they’re very disappointed about that,” says Meya, a native of Austria who became the first non-Indian to earn a Lakota studies degree at Oglala Lakota College.”They’ve been told every day to be proud to be Lakota, but no one ever taught them to speak it. So there’s a frustration there.”

There are plenty of children to teach. Lakota and Dakota people are among the fastest growing populations in the country. In 2000 the population was around 100,000 with half under 18, and it could reach 160,000 by 2025.

In addition to textbooks, the consortium produces audio CDs and flash cards. Staff test more than 6,000 children every fall and spring and monitor progress by reading reports from people like Sacheen Whitetail Cross, tribal education manager for the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe.

Standing Rock plunged into a language revitalization program in 2007. The tribe spent $108,000 on teaching materials for six of the reservation’s nine public, grant and parochial schools and organized the first Lakota Summer Institute, a three-week course in which K-12 Lakota teachers learn new activities and methods.

Whitetail Cross organizes the institute and keeps tabs on students. She’s also developing Lakota language games.”I get so excited when I see kids speaking,” she says.”Right now it’s mostly high school students, but I can’t wait to see the young ones begin to use it. It is going to be so empowering to them.”

Revitalization is important on all reservations, but particularly on Standing Rock. Only 13 percent of its residents speak Lakota, the second lowest of South Dakota’s West River reservations behind Lower Brule (4 percent). Cheyenne River has 18 percent, followed by Rosebud (21 percent) and Pine Ridge (26 percent).

Fewer people on East River reservations speak Dakota. The Lake Traverse reservation has just 6 percent, Yankton 10 percent and Crow Creek 12 percent. Diane Merrick, a teacher at Marty Indian School and Ihanktonwan Community College on the Yankton reservation, says most Dakota speakers there (a little over 200 people) have limited knowledge of the language. She estimates only 28 people on the reservation are fluent.

“You get a little excited and nervous,” Merrick says about her language’s tenuous situation.”Language is very central to who we are. It’s a part of our cultural identity. Reaching out in any way we can with our language is very important.”

Merrick coordinates the Dakota language program at Marty and has taught at the college for 12 years, though she never planned on teaching. She has a degree in alcohol and drug abuse studies, but because she is one of the few remaining fluent Dakota speakers in the area, the college asked if she would teach the language. Merrick grew up in a traditional Dakota family on the reservation. Dakota was her first language until her family moved to Yankton when she was 6. She also offers online Dakota language lessons through the Native American Community Women’s Resource Center in Lake Andes (www.nativeshop.org).

Her main focus is teaching elementary students. Every day, students in kindergarten through fifth grade receive a 30-minute language lesson that covers basics like colors, days of the week and months. There is also a morning meditation, flag song and greeting. During the summer Merrick leads an immersion school for children ages 3 to 5. When those children enter Marty elementary, they are a step ahead.”We have a lot of hope that those are the kids who will work toward fluency,” she says.

“I came from a community where we sang and danced and did everything in our language. I walked in that institution and my peers were making fun of us, the ones from the country, for being big Indians, savages.”

Parents are appreciative and often motivated to learn Dakota by enrolling in her college-level Dakota classes.”Many times students will say they just need the four credits to graduate,” Merrick says.”More and more the students are parents and young people who really want to learn their language. It’s important to them.”

In addition to tribal efforts, Leonard Little Finger hopes students will soon attend his private Lakota language immersion school near Oglala on the Pine Ridge reservation. Little Finger dedicated the Sacred Hoop School (Cangleska Wakan Owayawa) last summer.

“It’s a dedication to the ancestry that I come from,” says Little Finger, a co-founder of the Lakota Language Consortium.”It also honors my heritage.” Little Finger’s great-great-grandfather was Chief Big Foot, a signer of the 1868 Fort Laramie Treaty and leader of the band killed at the Wounded Knee Massacre in December 1890. His grandfather, John Little Finger, survived the massacre by hiding in a ravine. He settled on land where the Sacred Hoop School now stands.

Little Finger grew up on Pine Ridge. He left to attend school and work for the Indian Health Service in Aberdeen, but he returned after the 1973 Wounded Knee occupation.”Nobody wanted to come down to Pine Ridge as an administrator,” he says.”I was from there, and my folks still lived there, so I decided to come back.”

After he retired in 1995, Little Finger joined the language revitalization movement.”Since my first language was Lakota, I felt that whatever years were left of my life I would spend teaching in a regular school,” he says.”But I found that the type of teaching that was needed to transfer a language was not possible, particularly because of the No Child Left Behind Act. So reluctantly I had to go on a private basis.”

He raised money to build the school with help from German musician Peter Maffay and Apache singer Robby Romero. Mission of Love, a Youngstown, Ohio, organization dedicated to helping the world’s poorest regions, gathered discounted or donated building materials.

Lakota has been spoken by people in North America for over 3,000 years. When the Pilgrims arrived in 1620, hundreds of Native languages flourished across the continent. Only a dozen, including Lakota, survived the westward European advancement and are considered viable today. Studies show that starting in 1954 more Lakota children learned English as a first language than Lakota.”Something happened in that post war era that convinced enough parents that there was no future in getting the kids to speak Lakota,” Meya says.

The federal government is partly to blame. During the 1950s the government reversed its Indian policy. After 20 years of measures designed to let Indians plot their own futures, highlighted by the Indian Reorganization Act of 1934, the Eisenhower administration adopted a termination policy. The government sought to end tribal benefits while assimilating Indians into white society.”It was acceptable to say, ‘We live in an English-speaking world. We might as well join,'” Little Finger says.”That was the frame of mind that young parents were picking up.”

As teachers try to restore Lakota’s vitality, they are fortunate that the language is fairly easy to pick up. Meya says it’s straightforward and sounds like German and Slavic languages, which could explain its popularity in Europe.”Lakota is something that people who like to learn languages find relatively easy to learn,” Meya says.”There’s great worldwide interest in the language, and that helps support it. In terms of international use of any Native American language, it is the language that most people want to learn, and we like to encourage that.”

The Lakota alphabet includes 25 characters and 14 digraphs, which are two-letter combinations that represent specific sounds. Linguist Rood calls Lakota a”verb last” language, meaning the sentence structure follows a subject-object-verb pattern. The language has other unique characteristics. The speaker’s gender determines what words are used. Instead of voice inflections, speakers use words at the ends of sentences to convey emotions.”The difference between surprise and disgust, anger or conciliation, is expressed with actual words,” Rood says.”I’ve got a list of about 30 of those words. I keep finding more of them all the time.”

In 1976 Rood co-wrote the first college level Lakota language textbook, Beginning Lakhota. His book is still widely used because in the last 30 years, few new reference books have appeared.”The stumbling block has always been that there is no standard writing system,” Rood says.”Everybody makes up their own system based on what they’ve heard or seen in religious materials, or what they think they should do because they know how to write English.”

Albert White Hat has worked on standardization since 1973, but he encountered problems in the 1990s as he worked on his textbook, Reading and Writing the Lakota Language. White Hat and Jael Kampfe, a Montana native studying at Yale University, began the project in 1992. Kampfe recorded White Hat’s classes. Then they transcribed and edited them into a 226-page book. He sent the manuscript to three linguists and a host of schools and publishers who offered mixed reviews.

“The language has developed what they call a subculture,” White Hat explains.”Historians and anthropologists use the modern translations, and my work contradicts that. They didn’t want that printed.” One major university press told White Hat that,”folk etymology and oral history are fine, but they’re not recorded so this shouldn’t be printed.” The University of Utah Press finally published his book in 1999 and is widely used.

The Lakota Language Consortium took a major step in standardizing Lakota writing with its New Lakota Dictionary. It contains 20,000 words and definitions, including over 6,000 words that have never appeared in a dictionary, and a 90-page section on grammar. The 3,000″most important” words are highlighted. The book’s introduction discusses the history of the language and lexicography.

Work on the dictionary began in 1985. Its authors consulted over 300 Lakota and Dakota speakers in South Dakota and Minnesota. It is the culmination of nearly 180 years’ worth of efforts to compile Lakota language reference works. The first attempt came from missionary brothers Samuel and Gideon Pond, who collected words among the Santee people in Minnesota in the 1830s. In 1852, missionary Stephen Riggs edited the Grammar and Dictionary of the Dakota Language, and 40 years later, published the Dakota-English Dictionary. John P. Williamson published an English-Dakota dictionary, meant to be a companion to Riggs’ earlier work, in 1902.

Other dictionaries followed in the 20th century. These, and the earlier works, all had faults. In some cases authors simply took words from English dictionaries and had Indians translate them. That process was hit-and-miss because some English words have no Lakota equivalent, resulting in new Lakota words created specifically for the dictionary. Another problem was that authors failed to distinguish between such nuances as aspirated and hard stops, which hindered written development of the language.

South Dakota native Ella Deloria did some of the best work. Growing up on the Yankton and Standing Rock reservations, Deloria learned Lakota and the Yankton dialect of Dakota. She developed a deep appreciation for her language.”The [languages] I know are rich and full of vitality, picturesque, laconic, and capable of subtle shades of meaning,” she wrote in her 1944 book Speaking of Indians.”It was a white man’s joke, now worn rather thin, that all an Indian could do to express himself was to grunt. ‘Ugh!’ was supposed to be his whole vocabulary. But the opposite is true.”

Deloria immersed herself in the language. She spent decades translating old books and meticulously cataloging Lakota and Dakota words.”I have amassed so many words in the Dakota dialects — Yankton, Santee, Teton and Assiniboin — that I despair of ever classifying them and making them available for the use of study in linguistics,” she lamented. But in 1941 she collaborated with renowned linguist Franz Boas on the most complete Lakota grammar to date. And after she died in 1971, Deloria’s linguistic gold mine became the foundation for books like Professor Rood’s Beginning Lakhota and the New Lakota Dictionary.

Thousands of Lakota youth use the dictionary and materials from the Lakota Language Consortium every day. Educators hope they help streamline Lakota language instruction. If they’re right, with help from dedicated teachers like Albert White Hat and Leonard Little Finger the language should be safe for generations.


Lakota on the Air

Educators use more than books to teach Lakota. Graduate students at the University of Colorado are producing videos of Lakota speakers to capture their conversational style. The students then translate, mark sentences for grammar and upload the videos to a computer.

The conversational style is”the least well documented” aspect of Lakota, says Professor David Rood, a linguist at the university.”We’ve got lots of formal language. We’ve got speeches, prayers, traditional stories and biographies in written form, but nobody has ever actually paid attention to the way in which people take turns when they’re talking, or how they interrupt someone politely. That’s part of actually using the language every day.”

In Pine Ridge, Bryan Charging Cloud and his cousin, Robert Two Crow, host a Lakota language show on KILI Radio.”We spoke Lakota about anything, just as long as we used the language,” Charging Cloud says. The show, which airs from 8-9 a.m. (MST) Saturdays, has evolved to include lessons, stories and discussions about the language. Two years ago he added a storytelling hour that airs Wednesdays at 5 p.m.

“These shows are good for people who just want to listen and learn,” says Charging Cloud, who directs the Lakota Language Institute at Oglala Lakota College and leads an immersion program for young children.”A long time ago Lakota people used to tell stories at night. Not too many people speak Lakota now, so they probably don’t do that. We just carry that on.”

Charging Cloud also produces a Lakota language television program for the college’s local channel and has used video conferencing and e-mail to teach students at places like Stanford University in California. Listeners can hear Charging Cloud’s shows at 90.1 FM or online at www.kiliradio.org.

Editor’s Note: This story is revised from the March/April 2009 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call 800-456-5117.

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South Dakota’s Corn Culture

Imagine South Dakota without corn. What would we feed our livestock? How would Mitchell decorate its Palace? Where would we hunt pheasants? What would farmers wear for caps?

Today we take for granted oceans of tasseled corn waving in the August breezes. We expect a local radio station to hold a “longest ear” or “tallest stalk” contest every September.

Corn, a leafy grass that gets little respect outside of agricultural circles, was ingrained into our prairie culture even before farm settlers arrived in the 19th century. Experts agree that the plant originated in Mexico or South America. As American Indians moved north, they brought along their seed corn.

When eastern farmers arrived in Dakota Territory, they assumed the growing season was too short for corn. The region was also considered borderline desert so annual rainfall was also a concern. At first it was planted as a sod crop.

“The summer the land was broken, there was little raised except sod corn and a few potatoes and vegetables,” according to Herbert S. Schell in History of South Dakota. “Indeed at times it was possible to raise a fair sod crop of corn from seed dropped in holes and chopped in with an axe.”

Corn farmers back then could only have dreamed of planting corn under today’s conditions: with a multi-row planter, sitting in an air-conditioned cab listening to the radio or talking on a cell phone, while simultaneously applying weed-deterring solutions. Most were lucky to have a horse, an ox or a plow – or to know a neighbor who did.

Though that made farming hot, dusty, hard work, many weren’t willing to trust amateurs at planting time because the family’s livelihood often depended on the crop. “Corn planting was the trickiest operation performed during the spring season, and many farmers insisted on doing it themselves, without the aid of hired men or family members,” according to Paula M. Nelson in The Prairie Winnows Out its Own.

Farmers stretched long rolls of wire from one end of the field to the other to establish rows and the proper distance between plants. “The wire contained knots every 40 inches, and when those knots passed through the planter mechanism, the machine dropped two or three seeds at the proper place in the row,” according to Nelson. At the end of the row the farmer would move the wire and begin again.

Precision was critical. “If the farmer worked carefully, kept the horses neatly in line, and set the trap door in the planter boxes correctly, the corn would grow in forty-inch intervals in each direction and could be cultivated lengthwise and crosswise.” Not many farmers today can boast such a feat.

Relying on the calendar told some farmers when it was time to plant corn and avoid frosts. Others planted when the leaves on hardwood trees were as large as a squirrel’s or mouse’s ear, or when they spotted the first bobolink or oriole, according to Funk & Wagnall’s Standard Dictionary of Folklore, Mythology and Legend. Some wouldn’t trust kernels to the earth until spotting a redheaded woodpecker, though. Farmers could follow the advice of a corn-planting rhyme if they weren’t sure how many kernels to plant:

One for the cut worm.
One for the crow
One for the blackbird
And three to grow.

Whether any of the old wives’ tales or advice worked is debatable, but something was making South Dakota corn grow. Soon the state became regarded as one of nation’s corn planting states.

“The skeptic on this question is no longer heard, and the man who would disdain South Dakota soil because of its inability to produce corn has been shown his error,” Clifford Willis, an agronomist, wrote in Corn, a 1909 report. “In fact, men who once scoffed are now buying South Dakota farms on which they expect to grow corn.”

In that year, 65.25 million bushels of corn were produced on 2,059,000 acres of South Dakota farmland. Willis said it averaged 31.7 bushels an acre but added, “We know that there are farmers who produced eighty and a hundred bushels to the acre. Someone must have produced a very low yield to so lower the average.”

Conditions were better in 1914, and the State Department of Immigration used corn to tempt sellers to South Dakota. A promotional booklet, Corn Is King in South Dakota, boasted farmers’ successes and the land’s abilities in addition to mentioning popular attractions like the Black Hills.

“The area devoted to corn is increasing rapidly and is extending to every nook and corner of the state, and yields of 40 to 50 bushels per acre are the common thing,” it read. Boast yields like that today and you’ll not only be blamed for lowering the state’s average but you might also find yourself laughed out of the local elevator’s coffee circle.

Maybe those early promoters weren’t so far off. Tourism officials are still using corn to attract visitors to one South Dakota city. Considering the number of visitors who pilgrimage to the city’s corn-covered palace each year, it appears to be working.

Mitchell’s corn-filled tradition began in 1892 when civic promoters decided to stage a harvest festival in a grain decorated building. Sioux City, Iowa, had been holding a similar event, first begun in 1887.

“However, when the fifth venture in 1891 was a financial failure, the backers decided to forego any future shows and it was then that the South Dakota town alertly seized the opportunity to capitalize on the Corn Palace theme,” Robert F. Karolevitz wrote in Challenge: The South Dakota Story.

Obviously, Mitchell is proud of its Corn Palace image. Many businesses have adopted “palace” as part of their names and the school’s athletic teams are known as the Kernels. And 500,000 people visit the palace, now at its third location, from Memorial Day to Labor Day each year.

Mitchell officials no longer question the power of corn. Neither did Delores Walter, a lifelong Howard farm wife, who wrote about rural living for the city’s Daily Republic newspaper. A bumper crop almost halted her wedding.

“In 1948, the corn crop was so abundant that we didn’t think we could take time off to get married. After all, a couple can get married any old time, but there will not always be a big corn crop to harvest,” Walter wrote in a Nov. 5, 1992, column. “But being practical and being in love doesn’t always go together. We were married November 6, 1948.”

Corn has played an equally important role for Elk Point’s Curry family members who have built their lives around corn. J.J. Curry began his Curry Seed Company with a 20-acre field in the 1930s. Today, over 3,000 acres are planted to seed corn within a 15-mile radius, and more and more farmers in the region are using their product.

J.J.’s son Ed, who led the family business when we spoke with him in 1997, said the development of hybrid seeds replaced the settlers’ practice of open pollinated corn and created increased yields. “In the Thirties, an 80 bushel crop was tremendous,” Curry said. “Now 180 bushels is obtainable, and certain test plots produce over 200 bushel yields.”

Technology has produced hundreds of corn hybrids, all varying in maturities to suit different needs. Curry research and testing has produced 20 varieties for the current market.

Advanced technology also allows seed corn to be harvested in half the time and to be dried mechanically with natural gas heat. Such improvements always come with a price, in this case it’s increased production costs.

That’s not enough to make Curry long for the days of hand picking, when harvesting 100 bushels in a day was a mark of achievement.

Though he doesn’t miss “the good old days,” he has tried to use the stories to cheer up young detasselers. Once on a hot day in wet conditions when the kids were really tired, he told them he had been detasseling corn since 1938.

It didn’t stir much encouragement. One little shaver looked at him and said, “You sure as heck haven’t gotten very far.”

Burton Ode, a farmer from Brandon, also remembered when corn was picked by hand. To help with the harvest, farmers hired transients who worked their way north following the grain harvest and then worked back south picking corn.

For their efforts, Ode recalled men earning first two cents and then 10 cents a bushel. Though horse-drawn corn pickers had arrived the 1920s and ’30s, they weren’t much better. “They were meager machines,” he told us in 1997. “It took a lot of horses to pull them.”

Then single and two-row pickers came in the late 1930s. “They were real good machines but no one could afford them.”

Finally, after World War II things boomed and mechanical pickers ruled until the late 1950s or early ë60s. That’s when Ode said an Illinois farmer decided there must be a way to use a combine for something other than grains. “He rigged up something in the front of the combine to make the corn run into it,” Ode said. “They really took off.”

Machines today are even more laborsaving. Gone are the days when farmers scraped the kernels from each cob. They no longer have to shell it by flailing it, driving oxen or horses across it, or by driving the ear through a metal ring with a mallet. Picking, husking and shelling can be done in one easy step now.

Eighty-five years after the Department of Immigration published its booklet, corn is still king in South Dakota. In 2010 farmers harvest 569.7 million bushels of corn, the state’s third largest crop on record.

How much corn is too much? That’s the million-dollar question every year in South Dakota. The largest percentage of the corn raised in South Dakota is used as livestock feed.

It’s hard to believe a little kernel of corn can do so much to critters but each kernel contains 61 percent starch, 19.2 percent protein and fiber, 3.8 percent oil and 16 percent water. Corn that isn’t used for animal feed is either exported or used to make co-products, all of the different products corn can be used in. That’s the fastest growing part of the industry.

One bushel of corn can yield 31.5 pounds of starch, 33 pounds of sweetener or 2.5 gallons of ethanol. You can also get 10.9 pounds of protein feed, 2.6 pounds of gluten meal or 1.6 pounds of corn oil.

Supermarket shelves hold more than 3,500 products that contain corn in some form – everything from detergents to crayons to batteries, sweeteners, soda pop, golf tees, road de-icer, trash bags and fuel in the form of ethanol, which is a multi-million dollar industry all of its own.

Corn can be grown almost anywhere, but because East River counties enjoy adequate rainfall, good soils and the necessary heat units, they tend to produce the most corn. Top producers in 2010 were Minnehaha, Spink, Brown, Moody, Lincoln, Hutchinson, Brookings, Union, Turner and Beadle counties, each topping 18 million bushels. Other counties such as Roberts, Kingsbury, Lake, McCook and Charles Mix, which produced around 17 million bushels, weren’t far behind.

Statistics show Harding, Perkins, Lawrence, Meade, Custer, Fall River and Jackson counties produced little or no corn that same year. Land west of the river tends to be better suited for rangeland, winter wheat or other small grains and sunflowers.

Early farmers didn’t have the benefit of that knowledge. “The earliest pioneers with any agricultural experience in their past were doomed by their ignorance of the new land since they were determined to practice the eastern forms of farming on the stubborn sod of Hand County,” Scott Heidepriem wrote in Bring on the Pioneers! History of Hand County.

They modified the methods after several failures after discovering eastern corn needed a longer growing season to avoid being nipped by September frost. Eventually, Hand County fanners and others turned to a shorter variety such as squaw corn.

The further west pioneers tried to grow corn the more difficult it became. “For farmers the west river country posed a riddle they had not yet been able to answer. Settlers had lived on the land for fifteen years or so by the 1920s, but farmers still learned mostly by trial and error what their land could produce,” according to Paula M. Nelson.

They kept trying even though they grew it profitably only every other year.

“Given the difficult environment, the commitment to corn is surprising, but corn was a versatile crop with many uses, and it also symbolized ‘the farm’ to west river residents ….”

It’s nice to know some things will never change. An unending sea of green leaves and golden tassels swaying in the breeze will always symbolize the farm to South Dakotans.

Editor’s Note: This story is revised from the July/August 1997 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call 800-456-5117.

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Ten ‘Must See’ South Dakota Paintings

Color, imagery, and composition are important in art, but South Dakota artist Harvey Dunn believed that paintings should make people think.”In making a picture, you should excite interest, not educate,” he once said.

Some of America’s great art hangs in public buildings and museums in South Dakota. Here are 10 that every South Dakotan should see. Some are immensely popular images that hang as prints in thousands of living rooms. Others are lesser known. All were painted by top artists, though some are now nearly forgotten. One of our Top Ten fills an entire gallery; another is the size of a magazine page.

We chose the Top Ten in part by crass standards like popularity and commercial value, but we gave special emphasis to Harvey Dunn’s criteria: they excite interest. Visit our museums in your travels and judge these treasures for yourself.

Cyclorama, by Bernard P. Thomas

The Dahl Arts Center, Rapid City


Rapid City’s greatest tragedy gave rise to its most impressive work of art. After the devastating Rapid City flood of 1972, prominent banker Art Dahl wanted to re-energize his community. He promised to pay for a new art center on the site of a condemned city auditorium, but only if it included a mural by Bernard Thomas, one of Dahl’s favorite artists. The subject: American economic history.

Thomas was a Wyoming native who studied art in Los Angeles and Paris. He became famous for his paintings of Western life, and was known for immersing himself in his work.”I slept on the ground alongside the outfit’s top hands,” he once said.”I heard their stories of wilder days, and I’m the one who believes the artist who has lived it is the one who can put the right feel in his work. Nothing gripes me more than a Western illustration done by an Eastern illustrator who doesn’t know straight up about the West.”

He tackled the Cyclorama with similar gusto. Thomas labored 455 days on the mural, which stands 10 feet high and 180 feet around. It became the centerpiece of the Dahl Arts Center when it opened in 1974.

Town residents got to watch Thomas’ masterpiece unfold.”Many people in Rapid City had never seen an artist work,” says Darla Drew Lerdal, former assistant director of The Dahl.”People would bring their children and grandchildren and Thomas would let them watch for hours at a time.” As a result, many Rapid Citians became models and were painted into the Cyclorama. Thomas included Dahl’s grandparents as European immigrants and painted himself as a World War II soldier.

Special lighting and a 10-minute narration add to the experience of seeing one of three cycloramas left in the United States.

Woman With a Shawl, by Frank Ashford

Dacotah Prairie Museum, Aberdeen

For centuries people have wondered who is the mysterious woman depicted in Leonardo Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa. Aberdonians have their own artistic mystery. Frank Ashford’s 1920s painting of a beautiful, unknown woman still has people guessing her identity.

Ashford was born in Iowa in 1878 but grew up at Stratford, east of Aberdeen. He attended art school in Chicago, Philadelphia and New York before establishing himself in Paris in 1907. When World War I broke out, he returned to New York. During his career he set up studios from coast to coast, but eventually settled in Aberdeen.”He went where he had a big commission, established a studio and just painted prolifically,” says Lora Schaunaman, curator of exhibits at the Dacotah Prairie Museum in Aberdeen.”And then he would move on. He had a gypsy soul.”

In South Dakota Ashford painted governors, Supreme Court justices and a portrait of Calvin and Grace Coolidge at the State Game Lodge in Custer. Aberdeen residents remember Ashford visiting a downtown restaurant and painting whoever struck his fancy.”We think that’s what Woman With a Shawl is,” Schaunaman says.”It’s a young woman who has never been identified. She’s beautiful and kind of mysterious.”

Family members found the painting in the attic of the Ashford home in Stratford in 1994. It was deteriorating, and had a hole punched through the canvas. They gave it to the Dacotah Prairie Museum, and staff members sent it to the Upper Midwest Conservation Association for restoration. Today the mysterious woman with the shawl greets museum visitors just as the Mona Lisa does at the Louvre, 4,400 miles away.

Coyote at Sunrise, by Charles Greener

Old Main, University of South Dakota, Vermillion

Longtime South Dakota Magazine readers might recognize Charles Greener’s Coyote at Sunrise from our November/December 1992 cover. Considered to be one of the Faulkton artist’s best paintings, and our favorite, the original oil hangs in the Asher Room at Old Main on the University of South Dakota campus in Vermillion.

Greener was born in Wisconsin in 1870, but later moved to Faulkton. He studied art in Massachusetts, Ohio, Illinois and North Dakota and represented South Dakota at the World’s Fair in Chicago in 1893. He lived and painted in Faulkton until his death in 1935.

He did portraits (his pictures of Govs. Frank Byrne and Charles Herreid hang in the state capitol) and murals in the Faulk County courthouse, but later focused on Dakota landscapes. He painted whenever the urge struck. Once, while painting woodwork at a local attorney’s home, he painted a landscape on the bathroom door. He planned to wipe it away, but the family urged him to leave it. Visitors at the old Turner home in Faulkton can still see it.

Hunting dogs appeared in many of his paintings, and hills between Faulkton and Orient were often seen in the background. Greener liked to take walks looking for inspiration. One morning he found the coyote, which he quickly sketched and later painted.

Faulkton resident Irene Cordts is the local Greener historian and at one time owned 50 of his paintings, including Coyote at Sunrise, which she donated to the university. She gave others to museums in Brookings, Sioux Falls, Spearfish, Deadwood, Aberdeen, Chamberlain, Faulkton and Mitchell.

As Greener’s art becomes more visible, people develop a deeper appreciation for his landscapes. As writer Dale Lewis, who owned two Greener paintings, said,”Greener sure has something special in his works. They don’t jump at you or hit you over the head, but kinda creep right into your heart.”

The Prairie is My Garden and Dakota Woman, by Harvey Dunn

South Dakota Art Museum, Brookings
Dakota Discovery Museum, Mitchell

Visitors think it’s their aunt or grandmother who is gathering wildflowers in The Prairie is My Garden, but no one knows the identities of the people in Harvey Dunn’s masterpiece.

ìWe have lots of claims from people who know who it is,” says Lynn Verschoor, director of the South Dakota Art Museum in Brookings, where The Prairie is My Garden hangs.”But he [Dunn] was an illustrator. He drew people all the time, with just generic faces.”

In fact, very little is known about Dunn’s most recognized Dakota landscape. Records are complete enough to show that Edgar Soreng, a member of South Dakota State College’s class of 1908 and a friend of Dunn’s, donated the work sometime between 1950 and 1970. The scene is likely a combination of Dunn’s memories growing up at Manchester in Kingsbury County and later summertime visits home, when he spent countless hours behind the wheel of his car sketching prairie vistas.

People also claim to recognize the mother and infant in Dakota Woman, but Dunn likely crafted it in the same way. The painting was on and off his easel for years before he finally finished it in 1941. Not long after, Leland Case, founder of the Middle Border Museum in Mitchell, visited Dunn at his studio in Tenafly, N.J. Knowing Case was collecting items for the museum, Dunn told him to pick one of more than 40 prairie paintings to bring to South Dakota. Case wrote that he was”electrified” by the offer and chose Dakota Woman. It was unveiled in April 1942 during”Harvey Dunn Day” on the Dakota Wesleyan University campus.

Dunn studied art in Chicago and became a successful illustrator in Delaware. He went overseas as an artist during World War I, and then resumed his illustrating career in New Jersey after the war. Though Dunn spent most of his life away from South Dakota, his home state inspired his most well known works, and we can thank Aubrey Sherwood for bringing many of them to Brookings.

After giving Dakota Woman to Case and the Middle Border Museum, Dunn promised to donate 40 more paintings if a proper facility could be built. When he arrived in Mitchell in the late 1940s, with a trunk full of paintings, he was disappointed to find no building.

In 1950, Sherwood, publisher of The De Smet News, went to Dunn’s New Jersey studio and saw the prairie paintings. Dunn agreed to exhibit them in De Smet that summer. South Dakota State College President Fred Leinbach, impressed by Dunn’s work, offered the school’s student union to house Dunn’s paintings. The artist donated 42 works.

Since then the university’s collection has grown to include 109 Dunns, but The Prairie is My Garden is by far the most popular. People drive thousands of miles to see it, but like all paintings it needs down time for conservation. To avoid disappointment, it’s best to call ahead.

People are equally eager to see Dakota Woman. Executive director Lori Holmberg says visitors are fascinated by Dunn’s painting.”They’re amazed by the depth and texture of the work,” she says.”Dunn’s work at that period tended to be almost impressionistic. It’s hard to grasp looking at prints, but people are surprised at how texturally rich the original is.”

Best Friends, by Terry Redlin

Redlin Art Center, Watertown


If you don’t have a Terry Redlin print hanging in your house, you probably know someone who does. The wildlife artist from Watertown has become one of America’s most collected painters. His art has received national accolades and 155 of his original oil paintings are housed in a grand art center in his hometown, where over 2 million people have visited since its opening in 1997.

After a motorcycle accident quashed dreams of being a forest ranger, Redlin turned to art. He was a hunter and fisherman, so he painted what he knew. That’s especially evident in Best Friends, one of Redlin’s most recognizable and popular works.”After a day of hunting he would go to the highest spot he could find,” says Julie Ranum, executive director of the Redlin Art Center in Watertown.”He referred to it as ëglassing’ the countryside to see where the birds were. Then he would know where to go the next day. It was part of his routine.”

The hunter in Best Friends is modeled after Redlin’s son, Charles. (Anytime a man wearing a red and black plaid jacket shows up in a Redlin painting, it’s Charles). The artist is fond of Labradors and retrievers, but has never owned one because of allergies, so the dogs often appear in his paintings, too.

Redlin painted Best Friends in 1989, while living in Minnesota. The original limited edition sold out quickly, so Redlin released an encore edition in 1995. Since then it has been one of the Redlin Art Center’s top sellers.”There’s a serenity about it, a peacefulness,” Ranum says.”It’s a classic Redlin. It has that expanse that Terry is able to capture.”

Origin of the Sioux, by Oscar Howe

Old Main, University of South Dakota, Vermillion

Origin of the Sioux is Oscar Howe’s most well known painting. It tells the legend of the first Dakota Indians. When the earth was flooded, an eagle carried an Indian maiden to a lofty peak. There she gave birth to twins, the beginning of the Sioux nation.

In Oscar Howe: Artist, published in 1974, Howe explained the elements of his painting. The rays of light silhouetting the maiden and eagle are chasing away evil spirits of darkness. The blue represents the sky and, in Sioux tradition, peace. Yellow symbolizes religion, and the symmetry is designed to reflect dignity.

Howe’s role as the primary leader of the American Indian Fine Arts Movement from the 1940s to the 1960s brought him international fame and a reputation as an innovator in Indian art.”Howe’s message to Indian artists was twofold,” says John Day, former director of USD’s art galleries and an expert on Howe.”Be yourself and express your own feelings. Then, be true to your Indian heritage.”

Howe was born on the Crow Creek Reservation and studied at the Santa Fe Indian School and the University of Oklahoma. He was a professor at USD from 1957 to 1980 and served as the university’s artist-in-residence. Today USD owns 60 Howe paintings, the largest collection in the world.

The Altar, by Bobby Penn

Many artists studied under Oscar Howe at the University of South Dakota, but a top protÈgÈ was Bobby Penn, who became one of his generation’s leading artists. Penn’s most enduring work, The Altar, hangs at the Akta Lakota Museum in Chamberlain.

Akta Lakota Museum, Chamberlain

The Altar is oil on masonite, completed in 1989, and depicts many of Penn’s recurring themes: the buffalo skull, the shield with a wrapped crow and the moon. Scholar John Day calls the painting”an iconic statement that is one of the most well-developed of Bobby Penn’s pieces. The reason this is so good is it marries his traditional, his spiritual and his personal emblems together. It’s a very personal painting that deals with his sense of Indian spirituality.”

Penn’s mother was a member of the Rosebud Sioux Tribe, and he received his early education on Nebraska’s Winnebago Reservation and at St. Francis Mission on the Rosebud Reservation. He attended Howe’s summer art institute at USD in the 1960s and later enrolled in the university’s art program. He studied intensely with Howe during his four years there and earned a degree in fine arts. He later ran the summer institute and was a full-time professional artist in Vermillion from 1988 until his death in 1999.

Howe’s influence can occasionally be seen in Penn’s work, but his paintings are entirely his own. His mentor was successful in passing along his ideas of self-expression, individuality and truth to Indian heritage.”Their quality was so high they commanded national and international attention,” Day says of Penn and Howe.”Penn was clearly one of the best artists of his generation.”

A President’s Wife (study), by Norman Rockwell

Center for Western Studies, Sioux Falls


Norman Rockwell was meticulous when he painted A President’s Wife in 1939. First came sketches of his subjects and photographs from all angles. He used those images to create a study, a small painting measuring 13 1/2 by 24 inches. From that Rockwell’s completed one of his largest paintings ñ 3 by 5 feet.

Experts think that enormous painting was destroyed when Rockwell’s studio burned in 1943. But the valuable study is at the Center for Western Studies in Sioux Falls. It shows President James Madison’s wife, Dolley, waiting for news about her husband during the War of 1812. It illustrated a fictional story written by Howard Fast in the August 1939 issue of Ladies’ Home Journal.

Rockwell gave the study to a friend in 1945, two years after the studio fire. He painted prolifically over the next 30 years and eventually forgot about A President’s Wife. When the study’s owner wrote to Rockwell for information in 1972, the artist replied,”I just can’t recall any of the details, who posed for it or what it was for.”

A Wisconsin man, Donald Evans, bought it in 1977 and donated it to the Center for Western Studies in 1995. Rockwell studies are rare, and recent developments in the art world have assigned it greater importance.”Within the last 10 years, Rockwell’s stock as a serious artist has risen considerably,” says Tim Hoheisel, director of outreach and communication at the Center for Western Studies.”Consequently the significance of A President’s Wife has also drastically increased. It’s a treasure in the Center’s collection.”

Here I AmÖSpeechless, by Henry Payer, Jr.

The Heritage Center, Red Cloud Indian School, Pine Ridge

The annual Red Cloud Indian Art Show gives young Native artists a chance to gain exposure in the art world. In 2008, judges were so impressed with Henry Payer, Jr.’s Here I AmÖSpeechless they awarded it second place in the painting division, the Brother Simon S.J. Publicity Award (meaning it was used on promotional materials for the next show) and then bought it for the Heritage Center’s permanent collection.

ìIt shows what a young Native artist in today’s world sees,” says Peter Strong, director of The Heritage Center at the Red Cloud Indian School in Pine Ridge.”It breaks out of that traditional perception of native art as being very primitive, and that it has to have a man on a horse with his hair flowing in the breeze. There’s a much more contemporary feel to it.”

Payer, Jr., 25, is a member of the Winnebago Tribe of Nebraska and a graduate of the Institute of American Indian Arts in Santa Fe, N.M.

Strong says the painting’s skulls, bold colors and graphic design give it a contemporary feel. Payer also excels at mixed imagery.”By blending images that reflect traditional symbolism, ecological issues, and contemporary American art, Henry is telling a very personal and honest story about what Native people are today,” Strong says.

Editor’s Note: This story is revised from the January/February 2009 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy, or to subscribe, call 800-456-5117.

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Pettigrew’s Redemption

Might a sculptor vindicate Sioux Falls’ forgotten father?

Darwin Wolf (above) wanted to honor Sioux Falls city father Richard Pettigrew through sculpture, but his project soon became a way to vindicate the reviled businessman and politician.

Richard Pettigrew sat at his writing desk in the second-floor study of his home at Eighth and Duluth in Sioux Falls and penned a letter to the city’s leaders. The town he helped build was quickly becoming South Dakota’s urban giant, but Pettigrew urged them to leave a strip of land near the falls of the Big Sioux River undeveloped. He believed it should become a park.

But by then, Pettigrew, one of the fathers of Sioux Falls and South Dakota’s first full-term United States Senator, was a washed up politician known for unpopular stances, failed businesses and crazy ideas. City leaders ignored his advice. Soon a salvage yard, warehouse and railroad moved in. The buildings remained hollow shells long after the businesses themselves left, and since the early 1990s, the city has been transforming that land into a park as part of its multi-million-dollar Phillips to the Falls project.

Pettigrew’s concern for preserving the river environment contradicted ideas he had held as a young businessman. Years earlier, he led a group of investors in building a stockyard and meat packing plant along the Big Sioux River in south Sioux Falls. They had a plan for everything except removing waste, so they simply dumped it into the water. Townspeople obtained a court injunction closing the plant, and Pettigrew and his investors lost over $1 million.

So was Pettigrew a visionary or a scoundrel? A bona-fide town builder or self-serving politician? Was he a Republican, Populist, Democrat, Socialist or Communist? At times in his life he was all of the above.

One thing is certain: following his death in 1926 many in Sioux Falls chose to forget rather than memorialize the polarizing Pettigrew. Darwin Wolf hopes a sculpture will change the city’s attitude toward its long-forgotten pioneer. In 2003 Wolf began planning a larger-than-life Pettigrew bronze.”How many great cities in the country have sculptures of their pioneers somewhere in the community, and we don’t have a Pettigrew,” Wolf says.”It began more out of my love for Sioux Falls than Pettigrew. It just seemed like there was a hole in Sioux Falls.”

Few lifelong Sioux Falls residents would have shared Wolf’s opinion, but the sculptor is an outsider. Born in Doland, he grew up in Aberdeen and studied art at Northern State University. He worked at Stein Sign Display there for five years after graduation, doing sculpture on the side, but soon realized he needed a more stable job to support his growing family. In 1988 he moved to Sioux Falls and spent the next 15 years in sales and marketing.

In 2003 St. Therese Catholic Church commissioned him to sculpt”St. Therese and Admirers,” for the church’s rose garden. About the same time, he won a competition to do a bronze for Avera Health. The projects led him back into a full-time art career. East River South Dakotans may recognize his work. His bronze of Monsignor John McEneaney stands at McEneaney Field. St. Joseph and two children are at St. Joseph Indian School in Chamberlain.

Wolf researches each subject before he ever picks up a knife in order to sculpt an appropriate likeness. When South Dakota Magazine visited his home studio in 2010, a pile of Pettigrew photographs sat atop his table. Wolf used one to shape the eyes, another the nose, a third the forehead and so on. When finished, the bronze will depict Pettigrew as an elder statesman. Dressed in a full suit, his left hand is clenched tightly around his lapel, symbolic of his fight for agrarian interests in the Senate. His right hand clutches the letter he wrote about preserving land along the river.

But Wolf’s research on Pettigrew has gone beyond a pile of photos and a few biographical tidbits.”It really sucked me in,” he says.”The more I learned, the more I found that I liked and disliked. There’s always another story about him, and it’s tough to figure out what’s true and what’s not. He was such a tenacious fighter and did so many good things for Sioux Falls, the monument evolved into being a project for some redemption. His aggression and passion for Sioux Falls and South Dakota cost him dearly.”

So was Pettigrew a visionary or a scoundrel? A bona-fide town builder or self-serving politician? Was he a Republican, Populist, Democrat, Socialist or Communist? At times in his life he was all of the above.

Sioux Falls was beginning its second life when Pettigrew arrived with a surveying crew in 1869. Founded a decade earlier, settlers abandoned the town site during the Sioux Wars of the early 1860s. They returned after the U.S. Army established Fort Dakota (along today’s Phillips Avenue between Seventh and Eighth streets) to protect pioneers from Indian attacks. Pettigrew claimed 160 acres and returned permanently the following year, intent on making the village of Sioux Falls succeed.

Sometimes his ambition trumped compliance with the law. In 1870, already with an eye on politics, he told people living within Fort Dakota that they could claim land within its boundaries as soon as the land was surveyed. Pettigrew and Nyrum Phillips circulated a petition asking Congress to open the reservation, but too few people lived within Minnehaha County to sign it. So the two added names of men they thought would soon settle in the county, and sent it to Washington. Congress soon complied.

Shady actions clouded his first successful run for the territorial House of Representatives. Before the election, Pettigrew destroyed a number of ballots that had omitted his name and sent a new batch to some northern counties. As it happened, many of Pettigrew’s votes came from non-resident railroad workers laying track into the new town of Gary. Pettigrew was never charged and took his seat in the House, but the”Deuel County Fraud” accusations haunted him the rest of his life.

While in the legislature, he helped make Sioux Falls the seat of Minnehaha County and wrote a bill creating Lake and Moody counties. To his own benefit, Pettigrew ensured that Flandreau became the Moody County seat. He and his brother, Fred, owned large tracts of land there. He later served a term as Dakota Territory’s delegate to Congress in the early 1880s, where he helped secure funds to build the state penitentiary.

Pettigrew was also a strong proponent of division of Dakota Territory and statehood for the southern half, a cause that endeared him to people living south of the 46th parallel (roughly today’s North Dakota/South Dakota border). When South Dakota gained state-hood in 1889, the legislature elected the Republican Pettigrew the state’s first full-term U.S. Senator.

In that role, Pettigrew secured funding for some of Sioux Falls’ landmark buildings, including the federal courthouse and post office building (which he insisted be built from native Sioux quartzite) at 12th Street and Phillips Avenue. He also balanced business with his political life. He helped bring five railroad lines into Sioux Falls and formed a railroad and trolley company with his brother. His biggest dream was creating a transcontinental railroad running from Sioux Falls to Seattle.

Unfortunately, most of his business investments happened during the economically turbulent 1890s. The trolley went bankrupt and the rail line to the West Coast fell through. It marked the beginning of a drastic change in Pettigrew. He began to question capitalism and lost trust in the country’s business leaders, many of whom comprised the core of the Republican Party. Pettigrew saw a solution to the country’s economic woes in the free and unlimited coinage of silver, and in 1896 he bolted the Republican Party to become a Silver Republican and, eventually, a Populist.

The move put him at odds with President William McKinley. Pettigrew was a vocal opponent of the Spanish-American War, despite strong support across the country. He was also an outspoken anti-imperialist, opposing the United States’ annexation of the Philippines and the Hawaiian Islands. Pettigrew openly criticized the president and U.S. military leaders. He called the American flag a”rag,” a comment not well received in South Dakota. Pettigrew became such a thorn in McKinley’s side that Ohio Sen. Marc Hanna, McKinley’s presidential campaign manager in 1900, said he had two goals that year: to re-elect McKinley and defeat Pettigrew,”and I did not know which I wanted worst.” He got both. A well-organized fund-raising drive within the national Republican Party pumped nearly $500,000 into the South Dakota campaign, and Pettigrew lost his bid for re-election.

Pettigrew joined the Democratic Party and split time between Sioux Falls and New York City. In 1912, he supported the Progressives and their presidential candidate Theodore Roosevelt. After Roosevelt’s defeat, Pettigrew’s politics became even more radical. He flirted with Socialism and Communism and wrote two books ó a collection of his Senate speeches called The Course of Empire, and Imperial Washington, praised by Soviet leaders Vladimir Lenin and Leon Trotsky. He died at his home in Sioux Falls on Oct. 5, 1926, and was entombed at Woodlawn Cemetery.

Pettigrew lost favor with nearly every influential business and political leader in Sioux Falls. Negative stories persisted for decades. The only physical reminder of Pettigrew was his home and museum, which he willed to the city, and even that was nothing more than a hodgepodge of artifacts with no interpretation, remembers Wayne Fanebust, Pettigrew’s biographer.

Fanebust grew up in Sioux Falls during the 1940s and ’50s, when no one talked about Pettigrew.”Had there not been the Pettigrew home and museum, I would have known nothing about Pettigrew, and no one else would have known anything,” Fanebust says.”He wanted to be remembered, and until the professionals at the Siouxland Heritage Museums took control, it was a pretty sad affair. It was like an old curiosity shop. It really didn’t explain his life at all. He was lost to the community for a long time after his death.”

But Fanebust rediscovered Pettigrew in California. After graduating from Sioux Falls Washington High School in 1959, he moved to Los Angeles, studied history at UCLA and got a law degree. He was an attorney in San Diego for 13 years, but his interest in history and Dakota Territory never waned. His first book, a history of Minnehaha County called Where the Sioux River Bends, was published in 1985.

Fanebust paged through hundreds of old newspapers during his research and noticed Pettigrew’s name appeared often. He learned more about Pettigrew’s rise to prominence and decided to pursue a biography. His first step was visiting the Pettigrew House, where the senator’s personal papers were locked away.

ìWhen I went there to ask to see his papers, I could tell I had asked the wrong question,” he says.”They weren’t interested. She reluctantly let me in there, but I couldn’t take any notes. It seemed silly to me that it was kept under lock and key the way it was.”

Fortunately for Fanebust, Augustana College’s Center for Western Studies had put Pettigrew’s papers on microfilm in 1974. He spent four years researching and writing every evening from 10 p.m. to midnight. His book, Echoes of November, debuted in 1997.

Fanebust says his work was better received outside of South Dakota than locally. But Sioux Falls attorney Dennis McFarland and Second Circuit Court Judge Bill Srstka read it, and it inspired them to help rebuild Pettigrew’s reputation.

McFarland first encountered Pettigrew while researching Blood Run, a large Indian village outside of Sioux Falls along the South Dakota-Iowa border. The first white men known to visit the site were Pettigrew and his brother, both amateur archaeologists. McFarland became interested and read Fanebust’s book. Then he passed it to Srstka, an old high school classmate. Both have become amateur Pettigrew scholars, and believe his ideas and contributions to Sioux Falls are often overlooked. Srstka keeps a”Pettigrew file” in his sixth floor office at the Minnehaha County courthouse and uses it to craft presentations for local service clubs.

ìOf all the founding fathers of South Dakota, he towers above everyone in terms of his personality, what he did and who he was,” Srstka says.”Unfortunately, along the way he made an enemy with everyone.”

Pettigrew saw issues in black and white, and was unwilling to comprise or concede a point, McFarland says. Time, however, has proven Pettigrew right on many of his unpopular positions, including his opposition to the Spanish-American War and American expansion.”The anti-imperialists had it right,” Fanebust says.”It’s hypocritical for a country to believe in self-determination for its own people and yet interfere and meddle in the affairs of other countries for the purpose of conquering them. Pettigrew was right. I don’t think you’ll find anyone now who would take the imperialists’ side.”

Pettigrew also finds more support in the 21st century for comments against World War I that almost landed him in jail. In 1917, during an interview with a reporter from the Argus Leader, he said the war was simply a capitalist scheme to make the rich even richer, and he urged young men to avoid the draft. The Argus editors passed the comments to the U.S. Attorney, who charged Pettigrew with violating the Espionage Act, a measure that outlawed even the most faintly critical comments about the war.

Pettigrew faced a stiff penalty. Socialist leader Eugene Debs, indicted and convicted under the Espionage Act, served three years of a 10-year prison sentence. Pettigrew assembled a legal team headlined by good friend Clarence Darrow, but delays kept the case out of court, and eventually the charges were dropped.

Fanebust thinks the indictment helped usher in America’s modern civil liberties movement. Pettigrew was proud of his defiance. He framed the indictment and hung it next to the Declaration of Independence in his home, where it remains today.

Time has also helped disprove the most popular urban legend about Pettigrew ó that he dammed the Big Sioux River to build the Queen Bee Mill, another failed venture whose ruins still stand along the river. Pettigrew was instrumental in building the state-of-the-art, seven-story flourmill in 1881, but he and his partners soon realized there wouldn’t be enough waterpower or wheat to keep it running. He convinced wealthy New York financier George Seney to invest in the project. Legend says that to impress Seney, Pettigrew dammed the river, then released a rush of water as Seney toured the site. Fanebust is convinced it never happened.”There’s no evidence that Seney was even here,” he says.”If a man like George Seney had come to Sioux Falls, it would have been all over the local papers. He was one of the richest men in New York. When people like that came out, they attracted attention. That’s why I’m sure he was never here in the first place.”

When Fanebust began writing Pettigrew’s biography, he was surprised to discover nothing in Sioux Falls, except his home and museum, bore the senator’s name. Only recently has that begun to change. The neighborhood near Pettigrew’s home is now known as Pettigrew Heights and R.F. Pettigrew Elementary School opened on the city’s southwest side in 2009.

ìHe was a rough-and-tumble person in a rough-and-tumble era,” Srstka says.”All the good things he did ó bringing the railroad, building this and founding that ó there’s no color in that. There’s honor in it, but there’s no color. In history, unless you do something absolutely huge, we’ll remember more of the colorful things. Abraham Lincoln did a lot of tremendously bad things, but we don’t remember that because of his stature.”

Maybe Sioux Falls residents will remember Pettigrew for his role in building their city and state when Wolf’s sculpture is placed downtown. The project began as one artist’s idea, but others have become involved. The Minnehaha County Historical Society now leads the project and continues to seek donations. Contributions from private individuals and businesses have helped work continue. Wolf has also taken the Pettigrew sculpture to schools, service clubs and organizational meetings as part of the South Dakota Arts Council’s Artists in Schools and Communities program.

And if vindication is Wolf’s goal for the project, the final step might ensure it. The 10-foot bronze Pettigrew will be placed atop a five-foot granite pedestal at the corner of Fifth and Phillips, near the Phillips to the Falls archway, overlooking the very land he sought to keep undisturbed.”He was right about so many things ó women’s suffrage, the misguided zeal of imperialism, and the value of this plot of ground,” Wolf says.”It’s sort of a final ëI told you so.'”

Pettigrew wouldn’t want it any other way.

Pettigrew the Collector

Brothers Richard and Fred Pettigrew, in addition to being surveyors and town builders, were also amateur archaeologists. They excavated nearby Indian mounds, and Richard collected artifacts from around the world during his two terms as a U.S. Senator. His vast collection is displayed at the Pettigrew House and Museum in Sioux Falls. Inside you’ll find Indian artifacts, guns, a piece of the Great Pyramid and a bottle of water collected from the Jordan River. Pettigrew also collected canes; one was a gift from Queen Liliuokalani, the last reigning monarch of the Hawaiian Islands before the U.S. annexed them. To arrange a tour, call (605) 367-7097.

EDITOR’S NOTE ñ This story is revised from the Sept/Oct 2010 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order this back issue or to subscribe, call 800-456-5117.