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Elk Point Tragedy

The old courthouse in Elk Point was packed during the last week of March in 1933. People lined up outside waiting for the courtroom doors to open at 7:30 each morning. When they did, seats filled immediately, leaving other curious spectators to stand in doorways, hallways and even down the stairs as they tried to catch a glimpse of the proceedings.

On trial was Moville, Iowa farmer Nile Cochran. He was accused of shooting and killing 67-year-old R. D. Markell, an Elk Point man who operated a milk hauling business with his sons and was determined to deliver milk to markets in Sioux City, despite a milk strike, a growing number of picketers and their threats.

The confrontation which erupted on Feb. 3, 1933 on Highway 77 four miles west of Sioux City was a product of the times and the culmination of events which had begun almost a year earlier as South Dakotans struggled with the Great Depression, widespread farm foreclosures and disastrously low farm prices.

Out of this sense of hopelessness and despair emerged talk of action. When the idea of withholding farm products from the market until prices rose to a more acceptable level caught on, the Farm Holiday Movement was born.

By the summer of 1932, the movement was becoming a strong force in the counties around Sioux City. Under the leadership of Mike Reno of Des Moines, members of the militant organization had begun their efforts to stop all produce — including grain, milk and livestock — from coming to market. Roads leading into major markets were picketed and truckers, except for a few of the most daring and determined, did not make it through.

R. D. Markell of Elk Point and his sons were among that determined lot. They had moved to the Union County area after plans for renting a farm near Wessington Springs fell through due to a bank failure. While other truckers sometimes had to haul their loads back to farms or have them dumped in the road ditches, the Markells were more dauntless. They strongly believed that no picketers should stop them from bringing their loads of milk into Sioux City because they were bringing milk not produced by Union County producers. The Markells hauled milk from the Vermillion area while another son, Warren, operated a truck hauling milk from farms east of Sioux City. Nevertheless, each day they had to get through picketing farmers.

Picketers at Jefferson on Aug. 13 used water hoses to stop Markell’s trucks. Markell then sought the help of Union County Sheriff G. N. Slocum. After a second dousing, Sheriff Slocum ordered Jefferson town officials to turn off water to the picketers. He then accompanied Markell’s trucks through Jefferson. At the Sioux River bridge at Riverside, 300 farmers attempted to stop the trucks, but they scattered as the Markells spread through. Sioux City police flashed guns to stop the picketers as the truck proceeded to Roberts Dairy in Sioux City.

Another night, Sheriff Slocum and four deputies attempted to help get five truckloads of cattle through the picketers. When the first truck was halted, the sheriff fired a shot into the air from a short-barreled shotgun. The picketers disarmed him and threw the gun in the weeds. Then, according to a Sioux City newspaper, “They gave orders to the sheriff, who found himself absolutely alone. His aides had fled.”

The Farm Holiday Movement continued to gain followers. Four thousand people jammed into the Ritz Ballroom, two and a half miles south of Beresford, on Aug. 17, 1932 to hear Reno, the group’s leader, speak. Amplifiers carried his three-hour oration to 6,000 more outside. After Reno’s speech, Joe Trudeau of Jefferson brought the crowd to its feet with a pledge of support and a ringing endorsement of the movement. Less than a week later, directors and owners of the elevators in Elk Point resolved to stop purchasing and shipping grain.

Roads leading into major markets were picketed and truckers, except for a few of the most daring and determined, did not make it through.

As months passed, picketers became more determined to stop the flow of milk into Sioux City and the Markells became more iron-willed in their determination to get their loads of milk into Sioux City. The inevitable happened on Feb. 3, 1933, near the Gadbois farm on paved Highway 77.

The Markells had notified Tom Collins, Union County ‘s new sheriff, that they planned to bring their truck, loaded with 1,000 gallons of milk, to Sioux City. Seventy picketers, from Plymouth and Woodbury counties in Iowa, stood on the road or along the Milwaukee’s railroad tracks. Armed with shotguns, rifles and revolvers, they waited for the Markells’ truck.

When the Markells approached, they saw two telephone poles that picketers had placed in the road. The truck stopped and R.D. Markell, who was riding in the passenger seat, got out to move the poles. His son, Frank, was driving and two other sons, Harry and Keats, were hunched between milk cans inside.

Suddenly, a shot rang out. Some said the Markells fired first, others believed that the picketers did. Markell continued removing the poles from the road. News accounts say he was shot in the abdomen while getting back into the truck. The two Markells in the back of the truck rose up from between the milk cans and began firing at the picketers. With blood streaming down their faces, Harry and Keats Markell kept firing from the back of the truck. A rifle bullet chipped off the end of Keats Markell’s thumb. Later the bullet was found in the stock of his gun.

Sheriff Collins, who was at the scene, ducked behind a nearby building on the Gadbois farm when the battle was at its height. He reported a deafening barrage of rifle and shotgun fire. Somehow, Frank Markell was not hit by gunfire and the truck, with windshield and front tires shot out, proceeded on to Riverside.

The elder Markell was taken to St. Vincent Hospital, thought to be near death. Showing remarkable stamina, he survived for several days. Keats Markell was hospitalized for a short time with buckshot wounds on his face. From his hospital bed he declared that he was going right back on the road hauling milk, saying, “They can’t scare me out.”

Nile Cochran, a fanner and picketer from Moville, Iowa, admitted firing the shot at the truck. After treatment at Methodist Hospital for minor wounds, he was taken to the Sioux City jail before being extradited to the Union County jail.

When the case went to trial, his parents from Winner and his wife and seven children from Moville, were among the spectators packed in the courtroom. After a week-long trial, Cochran was convicted of second degree manslaughter and sentenced to three years in prison. He was taken to the penitentiary in Sioux Falls on March 30, 1933.

Editor’s Note: The author, Derald Keiser of Alcester, was a Union County historian. He died in 2004. This story is revised from the May/June 1998 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call 800-456-5117.



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The Pomegranate Lifestyle

Obesity rates are growing in South Dakota. One study traces part of the problem to our low fruit and vegetable consumption and the difficulty of finding fresh, local foods.

But four local businessmen are making it easier to eat healthier with their Pomegranate Market at 57th and Louise in southwest Sioux Falls.”Our primary focus is to provide a local, natural and organic market,” said Brice Autry, who founded the store in 2010 with Steve Gratzfeld, Craig Snyder and Bart Roberts.

Autry was managing a traditional grocery in Brookings when the four men began to plan their new market, which borrows its name from the fabled pomegranate fruit.

“Pomegranate Market is more of a lifestyle, not only for our customers but for the people we hire,” Autry says.”We look for like-minded people who share our belief that food is important to the body, mind and spirit.”

Autry also wants staff and customers who will be enthused when Happy Hydros delivers the season’s first fresh tomatoes from Pukwana, or a Canistota farmer shows up with free-range chickens.

The 11,000 square-foot store — which features an amazing 72-foot mural by artists Mary Groth and her daughter Liz Heeren — stocks milk from Burbach Dairy in Hartington, Neb., grassfed beef from Cliff Milsapps of Gary, honey from Glen Wollman’s farm near Parker and organic eggs rich with omega-3s from the Cook family of Adrian, Minn.

A local Hutterite colony delivers poultry and radio talk show host Rick Knobe provides bison meats from his Lazy RRse Ranch. Plus, the shelves have fresh fruits, vegetables, grains, baked goods, meat and fish.

A 40-seat bistro features organic and natural prepared foods, including grab-and-go items like salads, sandwiches, gourmet cheeses, made-from-scratch soups and a popular turkey-bacon-pesto wrap with spinach and cheeses.

Editor’s Note: This story is revised from the July/August 2011 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call 800-456-5117.

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In Search of the Lone Prairie Windmill

The last part of October found me cruising the back roads of southeastern South Dakota in search of the prairie windmill. I was looking specifically for ones that stood away from tree belts and visual clutter. These are the type that I love to position against a sunset sky or dramatic cloud scene. The problem is, such windmills are proving harder and harder to find. In my travels, I noticed that there are far more windmills in disrepair than not. I would say roughly 80% don’t have blades anymore. I suppose it is a sign of better technology as well as better farming and ranching methods in rural America. Still, there is something special about seeing a prairie windmill in a farmyard, or even better, standing alone against the elements in an open stretch of pasture. It is sort of hard to describe. I guess a scene like that simply reminds me of home, for lack of a better explanation.

Over the years, I’ve noticed that well-composed photos of these prairie sentinels seem to resound well in photo contests and other showings as well. It seems folks still like their windmills. As a photographer I’m drawn to them as well. South Dakota’s regular offerings of majestic sunsets often work best if a silhouette of a recognizable object is added in the frame. Whether in the foreground or on the horizon line, a well-placed windmill silhouette can transform a nice sunset shot into a breathtaking photo infused with a common piece of symbolism. This allows personal emotions and memories to be added to the photo on an individual and unique basis. I think that is what good art is all about. That said, I readily admit that such high-minded thoughts rarely enter my mind when out shooting photographs. My method is simply finding a scene with potential and then working it to get a shot that speaks to me. Within those moments are where the fun and joy of photography are for me.

One early summer night a few years ago, I was back home near Isabel, SD shooting the Milky Way in the southern sky with a lone windmill in the foreground. The night was very dark and I was working alone. All of the sudden, the windmill began to turn and whine. Soon it was pulsing a faint metallic tone while turning briskly. I was a bit startled since there was no wind at ground level. The sound was loud in the otherwise still night, reminding me of the opening scene of one of the best spaghetti westerns of all time, Once Upon A Time in the West. At first it was spooky, but after I told myself it was simply a wind current well above ground, it became sort of a soothing sound as I worked. When it stopped turning about 10 minutes later, the night was too quiet.

This September I was chasing the last big thunderstorm of the season near Epiphany, SD, and happened to stumble upon an abandoned farmhouse with a windmill near it just off the county road. I set up my camera in the post-storm wind and pointed it at the scene with plenty of room in the sky to try to catch some lightning. I got a couple decent shots, but the cool thing was being able to go back and re-shoot the scene in October against an evening sky on a nearly full moon night. Those old windmills have seen a lot of storms and skies, yet they still stand and endure, even if the times have passed them by. There’s probably a good life lesson in there somewhere — and even if not, a lone windmill standing against the South Dakota sky will always remind me of home.

Christian Begeman grew up in Isabel and now lives in Sioux Falls. When he’s not working at Midcontinent Communications he is often on the road photographing our prettiest spots around the state. Follow Begeman on his blog. To view Christian’s columns on South Dakota’s state parks and recreation areas, visit his state parks page.


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We Weren’t First?

We started publishing this magazine before several of our staff members went to school, so it’s getting old — especially by South Dakota publishing standards.

Lots of magazines have come and gone. The earliest we’ve tracked was started by the legendary historian Doane Robinson right here in Yankton in 1898. He called it the Monthly South Dakotan. It lasted for eight years.

We have single copies of many other attempts. There was a Dacotah Magazine that began in Watertown shortly after Robinson’s Monthly failed. The state Chamber of Commerce tried a Sunshine Magazine in the 1920s.

Another startup failed shortly before we started in 1985. As I recall, the advertising sales director went to prison on a murder charge.

South Dakota isn’t the easist place to publish a magazine, but it has been fertile ground for us. Our advertising directors have stayed out of jail and our writers and photographers have shown great passion for the art of publishing a prairie and mountain magazine.

We are constantly on the lookout for other publishing brethren who may have preceded us, and today a reader sent us this image of a front cover of a publication. My guess is that it is a state agriculture department yearbook from the 1920s, but we would welcome any further input.

We would also be interested in identifying the pretty young model on the cover. Any leads?

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Buy Local?

Thursday I stopped at the Farmer’s Market in downtown Aberdeen. A pleasant breeze was blowing and the stalls were buzzing with customers. I highly recommend it. Corn, green beans, and lettuce were plentiful and cheap. There were jars of delicious looking preserves and smoked chickens to be had. I picked up a couple of zucchini, an eggplant and a bag of green beans. I don’t really like zucchini and I am morally opposed to eggplant, but I like green beans! My vegetarian daughter is visiting from the Cities and I am going to roast greens and purples over charcoal.

The farmer’s market is an institution in little need of defense. Buying food that is fresh because it is locally produced, in its season, is one good way to make a memorable meal. The atmosphere at such markets is always festive and colorful, which is why they are frequently mentioned in tour guides for such faraway places as Madrid or Saint Paul. It is also a pleasure to actually meet the folks that put the seeds in the ground and pull the leafy greens out of it. What could make the experience better?

Well, you could persuade yourself that you are not just shopping wisely but also shopping virtuously. That is what the”buy local” movement is all about. It’s big in Portland, Oregon, so it must be hip. The idea goes like this: buying food locally is better for the environment and is socially responsible. Food grown locally doesn’t have to be shipped across vast distances and so doesn’t have the large carbon footprint that comes with planes, trains and big rig trucks. It is more likely to be produced by a small, independent farm rather than a gigantic agribusiness and so involves less destruction of the soil and water. Finally, it’s a simple moral choice to support local farmers rather than the national and international conglomerates that dominate the food industry.

All of that sounds good, and it may make you feel very righteous when you shop at a farmer’s market, but none of it is true. Transportation costs, including energy, are a very small portion of true costs of produce, even when the produce is shipped across hemispheres. Almost all of the energy burned and the greenhouse gases produced in food production comes at the point where the food is grown. Mother Earth doesn’t care whether this happens in a big or small farm, in Brown County or Argentina. If anything, small farms are less environmentally friendly than large ones, for the same reason that a family of four living in an apartment complex has a smaller carbon footprint than a similar family living in a small house in rural America.

I am pleased to support local farmers for the same reason that I am pleased that Gabby Douglas won the all-around gymnastics gold medal at the Olympics. Go home team! This is nothing to be ashamed of, but there is nothing morally laudable about it either. If I buy grapes grown in Chile, I am helping to raise the standard of living down there. Those folks have families to feed just like I have.

The problem with bogus claims about buying locally is that they provide absolution when a bit more soul searching and menu scrutinizing may be in order. If you really want your table to be environmentally correct, try cutting down a bit on beef. Your average cow has a carbon footprint that would shame Godzilla. It doesn’t matter whether the cow farts in Brown County or Peru. The world has a lot of grass but only one atmosphere.

Buying locally at a farmer’s market is a great way to make a good meal and meet some very fine and interesting folks. It isn’t doing anything to save the environment and it doesn’t make you a better person.

Dr. Ken Blanchard is a professor of Political Science at Northern State University and writes for the Aberdeen American News and the blog South Dakota Politics.



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2012 Farm Bill

The debate over the 2012 Farm Bill offers the satisfying spectacle of watching Democrats attack Republicans for not acting enough like Democrats, and Republicans responding by trying to act more like Democrats.

Congresswoman Kristi Noem has been promising a strong farm bill. She has promised to use her influence on the House Agriculture Committee and as freshman liaison to the House GOP leadership to get more benefits for South Dakota farmers and ranchers. The House managed to pass stop-gap drought relief for livestock producers before the August recess, but Speaker Boehner has stalled on the overall farm bill, leaving it simmering until fall. The debate will drag on perilously close to the current farm bill’s expiration at the end of September. Every day closer to the November election makes it less likely that Congress will make any tough decisions.

Noem’s Democratic challenger, Matt Varilek, showed up outside a closed-door Noem confab with farm leaders Monday to demand that she take faster action on the farm bill. South Dakota farmers need help, Varilek charges; they can’t wait for political games. Noem insists she’s doing all she can to pass all the government help she can for agriculture.

Read that again: a Democrat says, “We need more government help!” The Republican to whom he says that responds, “I’m getting it to you as quickly as I can!”

Three years ago, we had something called TARP, the Troubled Asset Relief Program. President Bush signed TARP into law. We used TARP to bail out a bunch of the banks that gambled us into the recession. President Obama used TARP to bail out General Motors and Chrysler. Instead of letting those businesses sink or swim on the merits of their own assets and decisions, we said as a national community, “No, no, we can’t let the free market run you out of business. You’re too big to fail. Here’s some cash.”

Isn’t the farm bill an ongoing bailout for agriculture? Rep. Noem says agriculture is a “national security” issue; it is, therefore, too big a deal to fail. We promise farmers that, whether it’s drought or flood or mere fluctuations in consumer preferences, we won’t let conditions beyond their control drive them out of business. We pile food stamps into the farm bill, in part to help hungry people, but also to boost demand for agricultural products. On the farm bill, Republicans like Kristi Noem join Democrats like Matt Varilek in saying, essentially, “The market doesn’t work! Government must act to keep agriculture afloat!”

It’s too bad we can’t get Republicans and Democrats to agree like that more often.

Cory Allen Heidelberger writes the Madville Times political blog. He grew up on the shores of Lake Herman. He studied math and history at SDSU and information systems at DSU, and is currently teaching French at Spearfish High School.

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Threshing on the South Dakota Prairie

Editor’s Note: This story is revised from the July/August 1996 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call 800-456-5117.

Threshing time meant hot, sweaty days of back-breaking labor with sun in your eyes and dust in your mouth and noise from the grinding gears of heavy machinery bouncing between your ears. Itchy, scratchy chaff clung to wherever your skin was bare. And work stretched out in front of you, bundles and bundles of work piled in shocks that meandered in crooked rows over the yellow-stubbled horizon.

Cowboys get lots of credit for working like fools for little pay all week and only getting into town on Saturday nights. Songs are sung of their riding and romancing. Some with good teeth even have a chance to make movies.

But no cowboy could match “woe was me” stories with a real thresherman. And even though the literary types who write the songs and books never did immortalize the threshing teams of the Great Plains states, their exploits are not forgotten. Their grey, steel-wheeled threshing machines (some call them separators) can be seen in all parts of South Dakota. Most were parked in tree groves, ready to be pulled from retirement when the new-fangled combine faltered.

When combines were first introduced in the middle years of the last century, no one trusted them to really work as promised. So a cautious farmer kept his thresher in the trees. He even kept it greased and oiled for safe-keeping. Once they felt comfortable with the combines, some worldly farmers pulled their threshers out by the road as a treat for tourists. There they sit today. City travelers still marvel at the contraptions. They mistake them for everything from primitive UFOs to tin-roofed covered wagons. Because the threshers were sitting by the road, somebody got the good idea of hanging signs on them. If nothing else, South Dakotans are a practical people. Nobody on Madison Avenue in New York City could have designed a more sturdy billboard.

Generally, the thresher signs point the way to the nearest museum. For many years, that’s as close to the museums as threshing machines were allowed. The cowboys’ saddles and boots and spurs were welcomed inside. But the threshing machine stayed out in the elements, left to rust and sink slowly in the sod.

It wasn’t until the 1960s that some South Dakotans realized a part of their agricultural heritage could be lost. Efforts were begun to restore their old machinery and put it on exhibit with the cowboy’s gear. The first organization to collect the machines on a grand scale was Prairie Village, which organized on the outskirts of Madison in 1961.

Farm history is fun for city and country folk alike at places like Menno’s Pioneer Power Show. Photo by Bernie Hunhoff.

Several years later, the Western Dakota Antique Club was formed at Sturgis to preserve old agricultural equipment from West River farms. “We’d been taking in some threshing shows in other areas and we were getting itchy to get something started ourselves,” said Ambrose Bachand, one of about 200 founders of the Sturgis club, when we spoke with him in 1996. Another founder, LeRoy Hardy, remembered when they hooked up to their first threshing machine and pulled it out of the tall grass. “It was in useable condition. It just had to be taken apart and cleaned and greased.”

Hardy, Bachand and most of the original members of the West River club were farmers or had grown up on farms. But they said the popularity of the old machinery isn’t limited to farm kids. “We’ve had lots of city people come to our shows,” said Bachand. “It’s a chance for them to see a little piece of history.”

“When they look at some of these big tractors the pioneers used to break up the sod 100 years ago, it’s plain you don’t have to be a farmer to enjoy that,” said Hayes.

Most threshing bees in the state have more than just a grain demonstration. Madison’s Prairie Village Steam Threshing Jamboree, the granddaddy of South Dakota’s harvest exhibitions, has over 50 turn-of-the-century buildings, including a sod house, country school, print shop, opera house and jail. Rides are available on steam locomotives. But old iron farm equipment still takes center stage. Farmers like to argue over whether the red (International Harvester) or green (John Deere) machines are most reliable; when if the truth were known, both colors and all other shades were cussed equally and repeatedly back in their real working days.

While there was little romance and adventure associated with the oats and wheat harvest 50 years ago, perhaps a certain nostalgia has settled in. All these celebrations seem to be a fitting remembrance to the threshing culture, which has a lot of catching-up to do to take its deserved place besides the cowboy mystique.


Grab a Pitchfork … Or Just Watch

Every threshing celebration has its own flavor, depending on the talents and collections of the local people. Visit one of South Dakota’s threshing demonstrations and volunteer to pitch a bundle or two to get a taste of our agricultural history.

Aug. 3-5: Southeast South Dakota Threshing Show, Lennox. 712-737-2671.
Aug. 10-12: Humboldt Threshing Show.
Aug. 11-12: Twin Brooks Threshing Show.
Aug. 17-19: Black Hills Steam and Gas Threshing Bee, Sturgis.
Aug. 18-19: Rosholt Area Threshing Bee.
Aug. 23-26: Prairie Village Steam Threshing Jamboree, Madison.
Sept. 7-9: James Valley Threshing Show, Andover.
Sept. 8-9: Kuchen & Old Time Harvest Festival, Delmont.
Sept. 22-23: Pioneer Power Show, Menno.
Sept. 28-30: Coal Springs Antique Show & Threshing Bee, Meadow. 788-2854.

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Old Iron Rolls On

Nostalgia: Harmless Enough

The Tri-State Old Iron Association’s sixth annual tractor parade was held July 12-14, under the sponsorship of “Your Big Friend” WNAX Radio, a farm station that was broadcasting farm markets before the M Farmall was created. Yankton’s Paddlewheel Park was home base for the 180 tractor owners. Photos by Bernie Hunhoff.