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Technology: Friend or Foe to Rural South Dakota?

By Bernie Hunhoff

The 35 familes of St. Agnes Catholic Church of Sigel are wondering if this is their last Christmas as a parish community in Yankton County. And down the road a bit, the same families’ post offices in Utica and Lesterville are also on the chopping block. Both towns lost the last of their schools in the 1990s, and they’re probably just hoping that they don’t lose the last beer & burger joint.

Is it any wonder that Susy and Johnny have left for jobs in Sioux Falls and Omaha?

We constantly hear that technology is going to be a friend to rural America, allowing us to run a business no matter how far we live from the consumers of the world. But the hype isn’t matching reality. Not in rural areas. Not even in urban areas, if you believe Peter Thiel. And you should.

Thiel is the visonary founder of PayPal. He’s made billions on dot.coms, and put some of the early money into Facebook. But he told the New Yorker last week that he’s disappointed in the technology revolution because it hasn’t created the jobs or the quality of life advances that he’d hoped.

If the urbane Peter Thiel is disappointed, imagine how the familes of the Sigel community might be feeling this Christmas. Since 1886, they’ve done everything that Rome could have asked. They built a church, watched it blow away in a cyclone in 1907, and then built another. They’ve cared for a growing cemetery, educated their children to the glories of the Church, rasied money for the overseas poor, helped one another in hard times and celebrated together in the good times.

But because cars can easily transport them on good, asphalt roads to the next parish 15 miles away — and because more young men would rather work on Wall Street than attend the seminary, and because young women aren’t yet allowed in seminaries, and a dozen other becauses out of their control — they are unsure whether they’ll have a functioning parish in 2012.

The nearby post offices are also ripe with becauses. Technology made letters obsolete. Businesses gravitated to bigger cities because they couldn’t get broadband in the small towns. Immense equipment and high-tech seeds and pesticides made it possible for one man and his remote-control tractor to tend an entire township, so there are fewer mailboxes per mile. The postmasters in Utica and Lesterville could surely see that little brown trucks and cell phones were running circles around them, but no leadership came from above on how to compete.

So technology — thus far — has not been a great friend to all small towns.

We may see an alternative example, however, as the 2012 South Dakota legislative session unfolds. A big divide has occurred in the state for several years over whether many of the state’s 34 emergency call centers should be consolidated to just a few. Thanks again to technology — especially GPS — a state our size could probably be served by one 911 center and it could probably be located in India or Ireland. We no longer need a local operator to tell the deputy or the fire chief to head down Walshtown Road and turn left where the big cottonwood tree stood before it was struck by lightning 10 years ago.

Urban legislators and top law enforcement officials wanted to put major restrictions on the smallest 911 centers, including a requirement that every center be staffed 24/7 by two operators. Of course, that would be hunky-dory in an ideal world. But it hardly makes sense in small, rural counties where the dispatcher probably gets only a call a day and tends to a dozen other responsibilities while awaiting that call.

When emergency response leaders realized that the legislature was loathe to close rural centers, other ideas began to surface. Maybe, someone suggested, we could use technology to link the small centers together so the calls might roll from one town to another if the local dispatcher is already on a call, or running errands while on a lunch break. That seems to be the compromise that is part of a reform package heading to the legislature in January.

Technology is neither friend nor foe. It’s what we make of it. Could USPS become a player in the broadband revolution that’s badly needed in rural America? Could the Pope beam a Sunday Mass to every Catholic parish on Earth?

South Dakota won’t be the place we love today if it becomes a state of three or four cities, separated by economic hinterlands of unemployed, unchurched and unhappy people. Granted, that’s an extreme scenario. The good news is that we have more solutions and choices available than ever before in history, thanks to technology and the internet. But we need to make it work for rural South Dakota.

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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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A Call to Arts: Occupy Main Street!

Every Main Street in South Dakota is ripe for Arts Occupation. Some communities have already experienced it, but most have not. Go Arts! Take over those vacated storefronts, whatever that means. If it is already happening, celebrate and do more. Take to the streets, and lift everyone up!

Unlike Wall Street occupiers, you don’t have to put up tents and try to survive the winter — you live here, this place is yours. You have everything you need to take back your town. Do it now, this holiday season, and your family will rejoice. South Dakotans are by nature and necessity imaginative, innovative, and eventually cooperative. Keep going that way and we will live well.

Festoon those storefronts with our culture. Make a storefront into an art gallery for local artists. Make galleries and performance spaces out of empty retail spaces. Every county has a museum — curate an exhibit for a window or two, and invite everyone to come to your museum to see more. Bring on the quilters and the textile artists. Bring on the craftsmen and women. Bring on the singers, the musical ensembles, the organists, and give them a place to play for you. Bring on the actors and the playwrights in your community. Main Street is full of venues — use them for the arts. It probably won’t be free. Invest something, but welcome everyone’s participation or you will miss some very interesting people. Ask your state arts agency or your local arts council for help.

While you are waiting for that help, do what you can this holiday season. Celebrate and decorate like never before — sing and dance, use those empty spaces to celebrate and bring life to the heart of your town. Take to the streets, and shine them up with life. Find a way to occupy the dusty windows with the arts. A peaceful occupation is in the works. Occupy Main Street, South Dakota! Please.

Pat Boyd is Executive Director of South Dakotans for the Arts, a statewide nonprofit membership organization dedicated to advancing the arts through service, education and advocacy. Pat and her husband, artist George Prisbe, live at Hanna Creek in the northern Black Hills.