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Discovered: A Missing Governor

Governors come and go. We don’t pay a lot of attention to them when they’re gone, and that’s especially true of John Pennington, the fifth governor of Dakota Territory.

But he deserves better treatment.

Pennington wasn’t perfect, but he should be judged and remembered in the perspective of his era.

He was an Alabama newspaperman during the Civil War. When he realized that it wasn’t going to end well for his beloved South, he began to suggest editorially that perhaps peace wouldn’t be a bad thing. That infuriated many of his readers. I’ve heard second-hand that even some of his own descendants are still embarrassed by his writings.

But Ulysses S. Grant liked the editorials, and he rewarded Pennington in 1874 by appointing him Governor of Dakota Territory. The 45-year-old journalist arrived in the young riverside capital city of Yankton, anxious to help create a new civilization on the prairie. Those were exciting times. Railroads were developing at break-neck speeds. Gold was waiting to be mined in the Black Hills. Homesteaders were flocking to the countryside and new towns were springing up everywhere.

Unfortunately, a “Yankton Gang” was already entrenched in the city and Pennington became part of their shenanigans. For example, Pennington County was created — named after the new governor — and Yankton officials were appointed to the county offices under the theory that the Black Hills crowd was still too raw to run a fair election. Some of the county officials didn’t even travel West ot serve; they just named deputies to do the work.

But Pennington loved Dakota. In fact, he argued against dividing it into two states. He tried to create some fairness for the Native Americans, argued on behalf of farmers in fights against the railroads and initiated an aggressive anti-grasshopper program (if you think that sounds silly, think how popular it is to fight pine beetles today.)

And he loved Yankton. He built a modest mansion at 3rd & Pearl (now the home of South Dakota Magazine for the past 27 years) and several other houses and structures. He was reappointed governor in 1876 — a rare occurrence because most governors quickly grew unpopular — and after leaving the post in 1878 he continued to live in the city, even resuming his journalism career in 1885 with a weekly newspaper. His wife died in Yankton, and Pennington eventually returned to Alabama as an old man.

That was the end of the story as we knew it until this month when Gary Conradi, a retired Sioux Falls businessman and avid historian, stopped by our offices. Conradi is collecting information and photographs on all of Dakota’s governors. All of the territorial governors (and many of the state’s early governors) are buried out-of-state.

Conradi searched long and hard for Pennington’s grave, and finally discovered it in Oxford, Alabama, a town very near to Anniston. He couldn’t find anyone who would admit to being Pennington’s relative but he did bring back pictures of the modest gravesite. There is no mention or marking of his service to Dakota Territory or South Dakota.

Pennington County old-timers are probably pleased about that.

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Dakota Territory’s “Most Interesting Man”

Surely you’ve seen the television commercials for Dos Equis featuring”the most interesting man in the world.” The pitchman for the Mexican beer claims to have been involved in various adventurous escapades (cliff diving in Acapulco or splash landing in a space capsule) and is afforded unique opportunities (at art museums, he’s the only person allowed to touch the paintings).

I was reminded of those commercials recently as I paged through a book called The Last Frontier, by Zack Sutley. Written in 1930, just before Sutley died, the book is a memoir of his 17 years (1867 to 1884) spent as an adventurer on the Plains. The yarns he spins within its covers make him an obvious candidate for Dakota Territory’s Most Interesting Man.

He hunted with Buffalo Bill and explored with Kit Carson, Jim Bridger and Brigham Young. He guided George Custer on an expedition from Fort Abraham Lincoln through the Black Hills. He happened to be in Northfield, Minn., when Frank and Jesse James robbed the First National Bank. Two days later, while camping back in Dakota, he unwittingly encountered the James brothers during their escape. He was also in Yankton when Jack McCall was hanged. Sutley writes that General William Henry Harrison Beadle (McCall’s defense attorney) asked him to speak with the condemned man just days before the execution on March 1, 1877,”but McCall would tell me nothing that we could use in his favor,” Sutley reports.

It seems remarkable that the stars would align such that one man would meet all these historical figures and become involved in so many of the West’s most famous events. The note inside the front cover claims that Sutley”tells his story without embellishment,” but I think some of his tales must be read with a grain of salt. In his chapter on the hanging of famed Black Hills outlaw Lame Johnny, Sutley describes that particular trip to the Hills and recounts how he endured a ferocious blizzard. After the storm, he took his horse to a creek in a valley for water. As they came back up the hill, he heard the Cheyenne to Deadwood stage rumbling along the frozen path. Then vigilantes stopped the coach, removed Lame Johnny and hung him from a nearby elm tree.

It’s a good story, but Lame Johnny was hanged in July. Black Hills weather can be fickle, but that’s surely too late for a snowstorm. At any rate, Sutley’s memoir is worth perusing, especially for his descriptions of early Yankton, other Dakota towns and general life on the frontier. And maybe the marketers at Dos Equis will find new fodder for commercials.

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Wild Bill and Calamity Jane: A Love Story?

We’ve all heard the stories about Wild Bill Hickok and Calamity Jane being more than just friends. But of course we know better. James McLaird, a longtime history professor at Dakota Wesleyan University in Mitchell, debunked the myth pretty forcefully in his book Wild Bill and Calamity Jane: Deadwood Legends. He proved the two knew each other for only a brief period in Deadwood, and were certainly nothing more than casual acquaintances.

But that’s not what The Days of’75-’76 would have you believe. The 1915 silent film was the first movie to link the two romantically. Audiences haven’t seen the film in decades, but it reappears this weekend, the opening of the Historical Film Series at the Black Hills Roundhouse in Lead.

Scholars at the University of Nebraska discovered the film in their archives over a decade ago. They were unable to identify the locations or characters portrayed, so they contacted Wayne Paananen in Lead. Paananen owns the largest private collection of historical films in the state, and was able to piece the story together.

The Hart brothers, filmmakers from Omaha, shot the picture in the Black Hills, Badlands and Fort Robinson in Nebraska. Its run time is about 70 minutes, much longer than other films produced 100 years ago. And it’s clear the directors did not strive for historical accuracy.”It takes tremendous liberties,” Paananen says.”For example, Jack McCall vies with Wild Bill for the affection of Calamity Jane early in the film.”

It includes typical Western scenes depicting Indian uprisings and stagecoach robberies. One of the final scenes shows Jack McCall on trial in Yankton for the murder of Wild Bill.”It is truly a real piece of Americana, not only portraying the true Western format of filming, but it was done at a time when movies were the rage,” he says.”It was a totally new form of entertainment.”

Paananen says the film is exciting for two reasons. First, you get a feel for the filming techniques of the day.”When they had an indoor shot, they only built a three sided set with no roof, and they used all natural light and shot from the open side,” he says.”That was really a great technique, except in this film when they are supposed to be indoors the tablecloth and papers on table are blowing around because of the wind.”

Audiences also get to see the Deadwood of a century ago. A scene at Mount Moriah Cemetery shows the second of two statues that once stood over Wild Bill’s gravesite. Souvenir hunters regularly chipped pieces from the monuments.”You can see it’s already been attacked by tourists and starting to look ugly,” he says. It was eventually removed and is now displayed at the Adams Museum in Deadwood.

The Days of’75-’76 screens at 7 p.m., tonight through Saturday. Future films include Homestake: The Legend and Legacy (Feb. 15-18), World War II films (March 14-17, and a film festival and competition open to amateur filmmakers in April and May. Information on each film and the upcoming festival can be found at www.bhroundhouse.com.

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Gideon Moody: Scrupulous Senator, Knife Fighter

Don’t let anyone tell you that Facebook and Twitter are worthless wastes of time. As it turns out, you can learn a lot about important figures in South Dakota history through social media. For example, this week I learned that one of the most scrupulous politicians in South Dakota history was once prepared to plunge a bowie knife into a fellow legislator.

My research into the life of Gideon Moody began a few days ago when a friend posted this to his Facebook and Twitter accounts:”Apparently, the gov of Indiana recently described a famous duel w bowie knives involving former SD Senator Gideon Moody. Anyone hav details?”

My friend was referencing a speech delivered by Indiana Gov. Mitch Daniels. The fight Daniels alluded to involved Moody, and occurred while the Republican served in the Indiana state House of Representatives in 1861.

In his History of South Dakota, state historian Doane Robinson explained that the issue was states’ rights, an especially hot button topic in the months preceding the Civil War. One legislator attacked the governor and Moody came to his defense so vociferously that he was challenged to a duel using bowie knives. They crossed the border into Kentucky to consummate the challenge and were promptly arrested and fined $500 each. The bowie knives remained in their sheaths.

Perhaps it shouldn’t surprise us that Moody was willing to fight. Duels and other physical confrontations were common solutions to problems among men, particularly politicians, in the 19th century. Stories abound involving territorial legislators engaged in barroom brawls in Yankton over disagreements large and small.

It appears Moody’s fighting spirit (at least in the physical sense) abated when he came to Dakota Territory with his family in 1864 to supervise construction of the Sioux City to Fort Randall military road. When he discovered the road could be built for far less than the money already appropriated, he paid the farmers he had recruited to work on it double the money originally intended. It raised the ire of the federal government, but he earned the respect of thousands of South Dakotans.

Moody served in the House of Representatives, was a judge in Deadwood and became one of our first U.S. Senators in 1889. He cultivated an unparalleled reputation for honesty. During one court case in Deadwood, litigants worried over the trial’s probable outcome against them tried to find someone who would bribe Judge Moody. They found an old law partner of Moody’s from North Dakota and brought him to town. When he heard their plan, he shouted,”My God, men! Do you expect me to tackle that man on any such proposition? Why, I should be in the penitentiary in 48 hours. If that is what you got me here for, I might as well leave for home on the coach tomorrow.” And he did.

When he faced defeat in his bid for re-election to the Senate in 1891, several legislators suggesting supporting Moody in exchange for certain privileges.”He told them that if one dollar were used in buying a vote for him he would refuse to qualify for the office or accept it, and more, that he would assist in prosecuting both the man offering the money and the man accepting it,” Robinson wrote.

Moody ultimately lost the election. He practiced law before moving to California in 1900. He died four years later.

Were all our founders so bold? Watch Facebook and Twitter and maybe you’ll find out.

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Yankton Paid a Price

Would Yankton be the capital city of South Dakota today if our forefathers would have behaved themselves?

Of course, that’s water under the bridge. But this year marks the 150th observance of Yankton’s founding and the creation of our territorial government is a proper occasion to learn from the past. The truth is that we could have been a better capital city, and we paid a price.

First of all, we should have done the obvious things like investing in the construction of a governor’s mansion and a capitol building, and sharing the spoils with our potential opponents from the north and west.

We did the exact opposite. As I recall, the capitol building that we did build was eventually moved east of town and rehabbed into a chicken coop. Every governor had to build his own home, and most of them came from the South where they didn’t suffer our frost-freeze cycle, so all but one of their”mansions” were soon torn down. (The only one still standing, The Pennington House, now provides offices for our South Dakota Magazine at 3rd & Pearl.)

And as for spoils for the opponents? Gov. Pennington was a good man and probably one of the top territorial governors, but even he had his peccadilloes. For example, he created Pennington County, modestly had it named it for himself, and then proceeded to appoint his friends, rather than Black Hills leaders, to the county posts. Many of them didn’t even go West to serve — they handled the duties from Yankton.

Patronage was almost the order of the day, but there were far worse transgressions. Some of our Yankton streets (Burleigh and Picotte) now honor the names of early leaders who were the subject of numerous complaints about election irregularities, bribery and other forms of corruption.

Even the Yankton gang quarreled among themselves. There were rivalries and jealousies between businessmen on Broadway and Capitol streets, according to historian Herbert Schell’s fine book, The History of South Dakota.

Indian issues, railroad rights-of-way, the formation of counties and numerous other challenges faced the territorial legislature and the Yankton leaders. They muddled their way along, as governments usually do, but not many citizens in the sprawling Dakota Territory were impressed with their Yankton leadership.

The local gang knew of the growing dissension, but they felt they had an advantage because any re-organization of the territory had to occur within the city limits of Yankton.”Undaunted by such legal obstacles,” wrote Schell,”the nine members (of the capitol commission) secretly proceeded to Sioux City where in the early hours of April 3, 1883, they boarded a special train consisting of an engine and a single coach, and set out for the capital. As they reached the city limits at about six o’clock that morning, they halted the train briefly while they organized themselves. Then followed a junketing through the Territory by the ‘The Capital on Wheels,’ as the commission was nicknamed ….”

That midnight trip doomed Yankton as the state capital. We had it and we let it slip from our grasp — because of greed, self-interest and a frugal disinclination to make smart investments at the right moment.

I’m not suggesting that there are any lessons to be learned in this sad story. But you know what they say about history ….

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Rediscovering J.B. Irvine

We were visiting my wife’s parents in Letcher last Christmas when my mother-in-law asked if I’d ever heard of J.B. Irvine. I know a few characters from state history, but Irvine didn’t ring any bells. Then she showed me a number of photocopied letters written from Fort Sully in the 1860s and 1870s.

The copies came from Ken Stach, a postal history collector who lives on a farm near Letcher. He’s interested in old postmarks, and tries to ascertain the routes pieces of mail took to reach their destination. He’s also the editor of two postal history journals: Western Express and the Dakota Collector.

In 1987 he bought a collection of cancelled envelopes that belonged to James Finley, a South Dakota native living in California. Included were a series of envelopes postmarked from Fort Sully in the 1860s and sent by J.B. Irvine, mostly to his wife and children living in St. Paul. Stach didn’t know it, but the letters once contained in the envelopes are in the state archives in Pierre, presumably donated by Finley. When Stach discovered their location, he made an agreement with archives staff: they would photocopy the Irvine letters in exchange for copies of Stach’s postal history collection. Stach received the copied letters in the early 1990s, and they’ve lain largely unused in his collection until last winter.

“After 20 years I decided to get the letters transcribed so they’re a bit more usable,” Stach says. He turned to my mother-in-law, a recently retired schoolteacher at Sanborn Central, who has been typing away all winter. Stach plans to provide the archives with electronic versions of the letters. Researchers frequently access the Irvine collection because it’s one of the best sources of information available about that time and place in Dakota history.

Javan B. Irvine was born in New York in 1831 and moved to Minnesota in 1852 to work as a builder with his brother, John. He joined the First Minnesota Volunteer Infantry Regiment when the Civil War broke out and fought at the Battle of Bull Run in 1861. He saw action throughout the war, then was stationed at various military outposts, including Fort Sully in Dakota Territory from 1867 to 1874.

Many of Irvine’s missives are routine accounts of fort life, but in a December 1872 letter to his wife he describes a near fatal encounter with an Indian. Irvine had gone hunting on horseback when he met the Indian, whom he had seen before and considered friendly. But as Irvine rode away, the Indian drew a pistol and shot four times. One of the bullets lodged in Irvine’s scalp. After a brief pursuit, he returned to Fort Sully and eventually persuaded the skeptical doctor to extract the bullet.

“Dr. Wright dressed the wound, and from the fact that a hole was found in the top of my cap, supposed the ball had glanced after striking the skull, and passed out of the top of the cap,” Irvine explained.”I called his attention to a lump on top of my head, but with his usual super abounding theories, he explained the cause of that to his apparent satisfaction, but not to mine! I went to bed and commenced feeling the top of my cranium, and becoming convinced that the bullet was there, sent for the Dr to come down and cut it out. This he succeeded in doing after some difficulty, and spattering blood all over your nice bedclothes. The ball had remained in the wound about eight hours and didn’t want to come out very bad.”

Irvine retired from 30 years of military service in 1891 and moved to California, where he died in 1904. Though he spent just seven years of his distinguished military career in South Dakota, his correspondence gives us a remarkable look at Dakota’s early history.

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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.