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Deadwood Dick vs the Whitewood Skunk

He never sat with his back to a door, that grim old-timer who claimed to be the hero of the Deadwood Dick dime novels. He assumed the stance of an alert shotgun guard at all times, in spite of the fact that no stagecoach robber had been observed in our little town for many a decade.

His weather-beaten face was flecked with powder burns and his piercing, squinched eyes were ever on the lookout for trouble. He seemed to stand tall, due to his lean build, and the peaked crown of his black Stetson added to the deception. His name was Richard Clarke, but he preferred to be called Deadwood Dick, and most of the townspeople humored him.

Dick lived in obscurity for a number of years and his oft-told tales of vanquished Indians and outwitted holdup men were discounted by local listeners. His prosaic job as a railroad section hand did much to diminish belief in his stories of previous adventures. Some of his neighbors regarded him as a pathetic and deluded old man.

It was in 1927, when he was in his early seventies, that Deadwood Dick was born again. Bert Bell, an energetic and imaginative press agent for Deadwood’s Days of 76, acted as midwife in the rebirth of the fictional hero, and Dick Clarke became the character that he had impersonated for many years. Dick was given a buckskin suit, the use of a cabin in Pine Crest Park for his lifetime, a place of honor in every parade, and he was lionized with proper respect by the cult buffs of the Pioneer.

Robert Casey, in his book, The Black Hills, said that some of Dick’s disbelievers claimed he “didn’t know which end of the gun to hold away from him when he pulled the trigger.” Our family could prove this was not the case.

It was our privilege, when we moved to Whitewood in 1920, to live in the house next door to Deadwood Dick. Before his sudden rise to fame removed him from our town, we considered him a satisfactory neighbor, except for one alarming trait. He was much too quick on the trigger of his trusty rifle. The fact that the index finger on his right hand was missing did not slow his fast draw.

I was a senior in high school when I experienced the humbling result of Deadwood Dick’s fast draw. Mother had mentioned on one of Dick’s visits that a skunk had taken up residence under our screened porch. Dick assured her that he knew just how to take care of the problem.

Why he chose 8:30 the following morning to exterminate the animal, I shall never know, but just as I was leaving for school, a shot shattered the early morning stillness and my life was changed for many weeks thereafter. The skunk returned Dick’s fire with an odor that contaminated our neighborhood for blocks.

By the time I reached the Lemaster home, I knew that I would not be welcome in class, and I decided upon what I foolishly considered a quick fix. I had tied a 25-cent piece in my handkerchief for some notebook paper, so I dashed down to Gustin’s Drug Store for a quarter’s worth of perfume. Earl, in his haste to get rid of me, handed me a half pint of the cheapest, smelliest kind in stock, and held the door open for my departure.

I drenched myself with the malodorous liquid, and in my rush to reach class on time, I failed to realize the full horror of combining the essence of skunk with the overpowering scent of magnolia and musk. I tried to slip into the room without being noticed, but my odor preceded me and as I came through the door, all eyes in class were upon me. I raced to my seat amidst a concert of gagging and retching sounds, and Lorene Jay, who sat in front of me, promptly fainted. Professor Munson quickly appraised the situation and suggested that I leave the room immediately.

As I slunk away, totally disgraced, I noticed that Lorene had returned to consciousness, with many solicitous classmates in attendance. Tearfully, I stumbled home with anger eventually replacing my humiliation. I deplored the fact that no early-day combatants had sent a well-placed bullet or arrow to the heart of our hero, Deadwood Dick, and I plotted ways that I might accomplish the job they had left undone.

At home, I found my exasperated mother trying to air out the house that smelled worse even than I, before I added the putrid perfume. The unfortunate skunk left his imprint on our household for several weeks, but Deadwood Dick has lingered in my memory as he appeared that ill-fated morning so many years ago. Only my futile anger has faded, dissolved by laughter and nostalgia for those “good old days.”

Editor’s Note: Ruth McPherson, a Black Hills native who lived in Santa Fe, New Mexico, wrote this true tale of Deadwood Dick’s exploits for our July/August 1991 issue.

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Remembering Calamity

Calamity Jane’s life and loves achieved mythic status long ago. It’s rare to catch a glimpse of the woman behind the legend, but thanks to the a recent post at the South Dakota Oral History Center blog, we can now hear stories from two men who knew her. George Leeman first met the legendary Black Hills lady when he was just a boy. Pers Russell, the son of Gordon Party member Thomas H. Russell, knew Martha Jane Cannary from his days of bartending at the Bodega Bar. But they never forgot their encounters with one of Deadwood’s wildest citizens, and they shared those memories and other tales from the early days of the Black Hills in 1956 with J. Leonard Jennewein, a history and English professor at Dakota Wesleyan University.

Excerpts from those interviews are available at the South Dakota Oral History Center’s blog. Click here to listen, contact the Oral History Center to purchase copies of the full interviews with Leeman and Russell, or search the center’s database to find more South Dakota historical tidbits.

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Friendship Tower

When my husband and I visited Mount Moriah Cemetery in Deadwood last summer, we climbed the steep path to Seth Bullock’s plot facing Mount Roosevelt. I found the story of his grave intriguing. Bullock met Theodore Roosevelt during Roosevelt’s years on a North Dakota ranch. The two remained friends during his presidency and Roosevelt appointed Bullock U.S. Marshall. Shortly after Roosevelt’s death in 1919, Bullock and the Society of the Black Hills Pioneers built Friendship Tower on the mount as a memorial to his friend. Bullock died a few months after the tower dedication and, at his request, was buried 750 feet above the main portion of the cemetery with a view of Mount Roosevelt across the gulch.

Jeremy and I were in Deadwood again a few weeks ago and looking for an easy hike when we remembered Mount Roosevelt. There aren’t a lot of signs promoting its trail, but it is easy to find. You head north a little ways out of Deadwood on Highway 85, take a left on Mount Roosevelt Road and follow it for about 2 Ω miles until you reach the trailhead/parking lot. Josh from howtoenjoytheblackhills.com has even posted a video showing the route.

A well-maintained picnic area marks the trailhead to the castle-like tower. We hiked the half-mile path through oak and pine, skirting scree slopes and boulders. Raspberries even ripen along the trail in season. The trail and 31-foot tower atop the 5,690-foot summit are maintained by the Black Hills National Forest. New stone steps on the outside of the tower and a steep spiral staircase on the inside were added to allow an expansive view. There is also a little viewing deck just northwest of the tower for those who don’t want to scale the stairs.

It’s not strenuous, but I highly recommend this hike if you want to stretch your legs during a day in Deadwood. Bullock chose the location for its overlook of the plains beyond Belle Fourche and on into North Dakota where Roosevelt had his ranch. We could also just make out Bear Butte and Harney Peak. It’s cheap entertainment for your visit to the gambling town!

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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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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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Adams House Stories

I hope some visiting Deadwood for last weekend’s Festival of Books took time to stop at the Historic Adams House. My husband and I toured last summer and the stories the tour guide shared were the real highlight.

First owners Harris and Anna Franklin were rich and they wanted a house that showed it. The arrival of the railroad in Deadwood made if feasible for them to build the extravagant Queen Anne-style home in 1892. A Chicago architect designed the home with central heating, hot and cold running water and electric lights. Servants could be summoned by electric bells and the family could even communicate by telephone within the house.

After Anna died in 1901, Harris sold the house to his son for $1. It was sold again in 1920 to W.E. and Alice Adams. W.E. was a wealthy retailer, wholesale grocer, and six-time mayor of Deadwood. The couple raised two daughters who later married successful husbands and moved out of state. Everything seemed grand until their daughter Lucile contracted typhoid fever in Detroit and died in 1912.

More misfortune befell the family in 1925. Alice, who had been ill with cancer, chose to travel to California for the birth of their first grandchild. She died suddenly in her daughter Helen’s home, causing Helen to go into labor. Helen died the following day and the baby died soon after.

W.E.’s family had been entirely wiped out, but he met his second wife in 1926 on a passenger train traveling from Denver to Deadwood. The widowed Mary Mastrovich Vicich was only 28 when the 72-year-old businessman courted her. Their relationship was considered scandalous by some, but the couple married a year later. They enjoyed seven years of travel and charity work together until W.E. died of a stroke in 1934. Mary inherited the home and in 1936 she closed up its contents and moved to California. Everything was left intact for over 50 years, even a jar full of cookies. You can see the cookie jar on display, although I believe the cookies have been changed.

We heard more stories on the tour including passageways that were possibly installed to allow trysts with a maid — but I can’t remember which man was supposed to have used them and I don’t want to start any rumors. I believe there was also talk of a ghost or two.

Unfortunately I don’t have pictures of the intricate interior architecture or extravagant furniture. Non-flash photography was once allowed but a couple of charlatans ruined it for the average tourist. Adams Museum staff found that visitors had photographed the home’s relics and were offering them for sale on Ebay. You are still welcome to photograph the garden and have your picture taken on the porch.

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Festival of Books

Writers and readers share a universal bond, and therein lies the ever-growing success of the South Dakota Book Festival, which was held this past weekend in the historic havens of downtown Deadwood. There were standing-room-only crowds for most of the presentations, which ranged from New Yorker cartooning to Auschwitz, six-man football in South Dakota and the Rapid City flood. The festival, in its nine-year history, has quickly emerged as one of the best such gatherings in the country. Photos by Bernie Hunhoff.

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Together One Last Time

This weekend could be the last chance you’ll ever have to see the two biggest pieces of gold ever found in the Black Hills side by side.

The Adams Museum and House in Deadwood plans to display Potato Creek Johnny’s famous gold nugget alongside the Icebox Nugget, found just last summer, from 1 to 4 p.m., on Sunday.

The Adams Museum has housed Potato Creek Johnny’s nugget for 77 years, though it rarely makes public appearances. Johnny Perrett, a petite Welsh immigrant with long hair and a scraggly beard, pulled the nugget shaped like a hockey stick from the tumbling waters of Potato Creek in Spearfish Canyon on May 27, 1929. At 4 3/4 inches long and weighing 7 3/4 troy ounces, it was declared the largest nugget ever found in the Hills. But skeptics claimed it was actually a melted mass of gold that Perrett stole from other miners.

Perrett decided to sell his nugget in 1934. He entertained many offers, but the winning $250 bid came from W.E. Adams, a longtime Deadwood businessman and politician who had recently built a new museum. Adams immediately placed the nugget in a museum vault and had two replicas made, one of which is on permanent display.

The original stayed hidden until 1995, when it was displayed in honor of the Adams Museum’s 65th anniversary.”It was like the Shroud of Turin,” says Mary Kopco, the museum’s director.”I’ve never seen so many people come through the Adams Museum doors in such a short period of time. Since a replica has always been on display, a lot of people thought the actual nugget had disappeared entirely.”

It has appeared publicly only a handful of times since, including a four-hour display in 2010 at the Journey Museum with the newly discovered Icebox Nugget, the largest undisputed gold nugget to come out of the Black Hills in 120 years. Prospectors Charlie Ward and Byron Janis pulled it from a cool, Black Hills stream on July 6, 2010. The exact location of the find was never revealed, but they say it was within 20 miles of Rapid City. Chris Johnson, owner of the Clock Shop in Rapid City, bought the 5.27 troy ounce nugget last summer.

After Sunday, there are no plans to reunite these two important pieces of Black Hills history, so Kopco expects a busy three hours.”It’s so fun for people to see both of these nuggets, but of course I’m partial to Potato Creek Johnny’s,” Kopco says.”It’s an incredible piece of history. I’m fortunate to have the opportunity to hold it in my gloved hands. It’s the reason we go into the museum profession. Pieces like these have impacted our lives.”