Tag: fall river county

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Major or Not?

By Paul Higbee

When I was asked to write about Hot Springs a few years ago, I flashed back to fifth grade, green mimeograph paper and talking my way out of an academic jam.

In elementary school I lived in another state but was a fervent wannabe South Dakotan. To my thinking, at age 11, Hot Springs seemed like South Dakota’s most impressive city. And yes, by that point in my life I’d visited acknowledged major U.S. cities, namely Denver, Des Moines and Minneapolis. That Hot Springs perhaps didn’t fit that category never crossed my mind. To my knowledge those other places had no vast, glowing hotel made of sandstone like the Evans. For sure they didn’t claim the world’s largest indoor naturally heated swimming pool.

Still Hot Springs didn’t make the list of suggested cities my teacher shared for our writing assignment. She did say, however, that there were certainly good candidates in addition to her examples. As I recall New York, Washington and Los Angeles were listed, and most definitely Baltimore. This teacher loved Baltimore. After my class pondered major U.S. cities for a couple days (not that I recall anyone pondering too strenuously) we announced our places of choice aloud. New York and Washington went fast. Los Angeles wasn’t far behind. When I said Hot Springs, my teacher nodded OK. Nobody chose Baltimore, which seemed to perplex her.

We had to write three pages and cite two sources. One source, we were told, would be easy: a set of encyclopedias on shelves at the back of the classroom.

This being decades before the Internet, we’d access our other source by mailing letters. In this way we learned about chambers of commerce, travel bureaus and historical associations. We were instructed to enclose a SASE (self-addressed stamped envelope) with our information requests, but we were skeptical anyone would write back to a kid, SASE or no SASE. To our surprise, though, everyone got a reply, and in pretty short order.

In fact I got two responses, one from the South Dakota Highway Department and the other from the Hot Springs chamber of commerce or commercial club. I didn’t tell anyone but I wrote two letters in order to have two sources because Hot Springs wasn’t included in the school’s encyclopedia. Now it was my turn to be perplexed because my friend Matt found six full pages in the encyclopedia about Detroit, plus several more describing the city’s car industry.

All these years later I recall several things about the letters I received. It was an era of great letterhead art. My friends got letterheads featuring skylines, bridges, and complex municipal seals. But from the South Dakota Highway Department came my letter depicting Tootsie the Coyote howling at the moon.”Oh yeah,” I thought,”that’s the South Dakota I know.” One of my sources sent me a brief history of Hot Springs mimeographed on green paper, and as I wrote about the Fall River County town I found myself wishing I’d kept that historical overview. The folks in Hot Springs enclosed a picture postcard of Evans Plunge, and I knew for a fact that the postcard cost more than the postage stamp I sent them. But what truly amazed me was how someone in Pierre penned a little note at the bottom of a form letter, addressing me by name and wishing me the very best as I composed my theme. Incomprehensible! Someone in a government office in a state capital took time to tell me good luck!

As it turned out I needed good luck. The letters came to us at school, intercepted by our teacher, who noticed mine came from South Dakota.”I thought you meant Hot Springs, Arkansas, which isn’t real big,” she said.”But at least I’ve heard of it. I haven’t heard of this little place in South Dakota.”

I started sweating because I knew what would happen within two minutes if I didn’t think fast. I’d be handed the address of the Baltimore chamber of commerce and told to write for information.

“I think my Hot Springs is major because people from all over the country know about it and visit,” I blurted.”It has the biggest indoor swimming pool in the world where water comes out of the ground already heated.”

I could tell by my teacher’s eyes I had her interest.

“If you look at cars parked outside the pool,” I continued,”you’ll see license plates from every state you can think of.”

She”allowed” my town as major on the condition I mention all those visitors from all those states in my theme. I did. When we shared papers aloud a couple weeks later, Hot Springs was a hit. Everyone thought Tootsie made the coolest letterhead and my classmates were impressed by the cave that blows wind, and the town where water bubbles out of the ground warm enough for a comfortable shower.

I learned I could smooth-talk my way out of misinterpretations of school assignments, a valuable skill later in high school and college. I also discovered that in terms of character, history and unique natural features, small towns could be as major as New York, Los Angeles and Baltimore.

Editor’s Note: This story is revised from the September/October 2013 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call (800) 456-5117.

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The Mammoth Man

By Jerry Wilson

Editor’s Note: Volunteers have come and gone in the Mammoth Site’s 40 years of operation, but Larry Agenbroad was always there. He became the site’s principal investigator shortly after the first tusk was unearthed in 1974 until his death on Friday, Oct. 31 in Hot Springs. Though the bones had been there for millions of years, Dr. Agenbroad helped open a new and unique window to prehistoric history that South Dakotans and countless visitors from around the world have enjoyed. A memorial service is scheduled for Nov. 15 at 10 a.m., at the Mueller Civic Center in Hot Springs. A version of this story appeared in the May/June 2005 issue of South Dakota Magazine.

It was just another plateau on the western rim of Hot Springs gulch, a great place for new homes, with a fabulous view. But when a bulldozer blade scraped the edge off a massive tusk in 1974, Philip and Elenora Anderson called Dr. Larry Agenbroad, then a professor at Chadron State College in Nebraska. Initial investigation indicated that the tusk belonged to a long-extinct mammoth. The Andersons stopped the bulldozers and gave scientists three years to explore the site. Today the Hot Springs Mammoth Site is regarded as the world’s premier place to see and learn about the extinct giants of the elephant world.

“When we began in 1975, we had a roaring budget of $500,” Agenbroad said.”One day we uncovered a big skull. That night a full moon came up over Battle Mountain and moonlight shined through the eye sockets, and I haven’t looked back.”

The skeletons of coyotes, wolves, camels, llamas and a short-faced bear‚Ä® have all been dug from the sinkhole too, but the creature that gave the place its name was an animal so big that its name means huge. Bones lie at least 67 feet deep, so there are many more years of excavation ahead. So far the Mammoth Site has yielded 61 mammoths, the biggest creatures since the dinosaurs. There is literally no other place like this on Earth.

The Andersons and the scientists decided to leave everything they dug up on site. In many cases, one skeleton lies atop another, and the upper bones have been displaced to get at what lies below. But where possible, the bones lie”in situ,” locked in the sandstone that formed around them after they died 26 millennia ago, the last of a species 2 million years old.

Agenbroad said pelvic measurements taken in 1989 indicated that all but one of the mammoths are males, and other tests indicate most were between 12 and 29 years old; in mammoth years, they were”teenybopper males,” he said, ostracized from the herd, and as teenagers sometimes do, they got into trouble; they ventured into the sinkhole to feast on vegetation surrounding the thermal pool. The shale around the edges was”slick as snot on a glass doorknob,” and the giant creatures could not climb out. Most likely they died in spring, Agenbroad said, when they had two choices: sweep the snow off the grass with their tusks, or take easy pickings by the pool.”Having raised teenage boys, I know teenagers are allergic to snow shovels,” he said,”so they took the latter.” He thinks the animals fell in over a period of about 750 years, maybe one each decade or so.

The sinkhole is covered by a 23,000-square-foot laminated beam building. Excavators can work anytime, and the paleontological dig is open to visitors, regardless of weather or time of year.

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Buffalo at Wind Cave National Park

It was 9 degrees below zero and snowing sideways when Joel Schwader photographed these buffalo at Wind Cave National Park near Hot Springs. “Most people thought I was crazy,” Schwader says. “I pushed snow with the front bumper of my van to get to a place that has no cell phone service. For hours I sat on the edge of a gravel road near Boland Ridge and tried my best to capture the raw courage and simple beauty of the North American bison.” Visit joeldphotography.net to view more of the Rapid City photographer’s photos or order prints.

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Running Wild Premieres in South Dakota

“It’s never too late to act on our passion,” says filmmaker Suzanne Mitchell. It’s a sentiment she learned from Black Hills Wild Horse Sanctuary founder, Dayton O. Hyde. He’s the subject of her feature length directorial debut, Running Wild.

Mitchell first learned of the cowboy in 1992, while producing a two-hour special celebrating 20 years of People Magazine. A small article about Hyde caught her eye as she flipped through past issues of the popular glossy. It chronicled his efforts to rescue wild horses, most on their way to slaughter plants. At age 62, Hyde had left his Oregon ranch to purchase more than 11,000 acres of land near Hot Springs to give hundreds of wild horses a home.

Mitchell spent five days filming at the sanctuary, while Hyde regaled her with stories of his past.”We had to reduce the segment to 3 minutes,” says Mitchell,”but I felt he deserved a feature film.” The pair crossed paths again a few years later when Mitchell worked with Academy Award-winning director Barbara Kopple on the ABC special, New Passages.”It was about how the WW II generation was redefining themselves,” says Mitchell. Hyde made an excellent subject for the topic, but again his segment was brief and left Mitchell wanting more.

She got her chance when new high definition cameras made it possible to shoot quality footage at an affordable price. In 2002, Mitchell began production on the documentary with Kopple as executive producer.”Barbara said if you don’t start it, you will never finish,” says Mitchell.”I am so glad [Dayton] is still around to celebrate it.”

The cinema vÈritÈ was pieced from 120 hours of footage shot of Hyde at the sanctuary he still operates. Now 88, Hyde has been appearing with Mitchell at screenings in Utah, Arizona, Florida, and California.”People are seeing this film and realizing that if one cowboy can make a difference, so can I,” Mitchell says proudly.”Whatever your dream is, you can act on it.”

You can join Hyde and Mitchell for a screening of the film at Icon Event Hall + Lounge this Sunday, April 21, in Sioux Falls. A portion of proceeds from the VIP reception will directly benefit the Wild Horse Sanctuary. A screening is also planned for Wednesday, May 1, at the Black Hills Film Festival in Rapid City. View the trailer here.

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Ghost Town Friends

By Doug Rees

Editor’s Note: We were sorry to hear that Black Hills historian and South Dakota Hall of Famer Watson Parker died this week at the age of 88. Long-time Hills residents might remember the Palmer Gulch Lodge dude ranch and resort near Hill City, operated by the Parker family until 1962. Parker and his wife Olga raised three kids in the shady pines there. He earned his PhD in history in 1965, taught at the University of Wisconsin-Oshkosh for 21 years, and gave expression to his love of the Black Hills in four books. The creation of one of them, Black Hills Ghost Towns, is described below, in a story from our January/February 2006 issue.

Watson Parker and Hugh Lambert published Black Hills Ghost Towns almost 40 years ago as a record of the myriad towns, stage stops and hovels that rose and decayed along with the boom and bust of the Black Hills gold rush. But their Ghost Towns is more than a coffee table book of interesting pictures and witty anecdotes. It is a valuable record of a vanishing history and a legacy to the enduring friendship of the two men who collaborated for over 17 years.

Like many Black Hills stories, this one starts with a family vacation. In 1937, Hugh Lambert’s family traveled to the Black Hills. While staying at Palmer Gulch Lodge, young Hugh fell in love with the Black Hills and met the innkeeper’s son, Wat Parker. They would become lifelong friends.

After Wat finished his daily chores, the two boys searched for abandoned mining camps. Their summer explorations left an indelible impression on Hugh. Even so, he would not talk to Parker again for 20 years.

Around 1957, Hugh Lambert decided it was time to return to the Black Hills. To his happy surprise, a call to the American Automobile Association confirmed that Palmer Gulch Lodge was still in business, and still run by the Parker family. It didn’t take long for Hugh and Wat to become reacquainted as they shared memories. Both observed that many of their stories would disappear as the towns and mines turned to dust.

Dr. Watson Parker was professor emeritus of history at the University of Wisconsin at Oshkosh before retiring to the Black Hills.

Rather than lament in nostalgia, the two decided to find and record the history of the surrounding ghost towns. Little did they know that they would work on and off for the next 17 years, gathering material for what eventually was published in 1974 under the title Black Hills Ghost Towns. Their book describes about 600 towns and sites that once populated the Black Hills region. A few of the places survive today, but most were already ghostly when Parker and Lambert began their project.

They divided the work. Parker researched the places in old newspapers, maps and the”musty books of history.” He also wrote the descriptions for sites featured in the book. Lambert located the places on the ground, using the opportunity to correct old maps and to draw up new ones, many of which appear in the book. Lambert also selected photographs for the book and wrote many of the captions. He supplemented the photographs with his own pen and ink drawings.

Parker and Lambert’s Ghost Towns goes a long way toward capturing and preserving many of the”history, ballads, yarns, legends [and] monuments” that give the Black Hills its own unique sense of place. A favorite handed down from Parker’s grandfather is set in Pactola, once a bustling mining area and resort, now under the waters of Pactola Reservoir:

At Pactola in years gone by there used to erupt a dance of quite considerable vigor, presided over by the indomitable Mrs. Bernice Musekamp. During Prohibition, Wat Parker’s grandmother arrived for a visit in the hills, driven, in those long-gone days, by her chauffeur in his natty uniform of boots, breeches and visored cap. It was in this outfit that Pace (that was his name) decided to attend the Pactola dance. Unfortunately for him the local populace mistook him for a revenue officer on the prowl, and a hurried midnight call from Mrs. Musekamp brought Pappy Parker to Pactola just in time to rescue Pace from the angry crowd that was about to lynch him.

The authors also tell about Gayville, named for Albert and William Gay, the latter of whom”achieved notoriety by killing a boy who delivered a flirtatious letter to his wife. He was sent to reside in the crowbar hotel for three years; he returned unrepentant and was welcomed back with a brass band. A dissident party who didn’t like the way William dressed — thought he would look better in a rope necktie — hoped to put him on a platform where everybody could see him, but they were in a minority and nothing was done about it.”

The book teaches without an ounce of pedantry but with plenty of dry wit. One good example is found in the caption that accompanies an otherwise nondescript photo of a cemetery near Harney:

They always built the cemetery on a point of rocky ground. Some say it was to get the departed nearer to heaven, and probably many of them needed all the help they could get. Others say it was to get off the wet valley floor, for no man in his right mind would want to spend eternity in a grave that wasn’t properly drained. But mainly they picked out the most ornery patch of ground there was, that nobody wanted, and made a graveyard out of it.

Parker and Lambert also teach us that Moskee in Crook County, Wyo. was taken from the Pidgin English”maskee,” meaning”no matter, never mind, I don’t care.” They share the lore that Mystic might have been derived from”mistake,” but suggest the more likely (but more mundane) version that it was named by a pioneer who hailed from Mystic, Conn. They explain that the origin of the name Two-Bit is much disputed, and could have been named for placers that yielded 25 cents in a single pan, or, for the more pessimistic, because a miner couldn’t get two bits worth of gold in an entire day. With tongue firmly in cheek, the authors tell us that Bare Butte was”an early name for Bear Butte. Captain Raynolds, exploring the area in the 1850s, took meticulous care to note that it was pronounced Bewt, to avoid giving offense to the delicate-minded.”

While the book has many lighthearted stories, it also captures the pioneers’ desolation. Describing Burdock, in Fall River County, the authors note that”one gets the impression that maybe the young folks held out there as long as grandma in her little cabin looking towards the mountains lived, but when she died, they folded up the store and headed for civilization.”

Only occasionally does a touch of nostalgia creep into Parker and Lambert’s writing. In discussing Rockerville, Parker and Lambert recount its development as a”real mining camp,” and”one of the roaringest.” The authors then ruefully describe how modern Rockerville became a tourist town, and note with palpable regret:”There are not many echoes in the Rockerville of today — the clink of coin, rustle of bills and click of cameras have drowned them out.”

The book’s central theme is that”the ghosts of the past are where you find them.” The epilogue features a Parker story and a Lambert drawing as a monument to the lives that were lived in the harsh, rocky Black Hills:

Here lived the pioneers and built their hopeful towns, and here they nursed their frail ambitions only to move on, into the pages of history. These Hills and their past will come alive, though all around is in ruin and decay, if you will follow down the trails we have trod, see those strange sites that we have seen, and hear the tales that we were toldÖ

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The Bottum Line on Wisdom

By Bernie Hunhoff
Joseph “Jody” Bottum has become the international expert on South Dakota Christmas, and that sounds like one of the best writing gigs ever.
Readers of our paper magazine will recall that we told Bottum’s story in our Nov/Dec issue. The Pierre native was making quite a name for himself on the East Coast as a prolific writer and essayist for the Atlantic, the Weekly Standard, the Wall Street Journal and other top publications.
But he and his wife wanted to give geographic roots to their teenage daughter, Faith, and Jody hoped to explore new writing opportunities so they moved home to South Dakota — to a big old wood-frame house that was the childhood home to Leslie Jensen, who became governor of South Dakota in 1936.
Last year he wrote a Kindle e-book called Dakota Christmas about his remembrances of early holidays, and this year he published The Christmas Plains, also a reflection on the spirituality of the plains.
Bottum also has a new Kindle book you can buy for 99 cents titled The Wise Guy. I read it last weekend. It’s an entertaining yarn about a community of modern day outlaws and thieves who are compelled to perform 12 robberies at Christmas-time — a blend of The Sting and It’s a Wonderful Life.
Bottum says some of the characters are modeled after people he’s known in Pierre. Who, exactly, in the political town of Pierre shares traits with common criminals and thieves? He declined to answer officially. But he did acknowledge that a distinguished old lady in The Wise Guy has a bit of his grandmother. She imparts some wisdom to the thieves.
Wisdom, Bottum told me, doesn’t seem like such rare commodity in South Dakota. “When I was living on the East Coast, I knew a lot of smart people but I find that I find a lot more wise people back here on the plains.”
I thought of Bottum’s comment as I watched the youth of Yankton at a Christmas concert last night in Yankton. The beautiful boys and girls all seemed very smart, very talented. But how do we, as a community, also raise them to be wise?
If Jody Bottum knows anything — and I’m betting that some of his grandmother has rubbed off on him — then we’re on the right track. Raise them as South Dakotans — with big doses of nature, church, community and family. Let them pick pasque flowers and smell mountain pines and wander trails and canoe the Big Sioux. Show them how to catch a walleye, find a mushroom, ride a goat, or whatever else you yourself might know.
Teach them to be a real South Dakotan and a lot of the other things must just follow along as nicely as can be.
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Hot Springs Santa

Kids in Hot Springs call Franz Brown”Santa” all year round, whether he’s dressed in red or not. His jolly smile and naturally white whiskers are distinctive in all four seasons.

Brown has modeled as Santa for Oregon artist Tom Browning for many years. They met through Brown’s work as a writer and photographer at Southwest Art magazine. His image appears on plates, shopping bags, cards, pillows, cookie tins and prints that end up around the world. Browning photographs Brown in various situations and then creates paintings from the images.

“It’s something positive,” he says.”The process is fun, it’s kind of a play thing. We have shot Santa golfing and swimming. It’s fun to see the reaction to people seeing Santa on the beach in summer.”

Brown is also an artist, and started painting seriously when he relocated to Hot Springs in 2003. He began painting Santa himself after someone asked why Browning never created a prairie Santa. Browning was more interested in East or West Coast themes, so Brown set up a camera and photographed himself to begin a series of his own paintings relating Santa to the prairie.”I think Santa has a special connection to the Lakota because generosity is a highly esteemed value of the Lakota,” Brown says.

Besides looking the part, Brown also revels in the Christmas spirit.”I’ve always enjoyed Christmas. It’s always a special time,” he says. One theme in his Santa paintings is that gift giving doesn’t have to be material.”Giving comfort, love or companionship can be gifts, too,” Brown says.

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

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Hot Springs’ Square Thinker

By John Andrews

People believed for centuries that the earth was flat. Hot Springs businessman Orlando Ferguson thought it was”square and stationary,” and believed it so vociferously that he delivered a series of lectures on the topic and printed maps to visualize his idea.

Ferguson has been in the news lately because an original copy of his map, printed in 1893, turned up in the home of Don Homuth, a retired North Dakota lawmaker who now lives in Salem, Ore. The map resembles a bundt cake pan turned upside down. The continents and oceans lie around an indented ring, while the North Pole is raised in the center. The sun and moon are attached to an actual pole rising from that point. Homuth donated the map to the Library of Congress. Now the Internet is abuzz with stories about this relatively unknown West River character.

Ferguson was born in Illinois and moved to Miner County in the early 1880s. The family later relocated to the Black Hills and established themselves in Hot Springs in 1886. There he managed the Catholican bathhouse for several years before he built his own, called the Siloam, which he operated until his death in 1911.

Ferguson referred to himself as both”doctor” and”professor,” but Fall River County historians can’t find any evidence that he was either one.”There’s no indication that he was a professor in any academic sense of the word, other than he professed to know the truth,” says James Bingham, president of the Hot Springs Pioneer Museum’s Board of Directors.”And we’ve found nothing to indicate he went to medical school. He simply claimed to be a healer of some kind with his bathhouses.”

His astronomical principles were based on a very literal interpretation of the Bible, beginning with the reference to angels visiting the four corners of the earth. From there, he developed his”square and stationary” idea, which he detailed for audiences at Hot Springs’ Morris Opera House in 1891. From those lectures, he wrote a 60-page pamphlet, full of other theories. He claimed the sun was 30 miles in diameter and just 3,000 miles from earth. His reasoning? If you stand at the equator on March 21, when the sun is directly overhead, then the distance you can walk north or south without casting a shadow is equal to the diameter of the sun.

He also shunned the idea of gravity. Instead he thought atmospheric pressure held people down and pushed the oceans up the sides of his indented map.

Today people debate the merits of Ferguson’s beliefs. Many are surprised that anyone in the 19th century would contend the earth was anything but a globe. Some wonder if he had ulterior motives.”For a long time, when I looked at that map, I wondered if he was just throwing it out there for entertainment value,” Bingham says.”But now I think he was serious.”

The Pioneer Museum has an original map and a copy of Ferguson’s pamphlet. Visit and judge for yourself.

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The Old Swimming Hole

Warm water and rare plants make Cascade Falls a unique place to take a dip.

Story by Katie Hunhoff
Photography by Stephen Gassman

Artesian springs fill Cascade Creek with constantly warm and clear water. Photo by Stephen Gassman.

Today most swimming holes are concrete squares with colorful umbrellas and rows of plastic chairs. But South Dakota still has some natural places and one of the best is 8 miles south of Hot Springs at Cascade Falls, where murmuring falls, lush foliage and warm turquoise-colored pools create a movie-like atmosphere in the middle of Fall River County.

The clean, clear water of the falls originates about two miles upstream at Cascade Springs, where a series of six artesian springs feed ever-warm, 67-degree water into Cascade Creek. The water’s temperature creates thick vegetation around the springs, creek and falls. Rare plants are found there, including a fern, prairie gentian and orchid that are nonexistent in the rest of South Dakota.

Cascade Falls is the only place along the creek recommended for swimming.”The water isn’t too fast and you can find different depths of water,” explains Cindy Reed, who lives with her husband Marc Lamphere in an old building that was the Allen Bank in the town of Cascade.”People feel safe about their kids being there. It has the added nuance of being a historical public swimming hole for well over one hundred years.”

Early settlers at Cascade hoped their village would become a popular destination for warm mineral baths and spas, but leaders of nearby Hot Springs plotted Cascade’s demise by directing traffic away from the town. Photo by Stephen Gassman.

Cascade was founded in the 1880s between Cascade Springs and the falls. Town fathers hoped it would become a thriving spa destination due to the confluence of the warm mineral water and a railroad through the Hills. By the turn of the century, Cascade had 50 businesses, a post office and 400 residents. Fred Evans, an ambitious businessman who owned much of the land around Hot Springs, put a quick end to Cascade’s growth, along with the economic crash which eliminated a lot of the town’s financial support. Evans was determined that Hot Springs would have the only mineral spa in the Hills, and he even went to the expense of paying a stage coach driver to not stop at Cascade.”The age of the stage passed, the railroad went in to Hot Springs and Cascade withered and died,” wrote journalist Jerry Wilson after a visit to the valley.

J.G. and J.H. Keith, husband and wife, were founders of Cascade who remained there decades after everyone else had given up and left town. The Keiths owned much of the land around the former town and their heirs eventually donated Cascade Falls and Springs to the Forest Service, believing them to be so special they should be shared with the public.

If you go

Cascade Falls Picnic Grounds is 8 miles south of Hot Springs on Highway 71. The area got a makeover recently by the U.S. Forest Service. There is a small parking lot, restrooms and a picnic area. An established trail and steep stairway connects the parking lot to the falls. The area is ideal for swimming or picnicking, but watch for poison ivy on the banks of the creek.

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