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Some Cells Will Be Filled

I attended a Republican candidates forum here in Spearfish the other night. (There are no Democrats running, so to get my political fix, I have to hang out with the other side.) One of the questions for our State Senate candidates was whether South Dakota has too many people in prison and, if so, what would the candidates do to reduce the prison population. Mildly ominous chuckles and suggestions rolled through the audience before the two candidates took their swing at what they admitted is a somewhat intractable problem. The candidates agree that to reduce our prison population, maybe we need better parenting and education.

This discussion got me thinking about one prisoner making the Lake County jail more crowded this spring. Carl V. Ericsson allegedly drove down from Watertown to Madison one January night and killed Norm Johnson, a man who taught me English at MHS. If anything could get me muttering to my neighbors about frontier justice methods of reducing the prison population, it would be the murder of which Ericsson stands accused.

The 73-year-old Ericsson allegedly shot the 72-year-old Johnson over a grudge from when they were MHS students over 50 years ago. Over fifty years ago. Ericsson and Johnson had lived more than twice as much life as they had when they knew each other in high school. After all that time, to let an adolescent grudge drive you to murder… well, you’d have to be nuts.

Ericsson appears ready to admit exactly that. According to the press, Ericsson’s lawyer has told the judge that Ericsson is ready to plead guilty but mentally ill. If that plea agreement holds, Ericsson will increase the state prison population by one for the rest of his natural days.

Ericsson probably isn’t the kind of prisoner my neighbors at the Spearfish forum had in mind. Asking how we could have kept him out of prison is as futile as asking how we could have saved Norm Johnson’s life. (Despair, if not madness, lies down that road: we’ve lost Norm, and we can’t get him back.) Ericsson’s parenting and schooling were just fine. His brother Dick became a successful attorney and city official in Madison. Carl Ericsson got a college degree, stayed married to one woman for 44 years, and had no criminal record… until one winter day, something cracked.

South Dakota’s prison population and expenditures are growing. I hope our candidates will spend this election year talking about why that’s happening and what we can do to change that. We can keep some prison cells empty by strengthening education, economic opportunities, and other policies to reduce the poverty and despair that drive some people to crime. We can identify offenders who may benefit from alternatives to incarceration. We can raise our kids with patience and love, not fear and hate.

But some people will still go wrong. I do not know what personal gesture or policy action we might have undertaken 5 or 50 years ago to keep Norm Johnson alive and to keep Carl Ericsson stable and out of stripes. No matter how hard we try, some prison cells will still be filled.

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Encouraging Visions

Pat Boyd is Executive Director of South Dakotans for the Arts, a statewide nonprofit membership organization dedicated to advancing the arts through service, education and advocacy.

My first South Dakota home was a farmstead near Junius. In 1978, this was a Little House on the Prairie dream come true for a girl who grew up in Chicago apartments. After college, we had lived in Eugene, Oregon, a wonderful place — but this move was going to be all right, despite the fact that you could see my heel marks on the Oregon Trail. My South Dakota husband wanted to return home. Kicking and screaming having failed to win the argument, I found solace in the notion that our two baby daughters would enjoy the freedom and spirit of childhood outside the city limits. We would have a big garden, many farm pets and the love of family, friends and community. We packed up our India prints, cotton diapers and Birkenstocks and set off for the fabled prairie.

One day that spring, the sun came out and the wind died down. I put the baby in her backpack, took her three year old sister by the hand, and headed out with Rover (actual name) for a walk in the pasture on the other side of our shelter of trees and thicket. Glorious! All that sky, prairie forever and nothing was taller than a windmill for miles. Why, the earth really was very big and round, spinning through deep space. I panicked. Rover launched a suicidal jackrabbit chase as I hit the ground and lay there flat on my face, clutching the earth, sure we would be thrown off it by centrifugal force. The baby gurgled with delight at this game as her sister, even then more sensible than I, helped us to my feet.

South Dakota is still home after 33 years evenly divided between East and West River. It has been a humbling experience. Harvey Dunn came to deserve more artistic credit for my successful transplantation than Laura Ingalls Wilder. Soon after that disconcerting hike, I found a rack of postcards in the Prairie Village gift shop. The Prairie is my Garden became my personal icon. That fierce young mother shamed me, and still gives me foolish strength in the face of the unknown. I later moved to Mitchell to head up the Oscar Howe Art Center, where I learned exactly how much I did not know about Native Americans in general and their arts in particular. Out here in the Black Hills with South Dakotans for the Arts, I have learned about the need to nurture, protect and defend beauty. I could not imagine rising to that challenge had I never stood up and followed her eyes to survey and confront the landscape without fear.

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