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Credit Or Blame The Aberdeen Priest

South Dakota was the first state to allow voters to enact or block laws through the initiative and referendum process. Since then, we the people have passed laws on corporate farms, Right to Work, term limits, Daylight Saving Time, the minimum wage, nuclear waste and even dove hunting.

Our process of voter-enacted laws and referendums is getting a lot of attention in this year’s legislative session in Pierre. Depending on your point of view, you can credit or blame a Catholic priest from Aberdeen for all the fuss. Father Robert Haire is known as the father of the initiative and referendum. Born in Michigan in 1845, he grew up in an Irish Presbyterian family. He taught school as a young man and boarded with an Irish Catholic family who inspired him to convert in 1865. He eventually entered the seminary, became a priest and then headed west to Brown County, Dakota Territory with several of his parishioners, arriving on June 26, 1880. The next day he said his first Mass in a sod shanty, and began to plan for Brown County’s first Catholic Church.

He founded a school, Presentation Academy, in 1888. And he became the state leader of the Knights of Labor, as well as the group’s newspaper editor. From there his political involvement blossomed. He was active in the Dakota Farmers Alliance, a group created to protect farmers’ interests from politicians, corporations and railroads. Haire directed the Alliance’s political wing, which later become the Populist Party. He advocated the idea of the initiative and referendum for years before it became a part of the Populists’ platform.

Haire distrusted politicians and felt strongly that citizens should also have the ability and right to propose laws without having to go through elected representatives. In an 1891 issue of the Dakota Ruralist he wrote: “These men make the laws to suit themselves — are a law to themselves. The people seldom get any law passed they want.”

South Dakota became the first state to adopt the initiative and referendum process in 1898, passing easily on the same ballot that re-elected South Dakota’s Populist Governor Andrew E. Lee. Twenty-six states now allow some variation of the initiative and referendum.

Father Haire left other notable legacies in Aberdeen, including the creation of Northern State University, originally Northern Normal and Industrial School, in 1901. Today a memorial to Father Haire stands on campus.

As a political and religious leader during tumultuous times in our state’s history, Haire made friends and enemies. He spoke his mind even when he knew it might antagonize Bishop Martin Marty or his own parishioners. He eventually was dismissed by Marty for his radical views. He remained a priest but could not practice. Later, Bishop O’Gorman reinstated him and appointed him chaplain to the Presentation Sisters, a role he served for the remainder of his life. After Haire’s death in 1916, O’Gorman wrote this epitaph: “He had been in earlier years, when the State was still in the pioneer stage, a most zealous missionary. I believe that the last ten peaceful years of his life and his happy death were rewards of the good and fruitful work of the early years.”

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Money Talks

Samuel Johnson famously said that a foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds. That would be a lot more help without the word”foolish.” When is consistency foolish and when is inconsistency wise? It is hard to be consistent because sometimes we like certain ideas and other times they become inconvenient. Occasionally it happens in the same sentence, as when someone says that you shouldn’t impose your values on others or declares solemnly that there are no absolutes. The first fellow is at that very moment imposing his values on others and the second is declaring an absolute truth.

More often it is a matter of applying the same principle in one case and denying it in another case. When the United States Supreme Court recently struck down aggregate limits on political donations, the chattering class was almost universally appalled. The court had ruled that such limits violate the First Amendment freedom of speech, but is spending speech? With a few notable exceptions (Michael Kinsley for one) the left answered with a bombastic”no!”

It is true that money isn’t speech in the same sense as opening one’s mouth isn’t speech. However, duct taping someone’s lips together is an effective curb on speech and limiting one’s power to spend can be an effective limit on the expression of ideas. If you say that a newspaper is free to print whatever opinions its editors choose so long as they don’t buy any paper or ink, you are no friend to the freedom of the press.

In fact the folks who are strenuously denying that money is speech know very well that it is. If you don’t believe me, ask Brendan Eich. He now has some time on his hands. Eich was, very briefly, the CEO of a company he co-founded. Then he was forced to step down. Six years ago he donated $1,000 to the campaign for Proposition 8 in California. Prop 8 amended the state constitution to say,”only marriage between a man and a woman is valid or recognized in California.” That was the sin that cost him his job.

Now I pause here to note that I am in favor of legalizing same sex marriage. I would not have contributed to Prop 8 or voted for it, had I voted in that state where once I lived. I also believe in freedom of speech and thought, and it seems to me that we live in dangerous times when a man can lose his job for taking sides on a ballot proposition.

What is important here, however, is that Eich took a position that was shared by Bill and Hillary Clinton, Barack Obama and Senator Tim Johnson. President Clinton, after all, signed the Defense of Marriage Act, which did on the Federal level what Prop 8 did in one state. Yet none of the latter have suffered much for their positions. I doubt very much that those who opposed Mr. Eich for CEO will fail to vote for Hillary Clinton if she is the Democratic nominee in 2016.

And why is that? It is because no one is fooled. Bill and Hillary and Barack and Tim didn’t really believe that same sex marriage was wrong. They took a position that they didn’t really believe in for reasons of political expediency. Mr. Eich, by contrast, could have had no ulterior motive. He suffered because his donation was a genuine expression of his beliefs.

That would be the point. Brendan Eich’s cool grand was obviously political speech. Instead of standing up on a soapbox or writing and printing his two cents worth, he donated to an organization that represented him on this issue. Eich has been defended by those who oppose gay marriage. He has also been defended by those on the left and the right who believe in free speech. No one, I think, has risen to defend him on the grounds that his contribution wasn’t speech at all.

If you really believed that money isn’t speech you would have to believe that someone’s political contributions are politically irrelevant. No one really believes that. To deny, then, that money is speech is foolish inconsistency. That almost means that the denier is a fool.

Editor’s Note: Ken Blanchard is our political columnist from the right. For a left-wing perspective on politics, please look for columns by Cory Heidelberger every other Wednesday on this site.

Dr. Ken Blanchard is a professor of Political Science at Northern State University and writes for the Aberdeen American News and the blog South Dakota Politics.

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Lady of Justice

Mildred Ramynke in 2004.


Editor’s Note: The Hon. Mildred Ramynke passed away Sept. 7, 2013 at age 96. To pay tribute to this remarkable woman, we wanted to share this story, which originally appeared in the July/August 2004 issue of
South Dakota Magazine.

Dressed in judge’s-robe black slacks and jacket relieved only with a flash of brilliant coral at the neck, 87-year-old Mildred Ramynke told her story — an incredible story of firsts — as if it was no big deal.

To her, it wasn’t.

Trick roper (she taught herself to twirl three at once), pilot (the only woman in her class), flight instructor (solo again), and finally, judge (you’ve got it — South Dakota’s first woman circuit judge), Ramynke said simply,”I just felt like I was doing what I was supposed to do.”

This tiny woman — though no one mentions her size — tilled a wide furrow across northeastern South Dakota’s legal landscape, winning the affection and respect of those she worked with, those she lived with, and even those she sent to jail.

Chief Justice David Gilbertson, who brought his first cases to Ramynke’s courtroom, said she was the biggest influence on why he became a judge.”I saw the good that she was able to do,” he said, adding that Ramynke resolved disputes as peacefully as she could and still retained the community’s respect for the court system.”I don’t have too many heroes in this life, but she’s one of them.”

It all began on what is now the Standing Rock Sioux Reservation, where her parents, Harrison and Alta, homesteaded. Mildred was their only child, born in 1917. By the time she was walking, she could ride a horse.”Riding horseback was just a way of life,” she said,”especially when we lived West River.”

When Mildred was eight, the family moved to Wisconsin to farm, but they returned to South Dakota after Mildred finished eighth grade. They bought land in the hills of Agency Township on the Sisseton-Wahpeton Sioux Reservation, where they raised livestock in the foothills.

There were no school buses and no car to drive to town, so Mildred lived with her aunts’ families in Watertown while she finished high school. In summers she helped on the farm, putting up hay and riding the fences. And she got involved with Whipple’s Rodeo, five miles down the road.

In her youth, Ramynke was a cowgirl and rope artist.

“My dad got together with him, and he did a lot of his promoting and became an announcer for the rodeo,” Ramynke remembered. Nobody planned on her joining the show, but she learned trick roping to make herself useful.

“[Roping] is one of those things you kind of grow up with,” she said. Watching the cowboys, she taught herself to jump in and out and through the spinning rope. She learned the butterfly and how to twirl three ropes at once — one in each hand, the third in her mouth.

But at age five, she had set her sights on law school.”It never dawned on me I’d do anything other than that,” she said.”I wanted to be a lawyer.” The fascination was born when Ramynke’s dad, looking for entertainment on remote Standing Rock, went to town, watched trials, then came home and acted them out.”To me, they were the big heroes, the attorneys,” Ramynke said.

She finished two years of pre-law in Brookings, and three years later, she and Margaret Crane were the first two women to graduate from the University of South Dakota Law School. Both were admitted to the bar in 1939.”There weren’t many people looking for a woman lawyer,” Ramynke said. She took a collections job with the Federal Deposit Insurance Corp., which was trying to sort out where the money had gone when banks closed during the Depression.”It wasn’t interesting,” she said,”but it was work.”

Her posting to Huron was the beginning of another adventure. It was six years before Pearl Harbor, but the Army wanted to train pilots, and began its Civil Pilot Training with ground school and 40 hours of flight instruction. Ramynke had her degree, but Huron College wanted more students in its program, so she learned to fly.”I’d never been off the ground before,” Ramynke remembered.”But I loved it, every minute.”

She earned her private license and took a receptionist job at the airport with the promise of more flight training.”I kind of got used to being the only woman doing things,” she said. That’s also where she met Cliff Ramynke, a flight instructor; they were married in March 1941.

When Cliff landed a job at Iowa Wesleyan University to train men in the Army Air Force, Mildred, with her flight instructor rating, taught young men to fly. She loved working with cadets and learning the maneuvers, including stalls and spins.”We weren’t teaching them to do loops, but whenever we had a little free time, we’d do them just for the fun of it,” she said.

During World War II, Ramynke joined the WAVES, Women Accepted for Military Service.

When Cliff went into the military, Mildred joined the WAVES, Women Accepted for Volunteer Emergency Service, only to be assigned to aerographers school to learn meteorology. She was sent to Washington, D.C. to work in Naval Intelligence, where aerographers used their weather training and Japanese weather reports to try to break the Japanese codes.

At the end of the war, the Ramynkes returned to Roberts County. The couple had three daughters, and Cliff worked with Mildred’s dad raising registered Hereford cattle. In those days, every county had its judge, but the Roberts County judge was elderly. Seeking a replacement, local lawyers came to Ramynke, who hadn’t opened her law books since she left college.”It wasn’t that they thought I’d be so smart or anything,” she remembered.”They just needed a warm body.” Besides, she said, none of the lawyers wanted to give up lucrative probate work to become a part-time judge. She won by a landslide, and took office in 1958. W. R. Brantseg, elected Roberts County states attorney that same year, said he never expected a pushover.”And we soon found out she sure as heck wasn’t.”

In court, Ramynke found her second home. While she handled probate, civil cases and mental illness, juvenile work was her forte. Kids from 10 to 18 came to her court, mostly for burglaries or alcohol violations, but not many violent crimes. Judge Ramynke tried to figure out how to help them.

Ramynke even looked after the ones whose families couldn’t do it, such as a 12-year-old who ended up in Ramynke’s courtroom. The boy’s dad was in jail for drinking when the boy was picked up. His mother’s younger brother, who had a history of trouble, had taken the boy along for a burglary. By the time the boy came to court, his mom was also in jail for drinking.

“It was pretty obvious there wouldn’t be anyplace he could go after he’d been in court,” Ramynke said, so she reluctantly sent him to the Plankinton training school. When no one visited him, she sent him letters. When no one sent him clothes, she did. When he was ready to be released, the parents’ situation had deteriorated, and Ramynke placed him with an aunt.”He turned out OK,” she said, and he still visits her.

“That was the good part about it,” Ramynke said,”getting involved.” In those days, judges had more discretion, she said. People were more concerned with children being treated well and learning right from wrong.”Now there’s more of that put-them-away-and-throw-away-the-key.”

Ramynke posed with one of her students in her flight instructor days.

Brantseg figured he and Ramynke learned the law together.”You learn not only by the books but by doing,” he said, calling Ramynke a good student and exceptionally bright. He’s not alone in saying Ramynke was always willing to listen — to everybody — and that she was fair to everyone, a virtue in a multicultural corner of the state.

Having built a reputation as county judge, a decade later Ramynke became district judge for Roberts, Day, Grant and Marshall counties. In 1974, when voters approved the State Unified Court System, she ran in a field of five judges for four Fifth Circuit Court positions. She came in second, and in 1975 was sworn in as South Dakota’s first woman circuit court judge. The circuit included Aberdeen, Sisseton, Mobridge, Redfield and Faulkton. Ramynke’s new job was full-time.

“She was an honorable judge,” said Long, who was Roberts County Sheriff from 1975 to 2003. He remembered a judge he could visit any time he wanted, one who took more time than most to interview witnesses to understand what was up.

“She’s one of these you can learn a lot from,” said Vivian Hove, who went to the Roberts County Clerk of Courts office just out of high school and later was elected to the office.”She never put herself above other people.” One of the things Hove remembered best was that Ramynke didn’t let anybody take advantage of her. When defendants told outrageous stories — about finding alcohol under a tree or along the road, for example — Ramynke let them know she wasn’t going to buy a lie.”I think that’s why she was so well liked,” Hove said.”She used wisdom, good common sense.”

Gilbertson met Ramynke in 1975, when he returned to Sisseton to practice law. He was still a young prosecutor the day Ramynke stopped court and sternly asked to see him immediately in the back room.”I thought she was angry at me,” Gilbertson remembered. Instead, the judge said,”That kid’s got a gun on him. You can see the bottom of the holster sticking out of his jacket.” Gilbertson figured he could take the gun away, but Ramynke called the sheriff. The deputy agreed to come in the back door; Gilbertson went back in the front. They jumped the boy and found a hunting knife in the holster. Gilbertson credited Ramynke for sentencing the boy only on the original charge, not penalizing him for the crime of stupidly carrying a knife into the courtroom.”She always kept her cool on the bench, was very fair to everybody, very polite,” Gilbertson said.

When she saw alcohol-related crimes, she always tried to include alcohol treatment in the sentence. When she saw kids, she’d try to educate them on where their misdeeds were heading them and what they needed to do to turn their lives around. She’d tell them she had full confidence they could make successes of themselves, and some of those speeches even choked up Gilbertson, who said he wished he could’ve recorded them.

Being a woman had nothing to do with Ramynke’s success, those who encountered her said. She earned respect.

Besides her many firsts, Mildred Ramynke was honored often, including induction into the South Dakota Hall of Fame in 1987. Looking back her life, Ramynke was one of those rare people who have no regrets.”I was fortunate to have opportunities to do all these things, because I enjoyed every minute of it,” she said.”Everything I’ve done I would have done if I didn’t earn a penny.”

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Buying a Lawyer for Your Town

In our travels around South Dakota, we love to poke around the small towns to see what makes them tick. Sadly, many of them are ticking more slowly than they did a generation ago. The population is graying; there are still some dynamic leaders in the communities, but they are busier and fewer.

That’s why the South Dakota State Legislature voted last winter to fund a program that will subsidize lawyers who start a practice in a rural area. Taxpayers in the Rushmore State already do the same for nurses and doctors. Beginning farmer programs are always popular, though apparently helpless against the waves of rising land costs.

We’ve seen towns go to great lengths to recruit a new publisher for the weekly paper and in Howard, the entrepreneurial epicenter of farm country, they’ll help you start anything short of a gang of thieves.

Lawmakers thought they were skating on thin ice when they voted to subsidize lawyers, but they recognized that it’s silly to have a courthouse in every county when two-thirds of our lawyers live in four of the 66 counties. We like the new program because it reminded us of Fred and Luella Cozad of Martin, a town of 1,000 people that sits between the Rosebud and Pine Ridge reservations.

Several summers ago, we were in Martin to learn about how the community affected the life and work of Vine Deloria Jr., the town’s most famous native son. Deloria, who died in 2005, ranks among the most important Native American authors and philosphers of the 20th century.

While looking for interesting folks in Martin, we knocked on Fred’s law office door. He immediately stopped what he was doing and drove us around town — past the nursing home and the assisted living, around the high school and out to the golf course and swimming pool. We visited the library and drove past the SuAnne Big Crow Boys and Girls Club. We also stopped at the tribal college. What Fred didn’t tell us — and we learned later — is that Fred, as the only lawyer in town, was involved in every community betterment project accomplished in Martin over the last 60 or more years. Most of the afore-mentioned institutions didn’t exist when he was studying the law in Vermillion.

Fred joked that he was already in Martin when Custer came through. “My advice was ‘George, don’t go,'” he told us. Actually, Fred’s father came to Martin in 1909. They ranched until a blizzard nearly wiped out their cow herd. Then they moved to town and ran a cream station. Fred got his law degree from USD in 1949. More importantly, he met a music major from Iowa and together they moved to Martin and hung a shingle. Then there were five other lawyers in town. He has been the lone practitioner for many years, unless you count Luella, who quit teaching music long ago because Fred was overwhelmed with office and community work.

New York Times writer Ethan Bronner had the same good fortune as we did when we went to Martin a month ago to write about South Dakota’s new “subsidize a lawyer” program. Bronner met Fred and Luella. They have a tiny house just behind their humble law office. One of them leaves the office at about 11:30 to prepare lunch — usually soup. They dress alike most days. They can speak for each other (though Fred does most of the talking). They are the best argument for lawyers in small towns — or any neighborhood — that we’ve ever seen.

Then Bronner did a nice job of introducing the Cozads to the world with a front page feature article on April 9. It was a good day for Martin. A good day for South Dakota. A good day for the legal profession. And just another day for the Cozads because, in their late 80s, they are still too busy — as the only legal office for a hundred miles around — to spend much time fussing about having their picture in a magazine or even a newspaper like the Times.

Hopefully your tax dollars will get them some relief. They’ve earned it, and Martin needs another couple like them.