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The Wisdom of the Fool Soldiers

A mural inside Scherr-Howe Arena in Mobridge painted by Oscar Howe depicts the Fool Soldiers rescuing captives during the Dakota War.

In the winter of 1862, 10 Lakota warriors risked their lives and reputations for a novel concept: the rights of civilians during wartime. People called them “Fool Soldiers” because at a time when being indigenous made them targets, they staked a claim for militant humanism, even if it meant alienating some of their own. If they’d expected medals or accolades, the appellation may have proven apt. But the available evidence — the (mostly forgotten) stories told by descendants and historians — indicates another motive. They just wanted to “do good.”

The Fool Soldiers’ leader was a man named Charger, later Anglicized as Martin Charger, who was said to have proven himself in war, but who strove for peace, first in intertribal conflicts, then between Dakota/Lakota and the Euro-American arrivals.

According to Samuel Charger’s biography of his father, in 1860 a young man named Kills and Comes Back received a vision and approached Charger to discuss its meaning. The dream as related by Samuel Charger seems abbreviated, more like a postscript. He wrote that Kills and Comes Back, “had seen ten stags in his dream, all black and as he advanced toward them, one in the lead spoke to him. It said: ‘This vision is to be fulfilled by you and to be complied with by all who are members. You and every member is to be respected and feared and you must be united in your undertakings.’ As the dreamer looked closer he said he identified himself as the one who was speaking.”

What did the black stag, who was Kills and Comes Back, show him(self)? Charger held a council to divine its meaning. “Kills Game afterward interpreted it to mean that the membership should be ten in number and that to be respected by the tribe, they should be generous, not only with food but with their property. Charger agreed as did all the others.”

The following night, the young men shared the dream with Charging Dog, “a man of the same character as Kills Game, also a medicine man of fame throughout the tribe.” Charging Dog reaffirmed the others’ interpretation.

“As a medicine man I do not always get riches, but the good I do my fellow tribesmen is something to strive for. We may be brave in battle, but as everybody knows we do not live long and to do each other harm in our camp is very bad. I have seen a lot of it during my life. I believe the hardest thing for anybody to do is to do good to others, but it makes their hearts rejoice.”

Four Bear, a member of the Fool Soldiers band.

So they organized a Society based on those principles. In August of 1862, Dakota people at Upper and Lower Sioux Agencies of Minnesota were brought to the brink of starvation. They’d been hit by famine, and the annuities the government owed them were late, when agency storeowner Andrew Myrick was reputed to say, “If they are hungry let them eat grass or their own dung.” Myrick was killed on the first day of the Dakota War.

You know how the lines blur if you’ve been there, and what happened next. Civilians killed. Reprisals that kill more innocents. That’s how it was going on August 20, when a band led by White Lodge attacked the tiny settlement of Lake Shetek, near present-day Currie, Minnesota, killing 15 settlers and taking eight captives — two women and six children.

When news traveled to Charger and the Fool Soldiers that White Lodge and his band were camped, with their captives, on the west side of the Missouri, they saw an opportunity to live their commitment to the vision.

They left their camp near Fort Pierre, traded horses and pelts for food they could offer as ransom, and set out for White Lodge’s camp. As they crossed the river, people were said to implore them not to go. “They thought the ‘boys’ as they called them, would not come back alive,” wrote Samuel Charger, “and the undertaking was foolish. But Charger told the crowd ‘there is only one life and that is short, hence we should do what we think is good.'”

According to South Dakota historian Doane Robinson, the band included: “Charger, Kills and Comes, Four Bear, Mad Bear, Pretty Bear, Sitting Bear, Swift Bird, One Rib, Strikes Fire, Red Dog and Charging Dog.” Along the way, they encountered a Yanktonais camp, where they were told that White Lodge’s Band was camped near present-day Mobridge.

As the stories tell it, White Lodge did not warmly welcome the Fool Soldiers. Negotiations were tense, and could easily have degenerated into shooting. In the end, White Lodge’s son, Black Hawk, agreed with the Fool Soldiers and helped them secure the hostages — the two women and five children, one child had died — but they weren’t victorious yet.

They’d had to trade away all their horses and provisions, and had a 100-mile journey ahead, through blizzard conditions with a group of ragged, hungry children. As they started back, they received some help from Don’t Know How, a Yanktonais man who may have traveled with them to White Lodge’s camp, or met them coming and going. He furnished them with one horse and helped them fashion a travois to carry the children. (Don’t Know How was the paternal grandfather of the great Dakota artist Oscar Howe, who depicted the Fool Soldiers’ rescue of the Lake Shetek captives in one of his murals at the Scherr-Howe Arena in Mobridge.)

Don’t Know How’s kindness helped, but the Fool Soldiers still had to complete a journey akin to Washington’s crossing of the Delaware to make it home. Seeing that Laura Duley, one of the two adult female captives, was barefoot, Charger is said to have given her his moccasins, wrapping his own feet in old clothes.

The group camped only twice, walking through the third night, arriving the next morning at the river, where several traders helped them make a treacherous ford of the river, which wasn’t wholly covered with ice. From there, a trader named Charles Primeau housed the freed captives until the U.S. Army returned them to their relatives.

A monument recognizing the Fool Soldiers stands in Mobridge City Park.

Then the Fool Soldiers’ story faded into obscurity. They had set out to do good and succeeded. If they’d harbored any less selfless motives, they’d have failed.

Fool Soldier Joseph Four Bear didn’t benefit from his actions, says his great-granddaughter Marcella LeBeau.

“He signed the peace treaty [Treaty of Fort Laramie, 1868], and he had to live on the northeast corner of our reservation and not leave. If he left he’d have to have a signed permit to come and go, otherwise he would have been shot as a hostile. They gave him land allotments on the reservation. That was already our land. That was treaty land. What kind of sense is that, to give back his own land to him, and he had to live there?

“And he had to live by that peace treaty. So he didn’t dance Indian. He didn’t follow his own ways. He didn’t hunt for his people and provide for them like he did in the past. So my thought is: if you can’t be who you are then who are you? So he lived out his life like that.”

Were the Fool Soldiers misguided in helping the captives?

“I believe they did a good deed,” LeBeau says.

Joseph Four Bear did receive a token of posthumous gratitude.

“On his tombstone, a white marble tombstone, it said something about: He was a friend to the white man for over seventy some years,” LeBeau says. “And I know that his own people didn’t have the funds to do that.”

There is also a modest quartzite marker in Mobridge City Park that reads: SHETAK [sic] CAPTIVES RESCUED HERE NOVEMBER 1862 BY FOOL SOLDIER BAND.

In 1996, Paul Carpenter, a descendant of one of the rescued captives, brought gifts to the descendants of the Fool Soldiers and honored them in a ceremony. “There was standing room only in that building,” LeBeau says.

People lined Main Street and reenacted scenes from the rescue — Martin Charger giving Laura Duley his moccasins, wrapping his feet in rags, the children transported by travois, pulled by their single horse.

The tribute, 134 years after the event, raised some awareness momentarily.

“I think in school they should learn about it,” LeBeau says. “But I don’t think that’s happening. I know when I went to the boarding school we didn’t learn anything.”

The Fool Soldiers were revolutionaries. While their own people were steadily losing their land and way of life, they took a stand for people who looked like the enemy, 87 years before the Fourth Geneva Convention codified civilian wartime rights — including a prohibition on taking civilian hostages — into international law.

The reasons they haven’t been recognized probably range from the obvious (they were Native American) to the thornier issue of their acceptance within their own group. “Their own people — some of them — were against them,” LeBeau says.

The Fool Soldiers may be perceived, by some, as capitulators, and any recognition of them may, in kind, be seen as an exclusive endorsement of their response to the times in which they lived, like the epitaph on Four Bear’s tombstone. Their act, though, is not a negation of the survival strategies of warriors like Crazy Horse or Sitting Bull. Rather, it was the antithesis of Custer’s attack on civilian camps, or the massacre of disarmed noncombatants at Wounded Knee. The Fool Soldiers have been called pacifists, but Samuel Charger’s biography of his father depicts them not as pacifists but warriors turned militant humanists.

Martin Charger and his men are the moral forebears of Hugh Thompson and the American GIs who stopped the massacre at My Lai (and others like them). Decades later, Thompson and his men got their medals. On March 16, 1968, they didn’t know if they would make it out alive. That’s how it’s always going to be for a Fool Soldier. The conventioneers can call for Twister as a means of conflict resolution if they want. Wartime ethics live or die on the barrel side of White Lodge’s (or William Calley’s) guns. What the nations codified on Lac LÈman, the Fool Soldiers lived on the Mni Sose. There are greater monuments to lesser men.

Michael Zimny is the social media engagement specialist for South Dakota Public Broadcasting in Vermillion. He blogs for SDPB and contributes arts columns to the South Dakota Magazine website.

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West River Odyssey

My immediate family gathered this month in Mobridge. It was the first time we’d all been together in several years. From a family of six on the farm to a family of more than 20 scattered from Sioux Falls to California seems pretty amazing, but probably not that uncommon. I grew up roughly 60 miles west and 10 miles south of Mobridge near the Moreau River breaks. I don’t get back in that country near enough, but this was a good year to go. The rain has been abundant and the wildflowers profuse. Last season was dry, and it seems all that stunted life from a year ago has burst into its fullest measure this time around.

Before heading home, I took a notable detour to the beautiful Matthews Opera House in Spearfish to take in my friend Eliza Blue’s new album release concert. From there I wandered down through Custer State Park, where I reveled in a summer thunderstorm (until a few large hailstones caused me to flee south into Wind Cave National Park). Then I spent a day and a half in the Badlands, where I had good luck watching burrowing owls take care of their young. After that, I made my way north to the rolling hills of Perkins and Corson counties.

The real surprise of the journey was an impromptu photo tour just northwest of Bison. Sion Hanson is a friend of a friend who asked if I’d be willing to take some photos of him and some of the landmarks on his land for his grandkids. Hanson turned 60 this year and wants to pass along a little bit of the family history and legacy in images as well as stories. I didn’t quite know what to expect as we pulled out of the yard and headed north along a wheat field through the tall grass. Then we crested the hill.

As I mentioned, I grew up near the rugged and rolling hills of the Moreau River breaks along the Dewey and Ziebach county line, so I have a near-and-dear appreciation for the long draws and short grass hills topped with gravel, yucca and Black Samson flowers (also known as wild purple coneflower). What now opened before us was the south edge of the Grand River breaks, and it was breathtaking. The short grass prairie had taller than normal grass waving in the wind, and it was ablaze with wildflowers, particularly Black Samson. One of the long draws before us was where Hanson’s grandfather and grandmother had a sod house built back when the land opened for settlement in the early 1900s. Hanson’s granddad was a freight wagon driver who hauled goods to Bison from the nearest train depot to the north. Each trip was a two-day journey. We saw parts of the old road from Bison to Hettinger that survived as a fire trail, at least into the 1970s. It is mostly overgrown now.

It was an unexpected and enjoyable trip to some of our state’s truly wide-open and rugged country. To hear the history of it as well as help a new friend keep the stories and places alive for his family was quite an honor. Those couple hours of looking over the land, reminiscing and simply enjoying the view was a good reminder of how strong the family unit was and still is in these open prairies of our great state. It was only fitting that my next few days of vacation were spent making new memories with my own family at the end of this summer’s West River odyssey.

Christian Begeman grew up in Isabel and now lives in Sioux Falls. When he’s not working at Midcontinent Communications he is often on the road photographing South Dakota’s prettiest spots. Follow Begeman on his blog.

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Artists of Mobridge

Our September/October issue includes an article on the artists and art collections of Mobridge. The city of 3,500 in Walworth County is famous for fishing and ranching, but it has also wrangled sculptures and paintings by some of the West’s preeminent artists. Bernie Hunhoff traveled to the Missouri River town last summer to explore and take photos — too many to print. Here are some that didn’t make the magazine.

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The Road Less Traveled

Motorists driving state Highway 20 see the steeple of St. Anthony of Padua Catholic Church on the horizon for several miles before reaching Hoven.

South Dakota Highway 20 passes through nearly two dozen East River towns between Minnesota and the Missouri River. Only four have more than 300 people. Motorists often choose U.S. Highway 12 through Aberdeen or U.S. Highway 212 through Watertown when traversing the state’s northeastern quarter, so Highway 20 has become less traveled. The route could be considered one of our most rural highways, and it’s worth exploring. We found 200 year old pianos, South Dakota’s only pressed flower artist, legends of a prankster Indian chief, Civil War history (Union and Confederate) and new businesses injecting life into small towns.

Minnesota to the Big Sioux

Our journey began in Grant County, where Minnesota Highway 40 becomes South Dakota 20. Between the state line and Watertown, the road weaves around rolling hills dotted with huge boulders that could only have been left by glaciers that scraped the earth thousands of years ago.

The first stop was Steve Misener’s piano shop on the Main Street of Stockholm, population 105. Misener began tuning and restoring pianos 30 years ago, and since then he’s become an avid piano collector and passionate music advocate. He has about 75 pianos and boxes stuffed with miscellaneous parts packed into his small shop, which was once the town grocery store.

Steve Misener tunes, restores and collects antique pianos in his Main Street shop in Stockholm.

His most prized pianos are two John Broadwood concert grands with connections to famous European composers (see sidebar). He also owns French and German pianos made in the mid-19th century and smaller square grands. One was made by Jonas Chickering in Boston in 1832, and may be the oldest privately owned Chickering. Misener knows of four others of that age in existence. They are at the Smithsonian, the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, the Henry Ford Museum in Michigan and the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston.

Misener jokes that he’s the first member of his family to pursue a career outside of agriculture in 100 generations. At age 13 he bought a player piano at an auction and became fascinated with its parts. After graduating from high school in Revillo, he attended technical school for piano tuning and repair.”I found out the ratio of pianos to piano tuners, and 35 years ago it was 5,000 to one,” he says.”There were 5,000 pianos out there with my name on them.”

The ratio may still be the same, but times have changed.”Seventy percent of the pianos in American homes today are furniture,” he says.”You set your family pictures on them and no one plays them.” He also read a study that found only 7 percent of Americans play an instrument. Those factors motivated Misener to revive interest in music by having students tour his shop and exhibiting a portion of his collection at Blue Cloud Abbey near Marvin last spring.

One morning 15 students enrolled in a music theory and history class visited his business. When he asked how many played an instrument, only three students raised their hands.”My generation has taught convenience,” he laments.”It’s much easier to spend 60 seconds and learn how to run an iPod than it is to spend six years and learn how to play the piano.”

Misener hopes to take his exhibition on the road to reach as many students as he can. He also welcomes tour groups. Call (605) 676-2355 to make sure he’s there.

In South Shore we met Tina Nielsen, owner of the South Shore Mercantile. Her business is the hub of activity in the town on the south shore of Punished Woman’s Lake. The Mercantile is a grocery store, hardware store, thrift shop, restaurant, video rental, library and gift shop all under one nearly 100-year-old roof.

Nielsen and her husband opened the mercantile three years ago as a small grocery store that served rolls and coffee in the morning.”The people accepted us, and we’ve expanded to fit their needs,” she says. And the townspeople have helped by donating freezers, shelving, cabinets, tables, chairs and decorations for the walls.

Nielsen also helped revive the town’s traditional Punished Woman’s Pageant, held in 2010 for the first time in nearly a decade. It commemorates the story of Wewake and her lover Black Bear, both of whom were slain by the tribe’s jealous chief. When homesteaders settled the area in the 1880s, they found stone effigies of Wewake and Black Bear on a hill south of town. Nielsen says they plan to stage a pageant again in two years, but for now a video of the 2010 event is available at the Mercantile.

There’s a brief break in Highway 20 north of Watertown. The route resumes on the city’s west side and loops around Lake Kampeska. It also passes the apex of the triangular Lake Traverse Reservation.

Big Sioux River to the James

West of Watertown, corn and bean fields pockmarked with countless lakes and sloughs dominate the landscape. This is the oldest stretch of Highway 20, which opened in 1929 between Watertown and Highway 45 near Cresbard. In 1944 the highway was extended through Hoven to U.S. Highway 83. In the 1950s a stretch to the Minnesota line was added, and in the 1960s it overtook what had been Highway 8 to Montana. In all, Highway 20 spans 432 miles.

Every town along Highway 20 has an elevator, though Bradley’s is long abandoned.

Grain elevators are prominent in nearly every town from Watertown to the Missouri. Through the wheat belt of Spink County, huge elevators sometimes stand alone. Grain bins greet travelers in Florence, a town rebounding from a devastating fire in June that destroyed an elevator that Terry Redlin used as the backdrop in many paintings. We stopped for root beer at Max Johnson’s Pioneer Cafe, then walked down the block to the elevator’s temporary office where Steve Schlenner was checking markets. Schlenner has managed the Florence elevator for 27 years, and it was he who discovered the fire. Construction crews working on remodeling had left for the day, and Schlenner was running wheat around the large elevator complex when he saw smoke.

“I knew right away it was going to be all gone,” Schlenner says.”I just knew there was no way we would be able to save it. I looked up the chute, and for just a brief second I thought about going up there with a fire extinguisher, but I realized I’d never get it out. It was just a ball of fire. So I dialed 911, and I knew then it was all going to go.”

During our visit, crews busily repaired two adjacent grain bins, and Schlenner said the elevator hoped to be ready to handle the fall’s corn harvest.

Eight miles down the road lies Wallace, birthplace of U.S. Senator and Vice President Hubert H. Humphrey, though the sign announcing the town’s claim to fame no longer stands along the highway. In Wallace we met Marie Ann Robinson, the state’s only pressed flower artist. She gathers flowers, leaves, fruits and vegetables from her yard and creates award-winning pieces of art.

She showed us a sample of her work. In a Black Hills scene, a flowing waterfall is made from onion membrane, and the rocks are mushrooms. In another, the wooden walls and floor of a weathered building are day lilies. Robinson explained that after they die and are rehydrated, lilies develop a deep brown color and resemble wood grain when pressed. Her interpretation of Henri Matisse’s Woman With a Hat uses peony petals, poinsettia and white poplar leaves. Robinson’s popular South Dakota series includes pheasants, mallards, geese, buffalo and a work in progress featuring wild turkeys.

Marie Ann Robinson turns flowers and plants that grow around her Wallace home into works of art.

To prevent deterioration, the art is secured with aluminum tape and sealed beneath a layer of Mylar and two pieces of glass. Oxygen absorbers and silica gel packets remove any moisture, so any changes in the botanical material won’t be noticeable for decades.

In the early 1990s, Robinson was arranging wreaths and working with live flowers when she found a lily of the valley pressed in the pages of her grandmother’s Bible. She learned about pressing flowers and began making small bookmarks and magnets (some are for sale at Watertown’s Expressions Gallery, where you can also buy originals or prints of her larger pieces). Then a friend gave her a book on pressed flower art, and she expanded into bigger pieces. She joined an international pressed flower art guild on the Internet, and learns many of her techniques from Russian and Ukrainian artists, including a new framing method that is similar to vacuum packing the art within the frame.

Robinson has lived in South Dakota since 2002, but still speaks with the slight Southern twang she developed growing up in the Smoky Mountains of North Carolina. She and her husband, a Webster native, lived on an acreage near Clark, where she tended 12 flower beds and a large vegetable garden. But a few years ago she decided to downsize. The flower patch at her Wallace home is considerably smaller, but she still finds what she needs around town and by exchanging materials with fellow artists.

We passed through Bradley and Crocker before arriving in the smallest town on our journey. Just five people live in Crandall, but an old gas station and its summertime music festivals has brought over 3,000 people to town since Dave Swain bought it in 2005. The Pumps was a full-service Standard station opened in 1934 to serve townspeople and passers by on Highway 20, which once ran right past the station (today the road is gravel, and Highway 20 passes 3 miles south of Crandall). When it closed in 1971, it was the last Standard station in the country to use gravity pumps. Standard wanted to include the pumps in a museum exhibit after the station’s closing, but owner Ben Hildebrant produced receipts showing he owned them, and they stayed.

The station was a popular stopping point for motorists traveling from Aberdeen to Watertown. Gov. Sigurd Anderson and Hildebrant were good friends, and the governor often visited. It was also the site of weekly poker games.

Swain opens The Pumps every other Sunday during the summer. There’s no gas, but he sells ice cream, candy bars and pop and displays memorabilia from Crandall’s heyday. One old photo shows the entire town boarding a train for Aberdeen in 1911 to see President Taft. In honor of the 100th anniversary next year, Swain is planning a celebration.

The Pumps is also home to music jamborees, usually one in the spring and another in early autumn. Musicians set up outside and Swain serves a light lunch.

Crandall lies near the western foothills of the Coteau des Prairies, a flatiron-shaped rise across eastern South Dakota. Today giant wind turbines dot the horizon; hundreds of years ago it was a popular gathering place for Indians. Burial mounds and remains of fire rings lie in the hills just north of town. Chief Drifting Goose and his Hunkpati band of Yanktonai were headquartered near here at Armadale, an island in the James River four miles northeast of Mellette that the meandering river has since re-submerged. He’s remembered as a peace-loving chief who preferred pranking homesteaders instead of fighting them. Legend says he once stole the clothes from a settler and made him run back to his sod shanty naked. When railroad surveyors marked the line through his encampment, he moved the stakes. Eventually the railroad was routed through Northville, a more respectful 10 miles west of Drifting Goose’s camp.

Dave Swain bought Crandall’s old Standard service station in 2005 and hosts summer gatherings there. The gas is long gone.

Locals tell Drifting Goose stories with a chuckle, but they also respect the leader who never signed a treaty and, in his mind, never ceded any of his land. No markers commemorate the colorful chief, but Swain is leading efforts to rename the bridge that crosses the James on Highway 20 after Drifting Goose.

When we left The Pumps, we followed Swain through Conde and his hometown of Brentford to tiny Plainsview Cemetery on a narrow, dirt road northwest of town. A few years ago Swain was exploring the cemetery when he found a single, white tombstone that read,”Corp. George W. Melton, 45 Va. Infantry, Co. E, CSA.” After some research, Swain discovered that Melton is one of less than 10 Confederate soldiers buried in South Dakota. He learned that Melton and fellow Confederates Jeremiah Houseman (buried in Mellette) and William Henry Carrico brought their families to Huron from Carroll County, Virginia in 1884. Melton and Houseman both served in the 45th Virginia, while Carrico fought under famous rebel Jeb Stuart at Gettysburg.

The rediscovery of Melton’s grave has led to another mystery around Brentford. Every Memorial Day, an unknown visitor places flowers and a Confederate flag by the tombstone.

The James to the Big Muddy

Highway 20 beyond the junction with U.S. Highway 281 honors another veteran. Cecil Harris grew up near Cresbard, a tidy town in northeastern Faulk County. Harris joined the Navy in 1941 and became the second highest scoring Navy pilot in all of World War II. He once shot down four enemy planes while saving two of his squadron members. Twice more he shot down four planes without taking a single bullet. Harris returned to Cresbard after the war to teach, and eventually became principal at the high school. He rejoined the Navy during the Korean War and served as a career Navy officer. He died in 1981 in Washington, D.C. The state transportation commission renamed the 80-mile stretch of road through Spink, Faulk and Potter counties after Harris in 2009.

Brad and Joletta Naef operate Dakota Jo’s cafe in Tolstoy. They serve German food once a week to honor the town’s heritage.

The Harris Highway took us through Onaka and into Tolstoy, where a California couple has opened a new eatery in the town of 36 people. Brad and Joletta Naef moved to Tolstoy in 2009, and last summer they converted the town’s old post office into Dakota Jo’s Cafe. Joletta grew up on a farm four miles northeast of Tolstoy, but Brad is a California native. He was a paint contractor and did light construction, and Joletta managed dental offices. When they retired they wanted a slower pace of life. Their cafe fills a need in Tolstoy and a handful of surrounding small towns.

“We were looking for something to do locally, and she remembered coming to town to the old cafe, so we asked the locals if they’d like a place to meet for coffee in the morning,” Brad says.”And it snowballed into a full cafe. We’re not like Denny’s or IHOP. We don’t even have a deep fryer. We cook like we do at home.”

That means German food in honor of the town’s heritage every Thursday, hot beef combos on Wednesdays, Mexican Tuesdays and a full family dinner on Sundays. The cafe is decorated with items from their home in California; his mother’s plates and her grandmother’s tin can art adorn the walls. They revel in the solitude they have discovered in Potter County.”Where we came from, you’d have bars on the windows and alarms all over,” Brad says.”I used to wake up two or three times every night. Now she can’t shake me awake.”

The spires of St. Anthony of Padua Catholic Church in Hoven loomed high above the horizon for miles before we passed through town. West of Hoven, U.S. Highways 83 and 12 join Highway 20 on its final jaunt through East River. Next to a cornfield south of Selby we found the Bangor Monument, a tribute to the town that was Walworth County’s seat from 1884 to 1909, when it was moved to Selby.

Rodney and Sheryl Stroh converted Selby’s old Amoco service station into a gift shop and restaurant.

Tall cedar trees surround the century-old grand brick courthouse in Selby. On the southeast corner of the courthouse square stands a monument to Capt. Newton Kingman, a Civil War veteran and one of Selby’s founders. Kingman placed two Civil War cannons on the square, but they were melted during World War II. In 2000, Justin Randall raised money to buy a replica cannon and placed it atop a brick and concrete pedestal. The project earned him an Eagle Scout badge.

We met Justin’s mother, Sheryl Stroh, at Dakota Maid, one of Selby’s newest businesses. Stroh and her husband Rodney operated a gift shop in the basement of their home but soon ran out of space.”I knew the gift shop wouldn’t support itself if we rented a building,” she says.”So then we thought we’d do a coffee shop and maybe a few panini sandwiches.”

They bought the town’s old Amoco service station along the highway in 2009 and created Dakota Maid, which has become a full service restaurant, coffee shop and gift store featuring South Dakota made products, like Valiant Vineyards wine and chocolate from the Watertown Confectionery.

Beyond Selby, Highway 20 winds through the grassy mounds of the Missouri River valley and through Mobridge, our final destination. It crosses the Missouri River near its confluence with the Grand River and continues west, through the Standing Rock Reservation and ranch country before ending west of Camp Crook. We heard there’s a unique town market in Trail City, that the country between the Grand and Moreau rivers includes some of the state’s best scenery, and that if you pass the Castles of Slim Buttes in just the right light, they resemble medieval ruins. That’s a trip for another time.

Editor’s Note: This story is revised from the November/December 2010 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call (800) 456-5117.

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Upon Further Exploration

It’s been a few years since my last trip through Walworth County. I was working on a travel piece for the magazine that followed state Highway 20 from the Minnesota border to the Missouri River, so that made Walworth County the last leg on that journey. I ate lunch at Dakota Maid in Selby, where the influence of a Civil War veteran is still present. I caught glimpses of the vast Lake Oahe, which has turned Akaska and Mobridge into walleye fishing hubs. Altogether, I probably spent five or six hours in Walworth County, not nearly enough time to see all the points of interest. The place probably got short shrift in our magazine story, so here’s a chance delve a little deeper.

Walworth County was created in 1873 and organized in 1883. It is named after Walworth County, Wisconsin, the home of Civil War captain Newton Kingman, who moved his family to this as-yet unnamed portion of Dakota Territory in 1883. The Kingmans had arrived in Aberdeen and toured Edmunds, Faulk and Potter counties. When they arrived in the area that would become Walworth, Kingman knew he was home. Charmed by the prairie grass, he called it “Blue Blanket Valley.”

John Hirning, Newton Kingman’s great-grandson, and Justin Randall, the Eagle Scout who put a replica cannon on the Walworth County courthouse lawn.

He learned from railroad officials that the tracks would probably cross through the center of the county, and he figured the county seat would eventually be moved to a railroad city. He chose his homestead near the town site of Bangor, and guessed properly. Farming never quite satisfied him, so he became a country postmaster, realtor, banker and published a newspaper called The Blue Blanket. He became a leading citizen of the small town of Bangor, which took county seat status from Scranton in 1884.

But in 1900, when Milwaukee Railroad officials selected a route 4 miles north of Bangor for their east-west track, that town’s demise was only a matter of time. The courthouse records and the plums that go with them were moved to Selby in 1908, and an entire block was reserved for a courthouse. Soon after the records were moved, some citizens went to Forest City and dug cedar saplings, which they planted on the borders of the square. By 1911, a beautiful brick and block courthouse was completed and it still serves as Walworth County’s seat of government. You can still see the cedar trees that surround the courthouse, but a marker south of Selby is all that remains of Bangor.

Rodney and Sheryl Stroh operate Dakota Maid in Selby, a restaurant and gift shop.

You’ll also find a cannon outside the courthouse. Even though Kingman was 63 years old when Selby was founded, he moved his real estate and abstract company north and became one of the new town’s leaders. To show his patriotism, he placed two Civil War cannons on the courthouse square, but they were melted during World War II. In 2000, Justin Randall raised money to buy a replica cannon and placed it atop a brick and concrete pedestal. The project earned him an Eagle Scout badge.

I met Justin’s mother, Sheryl Stroh, at her restaurant and gift shop called Dakota Maid, which stands along Highway 83. Stroh and her husband Rodney operated a gift shop in the basement of their home but soon ran out of space. They bought the town’s old Amoco service station along the highway in 2009 and created Dakota Maid, which became a full service restaurant, coffee shop and gift store featuring South Dakota made products.

If I’d had more time, I would have visited Lake Hiddenwood, about 5 miles northeast of Selby. The area had been home to Indian tribes for centuries, and was along a well-traveled path between Big Stone Lake and the Rocky Mountains that early explorers frequented. Walworth County settlers decided on the name Hiddenwood because they could spot no trees on the prairie until they reached the crest of hills overlooking the valley.

In the 1920s, locals decided to boost the recreational appeal of the area by adding a lake. The state Game, Fish and Parks Department began construction on an earthen dam along Hiddenwood Creek in May 1926, one of the first such structures ever undertaken in South Dakota. Skeptics doubted the technique, but toward the end of the month when work on the dam was nearly finished, several inches of rain fell in the area. The next morning, Lake Hiddenwood was full.

Even bigger water forms the western boundary of Walworth County. Lake Oahe is the creation of the Missouri River dams built in the 1950s and 1960s. The fourth-largest man-made reservoir in the United States, Lake Oahe stretches 230 miles from Pierre to Bismarck in North Dakota. It covers 374,000 acres and has 2,250 miles of shoreline. Its deep waters are full of fish, making towns like Akaska and Mobridge prime destinations for anglers from all over the world.

The Walworth County pot plane, where it landed in January of 1980.

In fact, a group of locals was ice fishing on the Missouri in January of 1980 when perhaps the biggest event ever to occur in Walworth County transpired. As the men watched their poles, a DC-7 came low over their heads, made a bank and landed about 3 miles north along Swan Creek. They assumed it was an emergency landing, so they drove in the direction of the dust cloud to see how they could help.

Two men were standing by the door of the plane when they arrived. The steps were up. One of the men said they had engine trouble. The other mumbled something about being low on fuel.

The men grew suspicious, but they became certain something was amiss when they found another pickup with Ohio license plates parked in the rough pasture. At the same time, neighbors who also saw the plane land called law enforcement. Soon, the county sheriff and highway patrolmen were at the scene, but the men from the airplane had already fled on foot.

When the lawmen boarded the plane, they discovered 396 bales of marijuana stacked window-high from the front to the rear. The drug runners had piloted them north from Colombia, and intended to land in that Walworth County field long after dark. But strong southerly breezes brought them to South Dakota far ahead of schedule.

Oscar Howe’s murals inside Scherr-Howe Arena in Mobridge.

The men were eventually apprehended and received hefty fines and jail sentences. The cargo — 25,000 pounds of marijuana worth $18 million — was hauled to Pierre and burned.

Mobridge, Walworth County’s other river city, serves as a jumping off point for travelers heading West River. The Standing Rock Reservation lies just across the Missouri, so Lakota culture is evident around town, especially inside the Scherr-Howe Arena. That’s where Yanktonai artist Oscar Howe painted 10 large murals during World War II.

Howe was a member of the South Dakota Artist Project, a Depression-era work effort that provided jobs in the arts. He was assigned to decorate the new auditorium in Mobridge in 1942. A week into the project Howe received orders to report for military duty. With help from locals, his induction was delayed two weeks. Working 20 hours a day, Howe completed his project before leaving to serve 3 1/2 years with the Army during World War II. In 2014, a team of artists guided a $100,000 restoration project to help save the murals.

Chili champ Rick Christman outside his purple cafe in Mobridge.

There are other interesting spots in Mobridge. Rick’s CafÈ is a purple, stucco building where Rick Christman has developed an award-winning chili recipe and his own line of seasoning called Rick’s Salt. The Mobridge State Bank, built in 1907, is one of only seven metal clad bank buildings known to exist in the United States. Mobridge native Ben Thompson bought the building for $250 and painstakingly restored it to its original condition. And the Klein Museum is home to several interesting collections, including a set of toy farm equipment from Calvin Anderson.

Anderson grew up on a farm near Glenham. He played with scrap metal as a boy, pretending the pieces were tractors. When he grew up, married and began to farm, he started collecting farm toys. The Andersons later retired to Mobridge, and Anderson brought his collection along. He built a special cabin on the museum grounds in which to house his vast collection.

My travels through Walworth County took me to places along the main highways. Smaller towns like Java and Lowry lie off the beaten path. It’s all the more reason to go back and devote more hours to exploring Walworth County.

Editor’s Note: This is the 25th installment in an ongoing series featuring South Dakota’s 66 counties. Click here for previous articles.