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Stories Beneath the Stones

Six national cemeteries lie within South Dakota’s borders: Black Hills National Cemetery, Fort Meade National Cemetery, Hot Springs National Cemetery, Akicita Owicahe Veterans Cemetery (Rosebud), Akicita Owicahe Lakota Freedom Veterans Cemetery (Pine Ridge) and the Sisseton Wahpeton Oyate National Cemetery near Sisseton. Our November/December issue features a story about them and a new initiative through Black Hills State University in Spearfish that seeks to uncover the stories behind the men and women who are buried within these hallowed grounds. Our photographers traveled the state to gather images from each cemetery. Here are a few more that didn’t fit into the magazine.

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From a Vision

Anthony Horse Road is drawing inspiration from his great-great grandfather’s vision to revive the art of Lakota doll making.

For 11 years, Anthony Horse Road struggled to bring the ceremonial doll he calls Waki-ƒça Hey Wa-na into being.”I couldn’t do it until I approached it through ceremony,” he says.”I went to the buffalo calf pipe and I asked to do that doll. They gave me a vision of what they wanted. This is the first doll here.”

The”they” he refers to are “spiritual qualities.” His drive to bring Waki-ƒça Hey Wa-na to life harkens back to a vision seen by his great-great grandfather, Arnold Iron Shell, relayed to Horse Road through his mother.

The vision as told to him goes like this: Arnold Iron Shell was out, alone, with a wagon team at a timber reserve on the Rosebud Reservation, digging up ponderosa pine stumps he could burn for heat, when he heard a familiar sound — the percussive rhythm of a traditional crew of four working a stretched buffalo skin. Then he heard a shrill laughter that put him into a trance.

“When he sat up, he said the land was all different and the sky was a rainbow. Everything was different. His horse and team were gone. There was no timber reserve. Then he said whatever was in the south that made that shrill laughter behind him threw something north. Then something caught it in the north and same thing — shrill laughter and threw it back. And doing that, coming closer,’til finally he could see them. And he knew who they were, because back then everybody knew these ceremonies. Over the eons they passed them on. So he knew what was going on.”

The women in his vision were practicing the rite of the Tapa Wanka Yap — throwing of the ball or ball-throw. They explained that they wanted a certain ceremony done.

Horse Road participated in a traditional ceremony to help create this doll, a project 11 years in the making.

“He knew what that ceremony was. They explained to him, ‘These are the people to go to, and they’ll know what to do.'”

Arnold Iron Shell returned to his family and told them what he’d seen. They helped him to erect a tipi at the site of his vision and conduct a ceremony.

“They had a drum group sitting on the right hand side when you go in the tipi, singing these ball-throw and hoop ceremony songs. These songs are made to entice these goddess maidens. So when that goes on, all the people that participated had little dolls of their own — little horse dolls, little dog dolls, little human form dolls. They [the dolls] all jumped up and started dancing around. And when they did that, [the people] quilled really fast. If they started a pair of moccasins, in no time it was done. So pretty soon there was a pile of quill work in front of the tipi.”

The quillwork ceremony had a practical purpose.

“The spiritual quality said that all the quill work that was finished goes to the elder, the orphan, the dependent and the suffering — those four. That’s how we dealt with poverty and long sicknesses. Throughout the ages, they did that. Up to today. And those four are the victims here. They’re being victimized on these reservations. So that’s why we’re getting back to this again.”

Anthony Horse Road has been doing quillwork and working in other mediums, including doll making, for many years. His drive to create the ceremonial dolls needed to recreate the quillwork ceremony of Arnold Iron Shell’s vision has launched him on a long creative and spiritual journey. He says the methods required for the task have been revealed to him through ceremonies designed to entice six spirit-world maidens believed to control the arts — as well as the seventh, the White Buffalo Calf Maiden, holder of the sacred pipe.

“In order to do quality work you have to entice them into your life. And then they show you things. They taught me how to read quillwork.”

By learning to read quillwork, he could see a Lakota cosmogony in the quilled patterns on a historic knife sheath he found pictured in an old Smithsonian quarterly. Similarly, the porcupine quill patterns on each element of clothing worn by Waki-ƒça Hey Wa-na tell a story. Creating quillwork for a 4-inch doll demands precision. Horse Road uses a method in which tiny pieces of quill are fastened to the leather through a sinew hitch that doesn’t pierce the front side of the hide.

“In ceremony, they [quills] become a life of their own, and if you do not entice the maidens, it’s really difficult. It feels like you’re handling a ton of lead. When the medicine leaves the quill, it’s really hard to work with. But once you start initiating these [traditional] methods, it gets a lot easier, to the degree where you’re quilling really fast.”

By using a (secret) traditional method for tanning the buckskin (the doll is made entirely of artist-harvested buckskin or hair), Horse Road renders the leather silky smooth, and shrink-proof, on both sides. The doll wears seven feathers to represent the seven sacred rites believed to be brought by the White Buffalo Calf Maiden.

He holds a functional, miniature ceremonial ƒçha≈ãn˙≈ãpa (pipe) made of deer antler and ash, with two carved hoops around the stem. He has intricate tattoo work on the left side of his face.

Waki-ƒça Hey Wa-na — a temporary name — is the first in a family of dolls Horse Road needs to accomplish to bring back the quillwork ceremony as envisioned by his great-great grandfather and himself.

“I could never make a doll that size. That’s something that I did through ceremony, fasting, praying. And I pierced flesh to do this doll.”

He hopes that he can sell this doll to finance the creation of the complete set.

The only material difference between Waki-ƒça Hey Wa-na and the final, ceremonial version is that he is not stuffed with buffalo hair.”Eliminating the buffalo hair makes him a piece of art. If he were made [according to] the traditional method, with buffalo hair, he would dance in the ceremony.”

He hopes that by resurrecting the quillwork ceremony — and the vision’s counsel to help the elder, the orphan, the dependent and the suffering — he can help young people who are at risk.

“I created [Waki-ƒça Hey Wa-na] because of the suicides taking place here. By preserving this, we’re going to educate the youths to get away from suicide as a threat to the future generations.

“If we initiate this, it’s only going to take one maiden to pull her ceremony off to change everything. If they pull this particular ceremony off, that’s going to empower us as a people — to grow gardens, to hunt, to get back to health again.”

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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Rosebud’s Voice

Before a producer from MTV’s Rebel Music contacted Frank Waln, he was just one rapper among a generation of young Lakota artists trying to get their music out there — online, at shows in high school gyms and auditoriums, any way they could. Now that millions have seen the show, the Sicangu Lakota artist from the Rosebud Reservation — who now lives in Chicago where he’s working on his debut album — has become a symbol for a burgeoning scene.

Rebel Music: Native America, which recently aired and is available online, has created a national buzz around Waln, as well as the other artists featured — including Lakota artist Mike”Witko” Cliff (from Pine Ridge), Nataanii Means and Canadian artist Inez Jasper. The program visits the artists in their respective communities, introducing them and their music, then follows them as they confront issues from the disappearances of Native women and girls in Canada to protests against the Keystone pipeline in South Dakota.

We caught up with Waln as he prepared to headline the Black Hills Unity Concert to ask him about his creative process, artistic influences, and what the Hills mean to him.

MZ: Can you talk a little about how the Rebel Music’s Native American documentary came together?

FW: Yeah, it was a long process. I was the first artist they reached out to last summer. I got an email, and I get a lot of emails from people saying they are creating a documentary about Natives and we want to feature you, and I’m pretty reluctant about it because the way people portray us — it’s just hard if they are non-Native. Because they don’t come from the place where we come from. I wrote her a long explanation of why I’m reluctant about bringing people into my home and bringing people to the rez. She said she understood and forgot to tell me she was a Native woman. She said, ‘I wrote my Ph.D. on indigenous hip-hop and I’m the lead researcher for this project.’

Many conference calls and meetings [later], through that whole process I started to feel very comfortable with the project, because the lead researcher was a Native woman and the co-producer was a Native, and the whole production team listened to all of the Natives. It was unprecedented for a mainstream production team to listen to the Native people that are being portrayed the way that they want to be portrayed.

It was one of the first mainstream media projects that I’ve seen where it was true. It was real stories about real Native people and things we were facing. It wasn’t like Natives burning wagons and stealing white women or look at these alcoholics, and savages and drunks. It was like, no this is our home, we’re human beings, we survived genocide and this is what we’re going through. It was very real and very raw and I’m very proud of that project.

I never in a million years thought I would be on TV. I’m just a kid from the Rosebud. I almost quit so many times — I thought there was no hope for me to do music. I thought there was no hope for me. I never thought my music would make it out of the rez, let alone South Dakota. It was a big validation for me, and a big milestone in my career.

MZ: What does the Black Hills Unity Concert mean to you?

FW: To me, the Black Hills Unity Concert is about just that — unifying as people across cultures, across economic borders, across all these borders that are put up to keep us separate. Coming together and realizing that ultimately this place, this home, this land, this water — this is ours and we need to come together to protect it, to keep it safe and stay a place that we can be proud of and that we can call beautiful and that we can call home. As a young Lakota person, to me it’s also a statement and testament to the strength and resistance and the beauty that my ancestors had. Because I’m not supposed to be here. The government tried to wipe us out. The government took the Black Hills from us. The government didn’t want me to be alive. So the fact that I’m a live Lakota person standing here in the Black Hills as an artist using my voice to speak out for the Black Hills is a beautiful thing to me and it gives me hope that one day everything is going to be OK.

MZ: What rappers have influenced you?

FW: My introduction to hip hop was Eminem. It was the emotion of the music that really struck a chord with me. After that I heard Nas and the song”One Mic.” That’s when I knew I wanted to be a rapper. Nas was speaking to his community in an empowering way.”All I need is one mic to change the world.” That was a profound statement for me to hear, being a kid on the rez who loved making music.

MZ: Nas is a good example of an artist who does”conscious” material like”One Mic” as well as more radio-friendly”get money” music. Do you feel as comfortable with both?

FW: I listen to Kendrick Lamar and I listen to Young Thug. For me, when I sit down I just write down whatever I’m feeling that day. Sometimes it’s conscious stuff. I’m working on an album right now and it’s about trauma and love and I guess that could be conscious and it could not. I’m gonna write about both. I’m not big on the”make money” type because I’m not living that. You know I’m still doing what I can to pay the rent so I’m not writing music about what I don’t live.

MZ: Who are some hip-hop producers that influenced you as far as sound?

FW: Dr. Dre was a big influence on me. A lot of the music coming out of the West Coast we would listen to back on the rez.

Organized Noise is definitely a big influence production-wise, and Hi-Tek. They drew from familiar influences but then they used that to create something fresh and something new. That’s what I’m striving to do. It’s always those producers that did something different. Also Rick Rubin, as a producer who just does whatever he has to do to bring the best out of the track.

And you know South Dakota is in a cool place. It’s in the middle of the country and we get music from all over. I grew up on country because I lived in South Dakota.

MZ: Back to the Black Hills Unity Concert, and the history of the Hills you touched on — how feasible do you think it is that the Treaty will be honored?

FW: I hope that it is. It’s kind of messed up that we even have to ask this question, because the documents that founded this country — it would just make sense that the government would honor them. How can we call this the greatest country in the world and not even honor the original contracts that founded this place? Do I think it will happen in my lifetime? No. Will I stop fighting for that to happen? No. I think looking at this long term, this is something that the Native people do — we think about generations.

Instead of just thinking about me and how much money I can make at the expense of the land, I’m thinking about what I can do to impact seven generations down the line. I’m using my voice, my music, my art, to hopefully see a day where my nieces and nephews and children (someday, I’m not a father yet) will live in a South Dakota, live in the Black Hills, where we’re treated like first class citizens. I have hope that will happen. Not in my lifetime, but I will not stop doing what I can to make sure I see that happen.

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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Land of the Burnt Thigh

In late August we drove from Yankton to Pine Ridge on Highway 18 to collect stories for an upcoming issue. As we passed through the pine forested hills and ravines of the Little White River valley, I was reminded that this area is one of South Dakota’s hidden gems. The region is known locally as the Little Black Hills, and was our Todd County selection in our July/August 2011 feature on places to visit in every county. It’s beautiful from the highway, but even better views are found by kayaking the Little White River, particularly the 25-mile stretch between 18 and the Spring Creek Day School, or by driving BIA Route 5.

Todd County is rich in Lakota culture because the Rosebud Indian Reservation, home to the Sicangu (Burnt Thigh Nation) people, lies completely within its borders. The Rosebud was created in 1889, when the Great Sioux Reservation — which encompassed all of present day South Dakota west of the Missouri River — was parceled into the reservations we know today.

Architecture true to Lakota culture accentuates Sinte Gleska University’s campus.

The county’s largest town is Mission, where Sinte Gleska University provides an education rooted in both the Western and Lakota worlds. Lionel Bordeaux, who grew up not far from the campus, leads the college. He attended high school at the St. Francis Indian Mission, then enrolled at Black Hills Teachers College in Spearfish. He had a job with the Bureau of Indian Affairs and was enrolled in a Ph.D. program at the University of Minnesota when he got a phone call from Stanley Red Bird, Sr., considered the founder of Sinte Gleska College.

He said they were searching for a president to lead the newly formed school and that Bordeaux’s name had come through from the Spirit World. Red Bird told Bordeaux to resign his position with the BIA and that he was not to continue at Minnesota. Bordeaux talked with his wife and they returned to Mission, where he was inaugurated President of the college in 1973, just before his 33rd birthday. He’s one of the country’s longest-serving college presidents.

Sinte Gleska is named for Spotted Tail, one of the most revered Sicangu leaders. He proved himself an able warrior in his younger days, though eventually he grew to believe that resisting the advance of white settlers was futile, and sought ways to benefit his people who had been relegated to reservation life. He was killed by a rival, Crow Dog, in 1881. His gravesite, listed on the National Register of Historic Places, is in the Episcopal Cemetery at Rosebud.

A vision brought Lionel Bordeaux back to Mission, where he’s led Sinte Gleska University for more than 40 years..

Lakota Studies is an important part of SGU’s curriculum, and for years Albert White Hat, one of the country’s leading preservers of the Lakota language, led it. He was raised at Spring Creek, a small community of five or six families on the Rosebud. Children learned Lakota ways, and spent winter evenings listening to storytellers explain Lakota history, culture and spirituality using the Lakota language. But in the early 1950s the tribe adopted the state’s education standards, which said nothing about Lakota studies. When his children started school in the Todd County district in the late 1960s, White Hat lobbied for a Lakota language and history program.”They really gave me a bad time,” he told us in 2009.”None of them would accept it. They laughed at me. Finally in 1970, they said, ‘You can have a half an hour during noon hour to play your tape and dance.'”

Albert White Hat (left) and Duane Hollow Horn Bear helped preserve Lakota language and culture at SGU.

Soon White Hat was teaching Lakota studies part time at St. Francis and Sinte Gleska University, even though he knew little about teaching. He had no books and learned how to formulate lesson plans from colleagues. The university hired him full time in 1983.

White Hat worked on standardizing Lakota, but he encountered problems in the 1990s as he worked on his textbook, Reading and Writing the Lakota Language. White Hat and Jael Kampfe, a Montana native studying at Yale University, began the project in 1992. Kampfe recorded White Hat’s classes. Then they transcribed and edited them into a 226-page book. He sent the manuscript to three linguists and a host of schools and publishers who offered mixed reviews.

“The language has developed what they call a subculture,” he said.”Historians and anthropologists use the modern translations, and my work contradicts that. They didn’t want that printed.” One major university press told White Hat that,”folk etymology and oral history are fine, but they’re not recorded so this shouldn’t be printed.” The University of Utah Press finally published his book in 1999 and it remains widely used, a fitting tribute to White Hat, who died in 2013.

Girls at Mission’s North Elementary (from left) Shanelle Eagle Star, Bailey Horse Looking, Hapun McCluskey and Olivia Leading Cloud made dancing shawls.

Todd County was created in 1909 and named for John B.S. Todd, a native of Kentucky and cousin to First Lady Mary Todd Lincoln. Todd had a long military career that included service in the Mexican War before he resigned in 1856. He moved to Fort Randall and became a trader engaging with Indian tribes west of the Missouri River. Todd started a law practice in Yankton in 1861, but with the outbreak of the Civil War he was commissioned as a brigadier general. He led North Missouri district until the end of 1861. He again resigned from the military in 1862 and moved back to Dakota. He represented Dakota Territory in Congress in the 1860s and also served in the territorial House of Representatives. Todd died in 1872.

Jesuit missionaries played an important role in the evolution of the area. They established the St. Francis Mission in the 1880s, and today it’s an important destination for those wanting to study Lakota culture. The Buechel Memorial Lakota Museum in St. Francis contains over 2,000 items in its ethnographic collection and more than 42,000 photos. The museum is named after Father Eugene Buechel, S.J., a noted missionary, linguist and ethnologist who came to St. Francis in 1902.

Respected Sicangu leader Spotted Tail’s gravesite can be found in the Episcopal Cemetery near Rosebud.

Another place to visit in St. Francis is St. Charles Borromeo Parish, painted bright lavender by children attending a camp there in 2005. The church has 24 stained glass windows that depict the life of Christ.

Todd County also has a few famous sons. Ben Reifel was born at Parmelee in 1906, attended South Dakota State College and Harvard University and became the first Lakota to serve in Congress when he was elected in South Dakota’s First District in 1960. He served in Washington, D.C., for 10 years.

Jim Abourezk, who served in the U.S. House and Senate during the 1970s, was born just across the county line in Wood, but his uncles Tom and Chick ran a general store in Mission for 30 years. It’s still referred to locally as”Abourooski’s.”

And longtime television game show host Bob Barker spent his childhood on the Rosebud, where his mother Tillie taught school. In his memoir, Barker has fond memories of swimming in Antelope Crick (not Creek). He didn’t write anything about the Little Black Hills, but maybe some places are better kept secret.

Editor’s Note: This is the 11th installment in an ongoing series featuring South Dakota’s 66 counties. Click here for previous articles.

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One Woman’s Vision

Nine years ago Marla Bullbear did a vision quest, something traditionally done by young men to seek life guidance. She hiked a summit above the pine timber reserves on the Rosebud Reservation, her home, and waited quietly for answers.

The reason behind the vision quest was a feeling that she, and other community leaders needed to do something about a rash of suicides that occurred on the Rosebud. They met at the St. Francis school in 2002 to brainstorm solutions. Roy Stone, a medicine man from Mission, opened the program with a prayer and spoke of the Lakota circle of life. Other leaders offered their perspectives. Later, someone surveyed the youth to see if any of the ideas had an impact. Most teens mentioned one particular speaker: the medicine man.

“I thought about that for a while and then I realized that he was different because he spoke about their culture and they must have wanted that connection,” Bullbear says. She and several friends came up with the idea of a summer of camps designed to connect the teens with their Lakota roots.

After the first summer Bullbear was happy with the success of the camps but had a feeling she must do more. She and six female friends then did the vision quest, 24 hours on the summit meditating about what path her life should take. “That helped me clarify what I need to do,” she said. That was nine years and 6,000 campers ago.

The Rosebud Sioux Tribe provided 10 acres on the site of Milk’s Camp, a nearly forgotten village founded by the renowned Chief Milk. Most original residences are now gone, but pow wow grounds remain along Ponca Creek as well as an Episcopal Church. Chief Milk is buried on a hill above the old church.

The youth retreats are known as Family Camp. At least four camps are held every summer, each four days long with a different theme. Harvest camp in early June is based around the Indian culture’s edible and medicinal herbs. Three hundred have been identified on the camp’s grounds including wild turnips, purple coneflower (the root eases toothaches) sweet grass used for smudging and wide-leaf wild sage that was brought from Bear Butte.

The other themes are hunting, leadership and horsemanship. Bullbear and her assistants don’t have the time or resources to track the success rate of the youth who have attended camps. In fact, they hardly have the resources to run the camps. “We run on a shoestring,” she told a South Dakota Magazine writer. “The tribe has helped. The state has helped. If we had $100,000 a year we would be flourishing. We are probably operating on half of that.”

To raise more money, Bullbear and her helpers at the Native American Advocacy Program are inviting tourists to Milk’s Camp for retreats, reunions or group gatherings. Visitors will have the opportunity to learn about Lakota culture while sleeping in canvas tipis and lodge houses. Bullbear hopes that welcoming visitors will raise enough revenue to continue the Family Camps in summer.

During winter it’s fun to think of riding horses on green grass, searching for wild turnips, singing around the campfire and taking nature walks. We all feel that way, but none more so than the kids from Rosebud and Pine Ridge who attended Family Camp. If you are making summer vacation plans, visit their website to see what they have to offer for non-campers. You might learn something new.

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Rethinking South Dakota

Some BBC filmmakers spent December in South Dakota. No, they weren’t being punished with exile. These BBC film-journalists are on the inaugural tour of BBC Pop UP, the new mobile bureau the BBC has commissioned to create snapshots of local life that wouldn’t bubble up from their usual big-city bureau coverage.

BBC Pop Up is doing snapshots, not comprehensive sociology. But the three videos they’ve posted so far paint an interesting outsider’s perspective of our fair state.

First, the filmmakers remind us that, whatever our aspirations to urbanness and urbaneness, we don’t cut much of a profile with folks from elsewhere. On their way here, the BBC boys stop in Chicago, where our Governor has been advertising our greatness, and finds folks in the Windy City don’t know much about where that wind comes from.

The reporters get to Sioux Falls, look out at the open prairie beyond their back-porch door, and declare themselves (and us) to be in”the middle of nowhere.” It’s inconceivable for me to think of anywhere on the edge of Sioux Falls as”the middle of nowhere.” I look out past the Ellis Road and think,”Everything is out there! Hartford, Humboldt, Montrose, and Mitchell! I could turn right and go to Brookings, left and go to Vermillion!” To these guys who’ve just gotten here for the first time, who don’t know the steakhouses and sloughs and happy hunting grounds over the horizon, our prairie paradise is a blank, a mystery, a fearful expanse of oblivion.

Our guests did get out and discover who fills the prairie. They talked to folks at Hy-Vee and found people talking about fitness, Native issues, concerns about Indian children in foster care, teacher pay, opposition to Keystone XL … not exactly the assortment of issues I’d expect from a random sampling of a supposedly red state.

Beyond Sioux Falls, the roving reporters didn’t paint the lefse and lutefisk threshing jamboree state that might first leap to our Scandinavian minds. The BBC team focused on some of the oldest and newest South Dakotans, neither of whom look like the majority.

BBC Pop Up went to Rosebud and Pine Ridge to talk to our Lakota neighbors. Sure, there were photos of Indians on horseback and impoverished houses. But the reporters found a Lakota political activist, a filmmaker, an”alter-Native” rock band (alter-Native… as in alter your perception of Natives?), and other young people sometimes fighting through tears to show their spirit and optimism.

BBC Pop Up then featured the Karen refugees from Burma who have made Huron their home. Perhaps 1,800 of these folks have come to Huron in the last decade, largely to work at the Dakota Provisions turkey plant. The BBC filmmakers captured their hard work, their adjustment to American ways of life and South Dakota weather (one man still forgoes boots as”too heavy” and wears sandals in winter), and their still uncomfortable fit in the community. A white neighbor grouses that over 20 Karen immigrants live in the house next door and — horrors upon horrors! — they killed a hog in their backyard and ate it. (Hey, what you call gross, I call barbecue.)

One month in South Dakota and three short documentary clips can’t capture an entire state. But BBC Pop Up’s editorial choices for their first coverage here shows an instructive perspective on the South Dakota that most of us living in the prairie soup may not see as clearly as newcomers.

Editor’s Note: Cory Heidelberger is our political columnist from the left. For a conservative perspective on politics, please look for columns by Dr. Ken Blanchard on this site.

Cory Allen Heidelberger writes the Madville Times political blog. He grew up on the shores of Lake Herman. He studied math and history at SDSU and information systems at DSU, and has taught math, English, speech, and French at high schools East and West River.

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Curbside Wisdom

So I’m sitting on the curb in Mission and a gal named for an Italian artist walks up and talks to me about eradicating institutional racism in South Dakota.

These things happen. Pull up a seat with us on the curb.

Morandi Hurst grew up in Rapid City. She majored in history at Vassar. She missed the Plains and wanted to benefit her home state and her community, so after graduating in 2010, she came home. But since she wasn’t into welding, jobs were scarce. With regret but needing to pay the bills, she got ready to leave for a job in L.A.

But a day before decamping, she got a call from a friend working for Teach for America at Spring Creek Elementary, by the Little White River on the Rosebud Reservation. Spring Creek needed a teacher’s aide (“paraprofessional,” we write impressively on rÈsumÈs).”Wanna come?” her friend asked.

Hurst saddled up, headed east and fell in love. Spring Creek, she says, is the most beautiful place in the world (and this from a gal who grew up in the Black Hills). Spring Creek kids and parents, she found, are delightful. She worked alongside Kate Haswell in a mixed grade 1–8 classroom and decided she wanted to be a teacher.

But adding teaching certification to her degree would take a year and cost about $10,000, and lovely as they are, the trees of the Little White River canyon grow neither money nor time.

Fortunately, Hurst found a quicker, cheaper option. The friend who recruited her was one of three Teach for America teachers at Spring Creek. All three inspired Hurst to join TFA, which would pay for her certification and put her in a classroom right away. It wasn’t easy: Hurst had to attend a five-week boot camp in Phoenix teaching children in summer school (talk about learning on the fly) and commit to cramming all the contact hours required for teaching certification around full-time work during the school year, but she did it.

Spring Creek didn’t have an opening during her first year in TFA. She thus taught and obtained her certification at Littleburg Elementary (still in the heavily Native American Todd County district), then transferred to Spring Creek for her second year in TFA.

TFA recruits serve two years. But Hurst, like a third of TFA’s alumni since 1990, remains in the classroom. She is starting her third year as a teacher at Spring Creek Elementary, this time teaching grade 6–8 reading and math. And like every proud teacher, she rattles her Spring Creek students’ accomplishments: four students on full scholarships to Phillips Exeter Academy summer school; an eighth grader studying earth science through the University of California-Irvine on full scholarship; another eighth grader winning a national poetry award; three Spring Creekers winning the statewide science fair; half the students enrolling in Saturday enrichment classes taught by teachers volunteering their time…. All of those accomplishments and more, Hurst says, belie the bad reputation that too many South Dakotans give to Indian students and schools.

Hurst loves her work and her school. But why do it here, in South Dakota? She says she believes we all should serve our home, and her passion is here.

And then, as we sit on the curb in Mission, she says we need to fight this fight.

“What fight?” I ask.

“The fight for educational equity for Native American students,” Hurst says. That means giving her Spring Creek kids the same opportunities as white kids. That means seeing Indian kids graduate at the same rate as white kids. That means making institutional racism no more.

“And how do you erase institutional racism in your classroom?” I ask.

“I don’t,” Hurst says.”I live through my students, help them learn, and help them build a strong sense of self and community so they can fight that fight themselves.”

So that’s how we eradicate institutional racism. Funny the things we learn on the curb in Mission.

Editor’s Note: Cory Heidelberger is our political columnist from the left. For a conservative perspective on politics, please look for columns by Dr. Ken Blanchard on this site.

Cory Allen Heidelberger writes the Madville Times political blog. He grew up on the shores of Lake Herman. He studied math and history at SDSU and information systems at DSU, and has taught math, English, speech, and French at high schools East and West River.

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Oscar Howe’s ProtÈgÈ

Editor’s Note: Bobby Penn, a student of Oscar Howe, was among the foremost Native American artists of the late 20th century. He was a master of oil and acrylic painting, drawing and printmaking. His subjects focused primarily on Indian themes and his own life story. Penn died Feb. 7, 1999, after a long battle with lung problems. His work is included in public collections at the Smithsonian Institution in Washington, D.C., the Minneapolis Institute of Arts and the Vincent Price Gallery in Chicago. Some of Penn’s artwork is available through the Akta Lakota Museum online gallery. This story is revised from the July/August 1991 issue of South Dakota Magazine.

From its perch above a southern window in a century-old Clay County farmhouse, a stuffed crow watches Bob Penn paint South Dakota landscapes and Native American symbolisms. Outdoors, a pair of red-tail hawks flies above the hilly grasslands. Just a few country miles away is the University of South Dakota in Vermillion, where Penn studied under Oscar Howe, the master of Sioux art.

Penn, a 44-year-old Sicangu Sioux/Omaha, is rising to the top of his field and is currently doing some of his most bold and striking work. Penn paintings hang in permanent collections at the Smithsonian and the Vincent Price Gallery in Chicago, as well as a dozen regional galleries on the Northern Plains. He has been the focus of 16 one-man shows, including exhibits at the Dahl Fine Arts Center in Rapid City and the Two Rivers Gallery in Minneapolis. Next year, he will share the spotlight with two Oglala Sioux artists, Richard Red Owl and Arthur Amiotte, at an exhibit of Plains Indian Art at the Minneapolis Institute of Fine Art. A new mural commissioned by the Hennepin County (Minneapolis) Medical Center and the mounting of a traveling retrospective occupy his current studio time.

He served as chairman of the art department of Sinte Gleska College in Mission for three years, and has also taught at three other institutions. Early this summer he taught the Oscar Howe Native American Art Institute at the University of South Dakota, an honor Penn particularly cherished. The workshop had been discontinued since Howe’s death in 1983. Penn originals can sell for many thousands of dollars, and thanks to his partner/wife Alta, many of his works are now marketed as prints.

He never imagined such success when growing up on the Winnebago Sioux Reservation in Nebraska. At the age of 8, he was placed in an orphanage. In the summer, the school closed and students were sent to foster homes.

Bob learned about farming, carpentry and machinery in boyhood summers. He also joined the orphanage boxing team and for two years was the national champion in his weight class. Every boxer on the orphanage team, in fact, placed as either the national champ or the runner-up.

Looking back, he attributes such success to the fact that other fighters cannot “psyche out” an Indian. Bob’s father was a professional boxer and Bob thought about going to the Olympics or turning pro. Instead, he turned to the other love of his life — painting.

Ironically, it was the second time art triumphed over combat for Penn. His first art lesson occurred when his father separated him from a fight with his brother, sat him down and drew an Indian chief’s head. “Sit here until you can do that,” he commanded. Bob was fascinated … and hooked on art.

He attended St. Francis Indian School on the Rosebud Reservation and then enrolled at USD in Vermillion and experienced “super shock.” It was the first time he felt the pains of prejudice. But it was also the place he met Oscar Howe, the Yanktonai Sioux from the Crow Creek Reservation who became South Dakota Artist Laureate and was recognized worldwide as the leading painter of Sioux art.

Howe rigorously fought the categorization of Indian art. In 1958, the curator of the Philbrook Art Center in Tulsa refused one of Oscar’s works because it didn’t fit the “Indian style.” In an indignant reply, Howe wrote: “Who ever said that my paintings are not in the traditional Indian style has poor knowledge of Indian art indeed. There is much more to Indian art than pretty, stylized pictures. … Every bit in my paintings is a true studied fact of Indian paintings. Are we to be held back forever with individualism, dictated to, as the Indian always has been, put on reservations and treated like a child … ?

“Well, I am not going to stand for it,” continued Howe’s letter. “Indian art can compete with any art … I only hope the art world will not be one more contributor to holding us in chains.”

Howe’s letter cast off restrictions that had bound Indian artists for years at the Oklahoma exhibit. Indian painters deluged the competition with new and innovative styles of work.

It was in this atmosphere of new artistic freedom that Bob Penn began his instruction under Howe. For five years, the two worked together, often one-on-one, and Penn recalls these years as the most significant period of his life. Howe termed Penn his most talented student.

However, talent and hard work don’t always mean immediate success in the art world. Penn has paid his dues. He played in several rhythm and blues bands and worked as an artist for both the USD School of Medicine and USD Educational Media Services. Though much of the work involved graphic layout, signs and posters, he learned technique and self-discipline. Between jobs he traveled to show his art, and slowly his paintings gained popularity.

His career also was boosted by romance. He met his wife, Alta, when she was an art gallery curator in Sedona, Arizona. She is an artist in her own right, but she is also adept at business and handles most of the family financial arrangements. She spirits Bob’s works from the studio as soon as he finishes. “Otherwise,” she says, ”I’m likely to come downstairs and find that he’s done a touch-up, and covered a perfectly good painting completely with an entirely new one!”

They enjoy Clay County living. The hawks who patrol the river valley seem to welcome the Penns, and Bob and Alta persuaded their landlord to preserve the prairie grassland pasture which cascades southward from their front porch to the Vermillion River.

Vermillion, despite those first awkward years in the 1960s, has been good to Bob Penn. The university commissioned him to create a mural for the Lakota cafeteria in 1989. It is a traditional Sioux design Penn had contemplated for years, saving for just the right location. The pattern — narrow horizontal bands of color which represent the four directional winds, struck through with yellow (lightning) and anchored by a shield — wishes visitors a long and fruitful life.

W.H. Over Museum in Vermillion also commissioned a piece that Penn calls “in the Charles Russell style.” The museum is building a room to showcase the painting.

Penn has not yet seen the movie Dances With Wolves but says he was glad to hear it is not just another movie where the white super-hero comes along and saves the Indian. “I understand that (Costner as) Lt. Dunbar is respectful and inquisitive, willing to let the world be what it should be.”

Penn added, “I try to approach my art the same way. To be prejudiced closes so many doors to things you can learn.”

A look around his workshop makes it obvious that Penn, like his mentor Howe, is stretching the limits of what might be considered traditional. Abstracts, still lifes and unusual landscapes are on canvasses. With a smile, he notes that anything he does is Indian art solely because he is Indian.

“The important thing is not to draw limits for myself, but to continue exploring new media and styles,” he says. “If a brush stroke doesn’t give me the effect I’m seeking, I may go into the yard for a misshapen twig. Art is what forces me to grow … my desire is just so strong.”

The crow watches, always, from his roost by the farmhouse window. And the crow often appears in his works. Penn calls it his personal totem.

“Birds were important to the Indian,” he explained. “They could fly higher, carry the prayers closer to God. I chose the crow because of its cunning, its adaptability, and ability to survive. The crow is the organic shape of many of my works that balances the harder edges. For a good painting I try to find a balance; I try to live my life the same way.”

Rick Geyerman, of Mitchell, was a classmate of Bob Penn at USD in the 1960s. One of his avocations is freelance writing.