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Local Experts’ Dining Tips

Our readers seem to think that all of us at South Dakota Magazine are experts on every nook and cranny of our state. The truth is, we’re not. But we have friends and readers in every town and city, so we know who to ask about the best place to eat, hike, sightsee or learn about a place’s culture and history.

There’s nothing like a local’s perspective. That’s why we started a special department in every issue that we call”Seven Things I Love About South Dakota.” We ask South Dakotans to share some of their favorite haunts, and we’re always surprised at their suggestions. (See, I told you we aren’t experts!)

Our featured South Dakotans always have a favorite restaurant. Usually it is a little-known mom-and-pop place with a menu special that keeps people coming back. Here are a few favorites that I’m anxious to visit in our 2019 travels.

Veteran journalist Kevin Woster recalled good times at Al’s Oasis when he shared his favorite things about South Dakota.”Whatever leads up to the strawberry pie at Al’s Oasis in Oacoma is good. But it’s the faces and the memories that really fill me up. Al is gone, but I can see him at a table in his red cardigan, chatting with my now-departed mom as she adds half & half to make her coffee golden brown.” Woster grew up on a Lyman County farm and spent several years as a reporter for our state’s largest newspapers.

Architect Tom Hurlbert told us in 2017 about his favorite ice cream stop.”I worked for the Twist Cone in Aberdeen in eighth grade. I didn’t work at the main store, but instead they relegated me to Noah’s Ark, the old concessions building at Storybook Land. I put away about 6 feet of footlongs a week and ate my weight in ice cream. I still enjoy an Italian ice from the Twist Cone, but I lay off the footlongs now.” Hurlbert, co-owner and founder of CO-OP Architecture, lives in Sioux Falls now but he enjoys Twist Cone on summer visits back to Aberdeen.

Black Hills State University history instructor Kelly Kirk grew up in North Dakota, but fell in love with the Black Hills during family vacations. She likes to take friends to breakfast at Cheyenne Crossing in Spearfish Canyon.”The pancakes are fluffy, the skillets are filling and delicious, and the coffee continuously flows. And if you are going to truly enjoy the experience, a side of the frybread or wojapi is a must.”

Ashley Hanson grew up on a farm along Ponca Creek and returned home after attending technical school in Rapid City. She recommended a stop at Stella’s in Burke.”Stella’s has a great, juicy sirloin steak and delicious fried pickles with a little kick. There’s also a patio where live bands play throughout the summer.”

Darla Drew Lerdal, of the Black Hills Playhouse, thinks breakfast at Talley’s Silver Spoon in downtown Rapid City is the best — especially the eggs benedict with salmon.

Sean Dempsey of Dempsey’s Brewery in Watertown is an international pizza competitor, so you may be especially interested in his favorite dining spot. It’s Mama’s Ladas in Sioux Falls.”I love the beautiful simplicity,” he says,”a few choices of enchiladas, red or white sangria and seating for 15 to 25 people.”

We could go on forever, but this should be enough to tempt your palate and your sense of curiosity as you plan your road trips for the new year ahead.

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A Beardless Hobo & Other Homecoming Traditions

I cannot grow a beard. Whenever I try, it looks like those photos we all have of our children the first time they grab a pair of scissors and give themselves, or their favorite doll, a haircut: bald spot here, 3 inches of scraggly growth there.

That’s why I sadly never took part in one of my alma mater’s most time honored homecoming traditions. The One Month Club at South Dakota State University is for students who want to look their hobo-est by the time Hobo Day arrives. Exactly a month before the homecoming game, men stop shaving their faces and women do the same with their legs. It’s all in good fun and a fine way to show school spirit, but I could never compete with my classmates who looked like the guys in ZZ Top after 30 days.

It’s homecoming season at colleges and universities around South Dakota, and when I thought of the One Month Club I wondered what unique traditions students observe at other schools. So I asked around.

One that warms my Scandinavian heart happens at Augustana University in Sioux Falls, where the students nominated for Viking Days king and queen don Norwegian sweaters. It seems appropriate for a school founded by Lutheran Scandinavians, and practical, too. I bet those sweaters take the chill off the cool October morning air on parade day. Incidentally, to celebrate Augustana’s 100th year in Sioux Falls, the school unveiled its version of the popular Monopoly board game called Augieopoly. One of the game tokens is a Norwegian sweater modeled after one owned by the late Dr. Lynwood Oyos, a longtime history professor.

Dakota Wesleyan University in Mitchell crowns not one king and queen, but two. In addition to the royal pair that reigns over Blue & White Days, two members of the freshman class are chosen Beanie King and Beanie Queen. They perform many of the same duties as the homecoming court, but wear blue and white beanies, festooned with optional decorations. The tradition began in 1926 and included all members of the freshman class, but over the years has been whittled down to just two.

Students at Dakota State University in Madison enjoy a citywide scavenger hunt. The Student Services department hides a small statue called the Traveling Trojan somewhere on the DSU campus or around Madison. Clues are given on local radio and on the school’s Facebook page. Whoever finds the statue receives a prize package.

West River students incorporate the Black Hills in their homecoming traditions. During Swarm Week at Black Hills State University in Spearfish, students make an annual pilgrimage to a giant letter H that sits on a mountainside near campus. Visitors to Rapid City may have noticed a similar M on a hillside above the city. Students at the School of Mines make a homecoming trek to whitewash the M, a tradition that dates back to the very first M-Day on October 5, 1912.

Alumni of other colleges and universities surely have their own favorite homecoming traditions. Hobo Day will always hold a special place for me. I’m pretty easy to spot watching the parade along Main Avenue or at Dana J. Dykhouse Stadium for the football game. I’m the clean-shaven one.

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The Missing Amidons

Editor’s Note: Sioux Falls historian Bruce Blake died in February of 2017. This story is revised from the November/December 2014 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call (800) 456-5117.

High atop a bluff along busy Cliff Avenue in northern Sioux Falls stands the Pioneer Memorial, a tall quartzite obelisk built to honor the area’s first homesteaders: settlers who trickled onto the tallgrass prairie along the Big Sioux River starting in the 1850s. Visit the monument today and you can see 150 years of progress in every direction. Plumes of steam shoot incessantly from the stacks of the John Morrell meat packing plant at the base of the hill. Handsome pink quartzite buildings that comprise the state penitentiary sit to the west. Cars whiz past on Cliff and Interstate 229 just a bit farther east.

A century and a half ago this was a quiet hayfield, and no more than a few hundred people lived in Minnehaha County. It’s where Judge Joseph B. Amidon and his son Willie were working on Aug. 25, 1862 when gunshots pierced the still summer day’s air. The judge and his son were found dead nearby the next day. It was quickly deduced that Indians killed the Amidons, and they were laid to rest. But anyone wishing to pay respects will have no luck finding them in any local cemetery. The Amidons have gone missing.

Mid-afternoon light floods the sunroom at Bruce Blake’s home in the McKennan Park Historic District of Sioux Falls. Blake sits at a table paging through his new book, Twelve Thousand Years of Human History, the culmination of his decades-long passion of placing historic markers around Minnehaha County. That’s how Blake first learned about the Amidons, and became so intrigued that he’s spent nearly 25 years trying to find them.

Blake has long been interested in the history of his adopted hometown. Born in Superior, Wisconsin, he moved to Sioux Falls with his family in 1945. He earned a law degree from the University of South Dakota in 1958 and spent nearly 40 years practicing law in Sioux Falls. He joined the Minnehaha County Historical Society in 1962 and in 1988 created its historical marker program. Since then, Blake has raised over $350,000 to erect over 200 historical markers around the county.

He placed the original marker on the site of the Amidon murders in 1991. The story of their venture to Dakota and their tragic deaths came together through documents Blake obtained from Amidon descendants scattered around the country. Amidon was born in Hartford, Connecticut on Sept. 29, 1800. He married Emma Morse in Vermont on Christmas Day in the late 1820s. They had 10 children, but only four survived to adulthood.

Emma Amidon died sometime in the early 1850s, and Joseph and his two youngest children — William and Eliza — moved to St. Paul, Minn. Amidon married Mahala St. John Drake there in 1855. The Amidons moved to the fledgling village of Sioux Falls in the fall of 1858 and received an inauspicious welcome. On their first night in Dakota, the Indian warrior Inkpaduta allegedly stole two horses that Amidon had stabled in town.

Amidon worked as a stonecutter, and he built a small quartzite house for his family on the left bank of the Big Sioux River near today’s Fawick Park. When Minnehaha County was organized in 1862, the Dakota Territorial Legislature approved Gov. William Jayne’s nomination of Amidon to be a probate judge, treasurer and commissioner.

On the morning of Aug. 25, 1862, Amidon and his son William left their home to cut hay on William’s homestead claim about a mile north. Mahala packed their dinner pails since they expected to be gone all day. They gathered their cart and oxen and departed. It was the last time anyone saw them alive.

Mahala grew worried as day turned into night and the men still hadn’t returned. To help ensure the safety of settlers, the federal government had stationed a detachment of federal troops in Sioux Falls, along with men from Company A of the Dakota Cavalry. At 10 p.m. Mahala ran to the soldiers’ encampment about a quarter of a mile away and begged the men to form a search party.

The men immediately suspected an Indian attack and did not want to get caught in a night ambush. Several soldiers proceeded cautiously to the Amidon claim. When they arrived they found the oxen tied in a shed, the wagon and the empty dinner pails. They returned to headquarters and resolved to continue the search at first light.

A few soldiers accompanied Mahala home and stood guard outside through the night. Mrs. Amidon paced her floor until sunrise, when the soldiers resumed their search. Shortly after the party disappeared over the bluff, a single rider returned to tell Mahala they had found her husband and stepson lying dead in a cornfield.

It’s believed that as the Amidons worked late in the afternoon, William noticed a large flock of blackbirds in his cornfield. Armed with his shotgun, he intended to fire a few shots to scare them away. But as he approached he stumbled upon an Indian war party obscured in the corn, planning an ambush on the city during the night or at dawn. With their position discovered, the Indians shot William repeatedly with arrows. When his body was found the next morning it had nearly a dozen wounds. William had removed several arrows and placed them beside his body before he died.

Amidon noticed his son’s absence and went to find him. He entered the cornfield almost exactly where William had, but didn’t get far enough to see his son’s body before he was shot in the chest, likely with his son’s shotgun. He was found with his right hand resting inside his vest, a common position according to surviving family members.

Two witnesses reportedly heard the fatal gunshots. Lt. James Bacon of Company A was fishing in the Big Sioux River, but thought the shots were from his men hunting ducks in a nearby slough. The Amidons’ neighbor, B.C. Fowler, heard the blasts and saw the birds take flight.”I wish Willie Amidon would not send the blackbirds down into my corn,” he later recalled saying to himself.

George Trumbo, a hired man working for another Amidon neighbor, placed the bodies in his wagon and brought them to the Amidon home. According to a note in the Amidon family Bible,”They received Christian burials August 27th.”

The Amidon murders marked a turning point in the settlement of Sioux Falls. When competing land companies arrived at the falls of the Big Sioux River in 1856 to stake out the town, they were treading on land that had been home to various Indian tribes for centuries. Mound builders lived in the area between 500 and 800 A.D. Evidence of their existence lies in several burial mounds along the river and in Sherman Park.

The Lakota moved into the region during the 18th century and in 1851 they signed the Treaty of Traverse des Sioux, in which they ceded all land east of the Big Sioux River. That development lured speculators from St. Paul and Dubuque, Iowa, who considered the falls a prime location for a town site, provided they stayed on the east side of the river. Settlement opened on the other side following the Yankton Treaty of 1858, which ceded land between the Big Sioux and Missouri rivers.

But not all Lakota felt bound by the treaties, and their desire to retain their homeland led to several skirmishes. Medary, one of the first settlements in Brookings County, was abandoned in June 1858 following an Indian attack. A threat to Sioux Falls that year prompted city leaders to construct a sod fort for protection. Violence escalated especially in southwestern Minnesota in the early 1860s, as the federal government’s attention turned to fighting the Civil War.

John Renville and Joseph Laframboise, longtime area fur traders, believed members of White Lodge’s band had killed the Amidons. White Lodge was under orders from Dakota Chief Little Crow to drive settlers out of the Big Sioux River valley. The day after the murders, White Lodge’s Indians reappeared on the outskirts of town and fired upon the soldiers’ encampment. A detachment pursued the band but they escaped across the prairie.

That small scuffle was the only Indian attack upon the city of Sioux Falls. But word of the Sioux Uprising underway in Minnesota finally trickled into Dakota. The news, combined with the Amidon murders, led Gov. William Jayne to issue an evacuation order for Sioux Falls. Families packed what they could and departed for Yankton. The city on the falls was abandoned.

Mahala Amidon returned to St. Paul, where she grieved her loss.”I have felt alone in my great sorrow, and it seems to me sometimes greater than I can bear,” she wrote to Amidon’s daughter Martha in October 1862.”I am almost crushed to the earth. I have nothing to live for.

ìYour father always had so much pity for the Indians and used to give them so much and feed them too, and then to have them murder him without the least provocation. It is hard to feel it is right. If he had died by sickness, and I could have had the privilege of taking care of him, and talking with him, I believe I could bear it better. Why did they kill him? His death was no benefit to them. He was one of their best friends.

ìIt was the hardest thing for me to leave your father there. I can’t bear to think he lies in that desolate place, with no friend to even visit his grave.”

The Amidon graves were apparently unmarked, and through the decades their exact location became a mystery. Sioux Falls historians believed that the Amidons were buried beneath a mound near where they died. In 1927 the Minnehaha County Historical Society marked the location with a quartzite hitching post. Charles Lacey later gave the historical society the title to the 2-acre plot of land containing the supposed burial spot.

But Bruce Blake wanted a concrete answer. In 1991 he convinced the historical society to hire renowned archeologist L. Adrien Hannus from the Augustana College Archeology Lab to excavate the site.”I took a lot of flak from local historians for digging into that mound, but I wanted to find out,” Blake says.”Some people thought it was better to be a mystery, but I wanted to prove it. Why have the locals believing in something that really is not true?”

Archeologists extracted nine soil samples, four 1-meter-square pieces of earth and cut a trench 21 feet long. It revealed only trash discarded by local farmers for nearly a century.

Blake continued the search and found an account of the murders by Sgt. Jesse Watson, a member of Company A who reportedly accompanied George Trumbo to the scene of the crime. Watson said they collected the bodies and buried them in a cemetery on North Duluth Avenue.

Blake believes the cemetery was located near the intersection of Seventh Street and Duluth Avenue, today part of the Sioux Falls Cathedral Historic District, a neighborhood of 220 homes and other buildings constructed mostly in the late 1800s. Watson reported that the Amidons were buried next to Henry Masters, leader of the provisional government established before the creation of Dakota Territory in 1861. Masters had been the first resident of Sioux Falls to die in 1859.

But the Amidons apparently did not stay in that cemetery. Sometime before 1882, Amidon’s granddaughter Chloe Selleck Rider wrote a letter to Sioux Falls postmaster A.T. Fleetwood asking about her grandfather’s gravesite. Fleetwood referred her to Josiah Phillips, a founding father of Sioux Falls and the city’s first physician. Then he told her the bodies”were removed from their former graves to the cemetery here, the expense being borne by the citizens.”

There is no date on the postmaster’s reply, but in 1881 four men buried in the city’s military cemetery adjacent to the Amidon burial site were moved to Mount Pleasant, Sioux Falls’ oldest active cemetery.”I assumed that whoever did that would also have moved the Amidons,” he says.

Blake and Hannus located the military gravesites and conducted soil testing around them in an effort to find other graves. They came up empty, and Mount Pleasant records contain no mention of the Amidons.”That’s where the trail went cold,” Blake says.

So for now the search for the Amidons has reached a dead end. After nearly 25 years of sleuthing, Blake’s passion for the subject is as strong as ever. But at age 83 his energy is waning, and he’s ready to pass the torch.

The quest remains important, says Jay Vogt, director of the South Dakota State Historical Society.”The historical contributions of individuals are typically more notably associated with places connecting to their productive lives than with their graves,” Vogt says.”An individual’s accomplishments are generally far more important than his or her death. However, if nothing remains of an individual’s life, a gravesite can mean more than a family commemoration.”

Perhaps the answer lies in a faded slip of paper in someone’s attic, a misplaced cemetery record or a bundle of correspondence boxed away in the city’s archives. But until it surfaces, South Dakotans can honor the Amidons — and the hardy homesteaders who helped tame Dakota — atop that windswept hill on the edge of Sioux Falls.

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Jami and the Wolf King

Thomas Hentges’ first gig involved four songs played in front of the Chester High School student body before they were dismissed for Christmas vacation.”I got pulled out of the place by my ear by the principal because he thought I was using profanity on the stage,” Hentges recalls with a laugh.”I assured him that I wasn’t and that he needed to get his hands off me.”

It was a rough start to what became a successful musical career. Hentges now performs solo and with a band, both under the unique moniker Burlap Wolf King. The Sioux Falls artist is the second musician to be featured in Dakota Duets, a summer-long, statewide music tour in which South Dakota singer Jami Lynn performs with artists in a variety of genres. All six installments will be featured on our South Dakota Magazine website.

“Though our beginnings look very different, time and musical evolution brought Thomas and I to almost the same place at the same time,” Jami Lynn says.”Many consider him one of the best songwriters in the state. And just as we’ve finally fallen in the same folky singer/songwriter genre these past few years, Thomas is already morphing into his next musical state.”

For the second installment of Dakota Duets, Jami Lynn and Hentges perform”If I Needed You,” by Townes Van Zandt, a songwriter perhaps best known for his country hit”Pancho and Lefty,” recorded in 1983 by Merle Haggard and Willie Nelson. Van Zandt has been a source of inspiration for Hentges.”What I didn’t know what that around 2006, he watched the Townes Van Zandt documentary Be Here to Love Me for the first time,” Jami Lynn says.”It inspired him to ‘pick up that crappy acoustic guitar in the corner of my apartment and get into three chords and the truth.’ I think you’ll find the truth in Thomas Hentges’ voice and lyrics in any genre. While listening to our version of ‘If I Needed You,’ I hope you’ll agree that three chords are exactly the right amount.”


Click below for previous Dakota Duets.

Paul Larson

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Return to the Summit

The Denny Sanford Premier Center in Sioux Falls hosted the Summit League Tournament March 3-6. College basketball fans from throughout the Upper Midwest gathered to see which team from the Summit League, which includes eight schools in seven states, advanced to the NCAA national tournament (South Dakota State University prevailed over the University of South Dakota on both the men’s and women’s side). The tournament has been a boon for Sioux Falls and the state since its arrival 10 years ago. Sioux Falls will host the event through 2022. Christian Begeman from Midco, whose sports network televised the quarterfinal and semifinal rounds, roamed the arena for four days and captured these images.

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Old Highway 16

A stretch of Old Highway 16 east of the Black Hills is now Highway 14/16.

Can you buy the idea that a highway is a community? A long and narrow one-street town that connects places and people, good and bad happenings and a crazy conglomeration of dogs, deer and duck ponds? If a road is a community, then imagine South Dakota’s U.S. Highway 16 in its heyday. Gutzon Borglum was traveling 16 while carving Mount Rushmore. Korczak Ziolkowski helped him for a time before eyeing his own Crazy Horse carving just down the same road. Dorothy and Ted Hustead were nailing wood signs to fence posts, hoping to attract motorists to their Wall drug store. George McGovern was a shy student at Mitchell High School until he discovered a passion for debate, and motored up and down the highway attending tournaments. Sparky Anderson, the Hall of Fame baseball manager, was learning balls and strikes in Bridgewater, where businessmen promoted their stretch of 16 as Cornhusker Highway in honor of the local baseball league.

Russ Madison, one of the founders of modern-day rodeo, trailed wild broncs and bulls up and down 16 when it was dirt and gravel. Earl Brockelsby, a Black Hills kid with a fascination for snakes and reptiles, was pleased to discover that Highway 16 travelers would pull off the road and pay admission to see his collection. Alex Johnson, a railroader from Chicago, came to Rapid City to build a grand hotel for passersby; showing no modesty, he named it The Alex Johnson.

All that and a thousand more lesser-known stories along an east-west hodgepodge of dirt and gravel roads linked not only in South Dakota but across five states. The 1,600-mile journey was configured from Detroit to Yellowstone National Park, crossing Michigan, Wisconsin, Minnesota, South Dakota and Wyoming. Highway 16 was a central segment of several routes to the Black Hills and Yellowstone Park called the Black and Yellow Trail. An association formed in Huron in 1919 to promote the corridors, which also included parts of Highways 14 and 20 in South Dakota. Wood fence posts were painted black and yellow every mile or so to reassure tourists that they were still on track.

At first, Highway 16 was nothing more than a dirt trail. Model T wheels dug deep ruts during wet periods. In West River country, perhaps a car or two would pass down the road every hour on summer days — far fewer at night and in winter. At New Underwood, the road veered to either side of a giant cottonwood tree. Further east at Wicksville, W.H. Wolfenberger attracted travelers to his little store by leashing a pet coyote in the front yard. The store shelves were sparsely stocked with candy and staples, but rumors were that Wolfenberger sold moonshine under the counter.

Highway 16 bordered the north edge of Jack Brainard’s family ranch in eastern Pennington County.”We called it the Black and Yellow Trail, and before that they called it the Custer Battlefield Highway,” he says. It was also called”Fourteen” locally, because Highways 16 and 14 merged through much of West River.

Brainard parlayed his Dakota ranch childhood into a distinguished career as a horseman. Now 94 and living in Whitesboro, Texas, he still remembers a particular day when he saw a cloud of dust on the road to Wasta.”Russ Madison was driving his horses to Wasta for a rodeo, and running in the front was the first palomino I ever saw and I thought it was the prettiest horse I ever saw.”

A dinosaur looms over today’s Interstate 90 near wall. Photo by Chad Coppess/S.D. Tourism

The travel industry soon followed in the path of that palomino. Henry Ford’s new Model A debuted in 1928; it and other car models offered more comfortable and dependable transportation. Mount Rushmore was emerging on the mountain west of Rapid City as a new attraction, along with a buffalo herd at Custer State Park. Soon a wave of hotels, restaurants, gas stations and automobile shops were built to serve the motorists.

The federal government helped gravel the route, providing jobs through the Works Progress Administration in the Great Depression of the 1930s. Workers often hauled the gravel by horse and wagon, and emptied the loads by shovel and muscle. One wagonload graveled about three feet of the roadbed.

The 400-mile stretch of Highway 16 in South Dakota connected Sioux Falls and Rapid City, the state’s two largest cities, along with several dozen smaller towns. Highway 16’s original route connected the main streets of most communities. In the 1940s and 1950s, bypasses were built on the edges of the towns, creating a second wave of motel and gas station construction.

A third wave came in the 1970s when Interstate 90 was constructed in a near-parallel route to Highway 16 across South Dakota, but even further from the local communities. Once again, new service stations, hotels, motels, rock shops and eateries were constructed.

Some travelers bemoan Interstate 90 as monotonous and sterile. Every ditch is mowed and every fence is straight. Highway beauty is in the eye of the beholder behind the wheel. Those who see boredom in the standardization of the federal four-lane — and who aren’t in a hurry to cross the state in 6 hours or less — will enjoy a nostalgic journey down the original 16.

Old trucks at Quinn.

Phil and JoAnn Stark have observed life in”the slow lane” for most of the last 30 years at Cottonwood, where they ran a bar and store called JoAnn’s Trading Post.”People think nobody lives here,” says Phil,”but Philip and Quinn and Wall are all one big community.” And in the summer, motorcyclists and other travelers who like to venture off the interstate become part of the mix.”They liked the sawdust on the floor, or the idea that they could just pitch a tent out back if they wanted,” says Phil.”Sometimes we’d have a dance the Saturday before the (Sturgis) rally, and the music would just keep going until morning and I don’t remember anyone ever getting in a fight. The people who like the two-lane are peaceful folks who just aren’t in a big hurry.”

South Dakota’s biggest car nut agrees.”People who like the back roads are our kind of people,” says Dave Geisler of the Pioneer Auto Show in Murdo, a sprawling indoor/outdoor museum of collectible cars, motorcycles, tractors, toys and Western memorabilia.

Geisler says Murdo changed with each of the three highway waves.”The old Highway 16 ran right into downtown on Second Street,” he says, on a tour of the town.”Here was a Mobil station. There was the Red Top Cabins. This was Young’s Cabin Park. That was a gas station. Here was Weber’s Deluxe Cabin Court. There was a Skelly’s station. Gas was 25 cents a gallon. Up here was the Conoco station. Nobody could have made much money but they all got along.”

Plenty of daring thinkers and doers populated the Highway 16 community in the middle of the 20th century. Many of their dreams remain intact at Wall Drug, Al’s Oasis, the Murdo auto museum and other lesser-known places. New promoters are also showing up. At the Community Pharmacy in Presho, a small sign boasts of the”Best Coffee Between Sioux Falls and Rapid City.” Further east at Kimball, Keke Leiferman remodeled an old Highway 16 gas station into an eatery and entertainment spot called The Back Forty.”I look at Interstate 90 as my community,” she admits. But the shop sits a half-mile from I-90 on Old 16.

If roads are communities, then I-90 is Sioux Falls on wheels — smooth and speedy — while Old Highway 16 is New Underwood without the cottonwood tree.

Most of Old 16 is still intact and passable. Here’s a guide to the 1950s-era corridor for those who might like to experience the slow lane for at least one nostalgic trip across South Dakota.

Minnesota Border to Bridgewater

Doug and Brenda Deffenbaugh run a honey stand on the honor system near Wall Lake. Brenda (pictured with her son, Drayden) says customers are almost always honest.

Old 16 enters South Dakota from Minnesota on 262nd Street, which skirts Valley Springs and the south side of Brandon. Just south of Brandon, take a right turn on Madison Street and enter Sioux Falls. Take a left on Sycamore, then a right onto 10th Street and follow it past the backside of Michelangelo’s David statue. The road runs through the heart of Sioux Falls, exiting the city as Hwy 42. Wave goodbye to suburbia because you’ll see little of that for the next 350 miles. You’ll drive past Wall Lake, through the East Vermillion River valley and into the heart of East River farming country on your way to Bridgewater, where Sparky Anderson played baseball as a child before becoming the first Major League manager to win a World Series in both leagues.

Bridgewater to Mitchell

Mitchell’s Corn Palace is just a few blocks north of Old Highway 16. Photo by Chad Coppess/S.D. Tourism

Leave Hwy 42 at Bridgewater and drive northeast on SD Hwy 262 to Alexandria, then north on 421st Avenue. Cross I-90 and you’ll come to Hwy 38. Take it west across the Jim River and Firesteel Creek and enter Mitchell. Watch for a big fiberglass Hereford bull, the trademark for Chef Louie’s. Perhaps the oldest steakhouse on the route, it dates to the 1930s. Hwy 38 becomes Havens Avenue through the city. The famous Corn Palace is just a few blocks north.

Mitchell to White Lake

Bob and Edith Zoon are the longtime proprietors of the A-Bar-Z Motel in White Lake.

Continue on Hwy 38 past Mount Vernon, home of Minnesota Vikings star linebacker Chad Greenway. As you enter Aurora County, Hwy 38 is still posted as Hwy 16 for a stretch. You’ll drive past Gordy’s Campground in Plankinton. See the war memorials indoors and outdoors at the county courthouse. West of Plankinton the roadbed roughens, the shoulder is gravel and you begin to see less cropland and more grass. You’re now driving between the 99th and 100th meridians, a north-south stretch called America’s”middle border” by some agrarian-minded historians who believe the big difference in rainfall amounts east and west of those imaginary lines affected the settlement of the region.

White Lake to Kimball

The Back Forty in Kimball grew from an old gas station.

The A-Bar-Z Store & Hotel was built in White Lake along U.S. Hwy 16 several years before President Eisenhower signed the Interstate Highway Construction Act. Thirty years later, Bob and Edith Zoon were”just friends” when they arrived in 1985 from New Jersey to visit relatives.”We came out and fell in love with the area,” explained Bob. And with each other. They took a trip to the Aurora County Courthouse in Plankinton, where Bob asked,”What does it take to get married here?” The sheriff and his secretary served as witnesses. Then they bought the six-room hotel and gas station on Old 16 and renamed it A-Bar-Z.

As you leave White Lake, local Hwy 16 crosses to the south of Ike’s concrete legacy and you find yourself on 252nd Street. About 12 miles later, you approach Kimball and the South Dakota Tractor Museum. You pass by a tiny Frosty King ice cream shack and then, a half-mile west, a funky coffeehouse, restaurant and bar known as The Back Forty, where proprietor Keke Leiferman gives traditional South Dakota sandwiches a gourmet twist. A mile down the road, you drive beneath an underpass and find yourself on the south side of I-90 once again, going west on what’s now called 251st Street.

Kimball to Chamberlain

Hillside Motel in Chamberlain survived the decommissioning of Highway 16. Photo by Chad Coppess/S.D. Tourism

Eleven miles after leaving Kimball, you pull up to a stop sign for Hwy 50. To the west is a big body of water known as Red Lake. Take Hwy 50 north across I-90 and head for nearby Pukwana, lawn mower racing capital of the Northern Plains. Leave Pukwana on 249th Street going west and you’ll soon rejoin Hwy 50 as it enters Chamberlain, descending into the wide valley of the Missouri River. Spend some time in Chamberlain, a little city with a one-way Main Street that includes a movie theater, restaurants and a bakery called Indulge. Just to the west of Main Street, River Street leads to a shoreline park and walking paths, good opportunities to stretch your legs or enjoy the sweets from the bakery.

Chamberlain to Kennebec

The Lyman County courthouse at Kennebec.

You’ll cross the Missouri — the USA’s longest river — on an old steel bridge that transformed travel on Hwy 16 when it was finished in September of 1925. The two-way bridge became too narrow for modern cars and trucks. When construction of the Fort Randall Dam expanded the river’s width, an identical bridge at nearby Wheeler was declared surplus and floated upriver. The old bridge became the west lane and the Wheeler bridge is the east lane yet today. Cross the bridge into West River and you’ll drive past Oacoma and Al’s Oasis, a grocery store and highway restaurant made famous by the Mueller family. The old highway ends and you have no choice but to take I-90 for about nine miles, but then you can rejoin Old 16 by turning north on Hwy 47 at Exit 251. Take Hwy 47 northwest into Reliance and then onto Kennebec, where the Lyman County courthouse serves as the bastion of government for 3,700 citizens.

Kennebec to Kadoka

Dave Geisler entertains travelers at the Pioneer Auto Museum in Murdo.

Now you embark on a long stretch of Old 16 known as Hwy 248 that closely parallels I-90, which is usually within a rifle’s shot. Hwy 248 leads you through eight more little West River towns, in this order: Kennebec, Presho, Vivian, Draper, Murdo, Okaton, Belvidere and Kadoka. Some look like ghost towns at first blush, while others are busier than their modest populations would suggest.

When Highway 16 was in its prime, Keith Patrick’s repair shop at Vivian was a Ford dealership and gas station. Today, pilots occasionally land small planes on the road without fear of hitting a motorist. Patrick fixes anything from cars and tractors to”lawn mowers, vacuum cleaners and eye glasses.” He and his brother, Kevin, display old pictures and memorabilia of Vivian in the shop.

Fading wood gas stations, motels, shops and restaurants are scattered around Draper, pop. 82. Gene Cressy remembers when Highway 16 was constructed in the 1940s, south of the railroad tracks.”The speed limit was 45, 25 on the curves because they were 90-degree curves.” Neighboring schools borrowed the road’s nickname when they organized the Custer Battlefield Conference for sports teams. The conference still exists.

Gurney Seed & Nursery of Yankton started a chain of rural gas stations in the 1930s. Vivian’s station is preserved at Pioneer Auto Museum in Murdo. Dave Geisler has an eclectic collection of 275 old automobiles (including the Dukes of Hazzard’s General Lee) and 30 buildings stocked with Old West and pioneer memorabilia. It grew from a Highway 16 gas station and Chevy dealership started by Dave’s father in the early 1950s.

Check out the dollar bills pinned all over the Reliance Bar, and the Lyman County Courthouse in Kennebec, built in 1925 when Henry Ford was still making Model Ts. In Presho you drive past a sprawling indoor/outdoor museum and Hutch’s, a restaurant and cafe built in the early 1950s that locals love for the hot beef sandwiches.

Kadoka to Cottonwood

A longhorn cow roams the quiet roadway west of Philip Junction.

The Kadoka to Wall route is not for everybody, or every car. The Old 16 roadbed is still passable, but at times it becomes a West River back road seldom used even by local ranchers.

The stretch begins nicely. You travel east of Kadoka for 7 miles along the same old Hwy 248 until you reach what’s known as Seven Mile Corner. Then Old 16 runs north (now Highway 73) toward Philip. In a dozen or so miles (before arriving in the city of Philip), you drop into a valley called Philip Junction. Notice a family farm in the valley; the building closest to the highway is landscaped with old auto memorabilia. Turn west on a forgotten road that once was U.S. Highway 16, the grandest route from Detroit to Yellowstone. Today, the little asphalt that remains is cracked and dry. It looks like a road from an apocalypse movie.

The path (now 237th Street) is still marked as a”principal route” on many maps and atlases, but they are mistaken. Ruts and holes make it barely passable on a dry summer’s day, and a bad idea on a wet day. This is Jackson County, population 3,200, one of the poorest places in the United States. Little money is available for road maintenance.

You’ll travel 10 slow miles along 237th Street, mostly past pastures and grasslands. You cross two creeks, one called the South Fork Bad River, which flows northward to the Bad River, which flows into the mighty Missouri at Fort Pierre.

Bridges on the creeks seem scary, but they hold a car.

Cottonwood to Wall

Pavement is gone from the road east of Wall.

The apocalyptic segment runs onto Hwy 14 just east of the tiny town of Cottonwood. Highways 14 and 16 once joined there and continued together to Rapid City. Enjoy the next 10 miles on the smooth and solid Hwy 14 to Quinn, past Wall Drug signs advertising jackalopes, donuts and a 6-foot rabbit.

At Quinn, you face another test. You can continue along Hwy 14, a newer route for Hwy 16, or you can once again”rough it” on the original roadbed to Wall. To find the old road, drive into Quinn and look just south of the railroad tracks for a road marked as Old Hwy 16 & Quinn Road, and take it west.

At first you’ll be on a dirt path, heading past a cattle ranch. Again, this is only for adventurous souls on dry days. The asphalt has all but disappeared. At times, you’ll be on a one-lane path and at one point you’ll even need to enter the ditch to avoid a washout.

Unlike the first stretch of rough road, which is over-promised on most maps, this brief 5-mile path from Quinn to Wall is not even shown on the official state map. Keep driving west and you’ll be rewarded by a scenic jaunt past some swampy land and small bumps, precursors to the big Badlands to the south. You’ll see gnarled old wood posts along the way, and it takes only a little imagination to picture a young Ted Hustead nailing”Free Ice Water” signs on them to attract Model A drivers to stop at his now-famous Wall Drug Store.

Wall to Wasta

The owner of the old Packard Cafe and Motel in Wasta borrowed the name from the luxurious automobile of the 1930s and ’40s. Photo by Chad Coppess/S.D. Tourism

We would be remiss as travel guides if we didn’t recommend a stop at Wall Drug — still owned and operated by the Hustead family — for a buffalo burger, the crispy-soft chocolate doughnuts, 5-cent coffee and free admission to one of the West’s amazing art collections.

According to legend, Hustead actually traveled to Wasta to get water for his customers. If that story is true, then he surely made the drive by heading west on Fourth Avenue. You can do the same, but then the exact route of Old 16 is a mystery. Most likely, today’s I-90 was built over some of the original roadbed. Our recommendation is to take I-90 to Wasta, but then drive into Wasta, where you’ll easily find traces of Hwy 16 on the north side of town. It soon dead-ends if you turn west, but go east a mile and you’ll be rewarded with a better look at the Cheyenne River valley than I-90 travelers enjoy. Park your car and take pictures of the Old 16 car bridge and the nearby railroad bridge, both still in service.

The nearby town of Owanka died due to lack of water.”If they did find water, it had a high sulfur content and they couldn’t drink it,” says Jack Brainard.”They shipped water in on the train.” The name Wasta came from the Lakota name for the springs, mini wasta, or”water good.” When Highway 16 was routed to the north side of town, hotels and restaurants were opened like the Redwood, where motel scenes for the movie Thunderheart were filmed in 1991.

Wasta to Rapid City

Margaret Larson, Alice Richter, Janice Jensen and Joyce Wolken play cards at BJ’s Country Store in New Underwood.

Return to I-90 and head west for just a few miles, then take Exit 90 and go south on 173rd Avenue to the Wicksville Community Church, where services are held on the second, third and fourth Sundays of every month — leaving travelers to wonder what happens on the first Saturday that carries into Sunday morning? At the church corner, you’ll find an old stretch of the original highway that leads east but dead-ends a mile down the road. Head west and you’ll once again be on Old 16, but it’s diplomatically called Hwy 14/16 these days. The Black Hills are now visible on the horizon, just two towns away.

The first is New Underwood, Margaret Larsen’s home for 86 years. Most mornings she can be found at BJ’s Country Store, playing cards with friends. They cheerfully interrupted the game long enough to share stories.”Before the interstate we had a lot more stores — two grocery stores and a lumberyard,” says Larsen.”We still have plenty of bars.”

The next town is Box Elder, home to Ellsworth Air Force Base and one of the Dakotas’ boomtowns of the last 50 years. Box Elder was a tiny place in the heyday of Old 16, but nearly 10,000 people now live there. Hwy 14/16 skirts an old part of the boomtown and enters Rapid City.

Rapid City to Custer

Buffalo graze west of Custer.

No longer do you need much guidance, because you’re now driving the lone surviving stretch of U.S. Hwy 16. It starts out in downtown Rapid City as Mount Rushmore Road. You’ll climb out of Rapid City and into the mountains on a highway made to accommodate the two million people per year who visit Mount Rushmore. You drive past the Brockelsby family’s Reptile Gardens, Bear Country USA, Fort Hays Old West Town and numerous other visitor attractions.

You skirt the old mining community of Keystone, which sits at the foot of Mount Rushmore, and then follow the old highway as it cuts right through Hill City. There are many interesting stops in the little town, ranging from the century-old Hill City Cafe that remains as unpretentious as the small town eateries you might have enjoyed 200 miles to the east in farming country to an 1880 excursion train and the popular Prairie Berry Winery.

A dozen miles south, you’ll find the Ziolkowski family’s Crazy Horse mountain carving, and then dip down into the city of Custer. Black Hills Burger & Bun Co. is on the west side of the highway as you arrive downtown, one of 35 restaurants in a city of only 2,000 people.

Custer to the Wyoming Border

Three scenic paths wind through Jewel Cave National Park.

As the elevation climbs you rise beyond all the manmade accouterments that you’ve enjoyed between Rapid City and Custer. Now it’s just you and the forest and the highway, until you reach Jewel Cave National Monument. Want some strenuous exercise? Two unusual trails descend into Hell’s Canyon. This is a rare opportunity for a wilderness walk into one of the Black Hills’ deepest canyons. You’ll likely see birds and wildlife, and feel blasts of cold air as you poke your head into caves that connect to the 170-mile maze that comprises Jewel Cave.

It’s a short drive down the mountain. You enter private rangeland as you reach Wyoming. There’s no official”Welcome to Wyoming” sign, but the border is just a short distance west of the ruins of an abandoned cowboy bar and cafe. U.S. Hwy 16 continues on to Yellowstone, the original destination when federal road planners created this east-west route nearly a century ago.

Editor’s Note: This story is revised from the July/August 2015 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call (800) 456-5117.

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John Morrell’s Bloody Friday

In this artist’s rendition, worker fought worker during the 1935 labor strike at the John Morrell Plant in Sioux Falls.

On an overcast July morning in 1935, 200 non-union men marched in line, four abreast up Weber Avenue in Sioux Falls. It was the first day of the year’s second labor strike at John Morrell & Company Packing Plant. The goal of the march was to break through union picket lines staged at the plant gate. Each man was armed with an oak club. Each was determined to return to work.

At the plant gate pickets were in position, armed less uniformly than the non-union men with canes, baseball bats, broom handles and rocks. The John Morrell plant, a huge dark block of a building, loomed over the picketers. Rail cars, halted by the strikers, sat idle on the tracks west of the street. The strikers stood ready to keep anyone from entering the plant as a part of their protest.

As the phalanx of non-union men marched up the dusty road and over the rise where the railroad tracks ran, Sam Twedell, the union business leader, was asked by a reporter, “What are you going to do, Sam?”

Twedell scratched his head and said, “I dunno.” Then he walked forward, alone, to meet the advancing column.

And that began the most violent labor battle in South Dakota history. The conflict wasn’t labor versus management. It was workers against each other. The day became known as “Bloody Friday.”

In 1935, the John Morrell and Co. Packing Plant was on the edge of a growing Sioux Falls. With few windows in the building, people rarely saw what was going on inside. Between those thick concrete walls, thousands of animals were slaughtered, processed, wrapped and shipped to markets every day.

In the 1930s, Morrell played an even larger part of the Sioux Falls economy than it does today. In a city of about 35,000 the company employed over 1,700 people. It was by far the largest employer and the only major industry in the city. The economic health of Sioux Falls relied on the plant.

The 1930s was the decade of the Great Depression. Nationally, nearly one-third of the work force was unemployed. Crop and livestock prices sat at all-time lows. At the Morrell plant, wages dropped steadily as did the quality of working conditions.

Labor movements were at a standstill. Harsh economic times did not create a fertile landscape for unions to sell their philosophy of worker’s rights. The paramount problem of the time was not poor working conditions or shoddy treatment. It was a lack of jobs

In June of 1933, unions got the boost they needed when Congress passed the National Industrial Recovery Act. Section 7(a) gave labor the right to form unions for the purpose of collective bargaining without interference from their employers. With this opportunity, Morrell plant employees formed Sioux Falls Local 304 of the Amalgamated Meat Cutters and Butchers of North America on Oct. 4, 1933. At a meeting of a dozen or so workers, the first man to join the union was Samuel Twedell. He would become an energetic leader of the union and the organization’s business agent.

Twedell was dedicated to the cause of labor. In nearly all of Local 304’s disputes at Morrell, he was the main motivator and moral center of the movement. He wanted his union to succeed.

It didn’t take long for management to move to crush the infant union. In March of 1935 the company laid off 108 workers, many pro-union.

Local 304 responded to the layoffs by offering to cut the guaranteed workweek from 32 to 28 hours. In addition to that offer, the union complained people were being dismissed without regard to seniority. Some who were let go had been there since the plant opened in 1909.

After management refused to spread the work by lowering the guaranteed hours, Twedell declared the company was trying to break the union, saying the layoff targeted some of the most prominent union members. The 600 members of the union voted to strike.

On a cold Saturday, March 9, at 10 a.m., 700 Morrell workers sat down and refused to work or leave. Workers left the carcasses of 200 swine and 35 cattle on the slaughter lines. They stood passively on the railroad tracks, halting the movement of cars of meat. By noon they had shut down the entire plant.

As the day wore on, wives of the strikers passed cigarettes, dice and playing cards through the fence. Many spent the day chatting at the fence around the plant or dozing on dining room tables, while others listened to a fellow worker play the accordion.

The strike was intended to achieve its goal quickly. Twedell chose the sit-down strike as a way to show a firm front. He thought it would last only 20 to 30 minutes, but it lasted through the rest of the day and into the night.

At 9 p.m., Gov. Tom Berry, a New Deal Democrat and rancher from Belvidere, declared martial law at the request of Minnehaha County Sheriff Melvin L. Sells and mobilized the National Guard to take control of the situation. No violence had erupted at the plant, but state law allowed him to call up troops to prevent property from being destroyed. Plant officials were not worried about the building itself. They were more concerned about meat spoiling as it waited to be loaded and shipped.

Major Eugene L. Foster led 150 guardsmen to surround the plant at 2 a.m. His troops were armed with revolvers, machine guns and tear gas, and ready to eject the strikers by force. It was the first time in state history National Guard troops were called to intervene in a labor dispute.

As guardsmen were about to arrive, Gov. Berry called and asked the strikers to leave the building peacefully. Twedell said the strikers would leave the building once martial law was lifted. At 4 a.m., the Guard withdrew and an hour later they left the building singing and shouting. Picket lines were set up immediately.

On Monday, several hundred employees who wanted to work went to the mayor’s office and asked that the streets be cleared so they could get to the plant safely. City Attorney Hugh S. Gamble, acting for Mayor Adolf Graff who was out of town, said he would have the streets open, but he refused the workers’ request for a parade through downtown, which he feared would ignite violence.

Later in the week, Gov. Berry called out the National Guard again saying the pickets were disrupting traffic and preventing others from working.

The strike lasted three days. The settlement called for the dismissal of Twedell and 28 other union leaders. As a part of the agreement, employees would hold a vote on seniority rights and would submit the proposal for approval to management. The union agreed to the dismissal of the 29, counting on the National Labor Relations Board to hear the case and demand their reinstatement.

In April, the Labor Board ruled that the men must be allowed to return to the plant. Morrell management rejected the decision, appealing to officials in Washington D.C. However, on May 27 the Supreme Court made the argument moot when they declared the NIRA unconstitutional.

During its heyday, Local 304 claimed 100 percent membership with about 3,200 plant employees.

The union ignored the court’s decision. On June 8, Local 304 demanded reinstatement of the blacklisted workers, insisted they receive back pay and requested the union’s seniority plan be adopted immediately. When their demands were not met, the union again decided to strike. Thursday night, July 18, a picket line was set up. The strike was to last two years.

The first full day of the strike was became known as “Bloody Friday.” Early that morning, about 200 non-union employees, mostly foremen at the plant, assembled at the Cataract Hotel. They were members of the Company Association, a group union leaders contended was set up by management so the company could say workers had the right to organize.

This organization had a philosophy much different than the union. In a time of depression when jobs were rare, who was the union to prevent men from working? They were determined to cross the picket line with force and return to work.

Forming a line four abreast, the association marched across the Eighth Street bridge and turned up Weber Avenue toward Morrell. Each man received an oak club from a delivery truck parked near the intersection. The marchers continued up the street to meet the picketers.

As the mass of men advanced toward the picket line, Twedell began to walk toward them, hoping to talk them into respecting the picket lines. The association would have none of it and closed around him as he neared the group. One man with a pipe in his hand yelled, “Let me take him!” He swung the pipe, striking Twedell on the back of the head.

Association men rushed the picket line, and a melee ensued. Blows flew wildly in all directions and screams of rage filled the air. One man was caught squarely on the skull with a club. The noise was described by a spectator as a rung bell.

Non-union men surged through the picket line and about 60 of them made it into the plant grounds. The rest of the men engaged the picketers in over 100 individual fights.

Sitting on rail cars above the brawl, reporters and youth watched the action like it was a football game. “God what a fight!” one young boy screamed. “Kill the scabs!”

At one point in the battle, two union men were actually pounding each other. They each had so much blood running down their faces they couldn’t see who they were fighting.

The rest of the association men didn’t make it to the plant. Strikers reformed their lines and began pelting their enemies with broken bricks from a nearby pile.

In the middle of the fight stood one lone policeman. M.W. Parsons was a corpulent officer who the year before was held at bay by a gunman while Security National Bank was robbed by thieves identified as John Dillinger’s gang. He had as much luck quelling the riot as he did stopping that robbery.

On the fringe of the brawl, City Street Superintendent Walt Keith was watching the action when a man near him was struck with a cane. The frenzied attacker, who was bent on continuing his rampage, raised his cane to hit Keith. As he brought his weapon down, Keith ducked and sent a right hand into his attacker’s face. The man dropped to the ground.

“I’m not in on this,” Keith said calmly as he helped his assailant, who was spitting out a few recently detached teeth, to his feet. “But if you try to get me in on it, I guess I’ll have to protect myself.”

Harry Clauson, foreman of the local dock office, and H.S. Thomas, an assistant foreman, attempted to ram their way through the picket line with a car, but the picketers stopped them, smashed the car’s window glass, dragged the men out and severely beat them.

J.P. McCoy, a union representative from Chicago, was spotted by some of the foremen who had made it into the plant. They rushed out, knocked him senseless with a club and dragged him into the plant. He was held in the basement under the orders of Herman Veenker, plant superintendent.

“We didn’t dare turn him loose because the men were howling for him outside the building,” Veenker said. “They would have torn him to pieces.”

Veenker later turned McCoy over to the police. The union representative was placed in protective custody.

In all, 54 men, 13 union and 41 non-union, were hospitalized with injuries ranging from minor cuts to fractures and deep lacerations. Men stood in the street with blood dripping down their faces and soaking their shirts. Twedell, who had been on the receiving end of many blows, was seen talking to his wife, his entire head covered in blood.

Later that day, Twedell decided to allow workers into the plant as long as they were actual employees and not strike breakers.

Unlike the March strike, the National Guard was not called out. Although Gov. Berry had threatened to declare martial law again if any violence erupted, on this occasion the Guard would be called out only if local authorities lost control. Sheriff Sells, who had requested state troops for the previous strike, told reporters, “The governor said the task of maintaining law and order was solely in the hands of the local police and sheriff’s office.”

For the next few weeks, the strike wore on with occasional small skirmishes. Verbal abuse was hurled at workers and women on the picket lines would stab workers with hatpins as they entered plant grounds. Strikers held up a sign with a dead rat hanging from the top labeled, “Here’s what you guys are that want to work for Morrell.” Another sign had a drawing of a yellow rat.

Not every exchange was filled with animosity. Arthur “Mike” Bailey, one of the men who made it through the picket lines on Bloody Friday, was pictured in the Argus Leader after the fight with trails of blood running down the side of his head. Bailey was allowed to pass through picket lines unscathed. “Hello Mike,” one striker said, “I saw your picture in the paper the other day. Go on in Mike, you sure can take it.”

Many employees slept at the plant to avoid confrontation with the picketers. The plant held recreational activities for them, including horseshoes and softball games. Kegs of beer were hauled in. Morale in the plant was high but production remained far below normal with only 475 people working.

After the initial days of the strike both sides took on a no-compromise position. About two weeks later, management offered to hire everyone back. A later offer said management would recognize the union and set up an office to hear employee complaints. However, neither offer included rehiring the 29 union officials, so each was rejected.

As time went on the original show of solidarity deteriorated as workers slowly began to return to their jobs. Most had families and children to feed, and the grim reality of the Depression kept them from remaining on strike indefinitely. For those the plant refused to hire back there were relief programs, but most found jobs.

But the union held on, organizing an American Federation of Labor boycott of Morrell products, which was especially effective on the West Coast.

After two years the strike came to an end. But when the settlement came, a plant that was fully manned by non-union workers and in full operation tainted the unionís accomplishment. Morrell conceded to the union’s demand to hire back the 29 leaders as positions opened. The settlement was described as a victory for neither side.

In the long run, it was the foundation labor needed. It gave workers a forum to vent their frustrations to management without dreading the consequences. It created the atmosphere needed for open communication so the company and its labor force could work together. Perhaps the greatest lasting effect of the strike was management never questioned the issue of seniority rights again.

For other workers in other industries, the strike set an example to follow. Twedell and his union stalwarts showed what could be accomplished with determination and dedication to a cause. Workers around the state, such as the Teamsters, followed Local 304’s lead and worked to organize labor associations.

The violence of Bloody Friday probably wasn’t necessary for the eventual victory of the union, but the incident most clearly distilled into a single moment the raw emotion of desperation felt by men and women who were victims of circumstances beyond control.

The struggle of labor in the 1930s was a three-way battle: union against non-union against management. All sides, especially the workers, felt helpless and cornered. In that situation many felt the only option was to lash out.

After the strike was settled, the union made a special effort to smooth things over with their former rivals. A bill was posted around the plant which said, “NOTICE TO ALL MORRELL EMPLOYEES: The strike is over! Let us forget our animosity. Forget the past and organize for the future. We are on friendly terms with the Morrell Company and will do our part to keep this friendship.”

Today, Morrell is still an important part of the Sioux Falls economy. In the 1990s, the state showed its commitment to the plant by offering a $10 million incentive plan, which included renovating buildings and updating equipment.

Local 304 now claims over 2,000 members. The union in its heyday claimed 100 percent membership with about 3,200 workers employed at the plant. It doesn’t have that same strength anymore.

The last strike at the plant, a sympathy strike for the workers at the Sioux City plant, lasted five months, ending in November of 1987. A Rapid City court declared the strike illegal.

Strikes and picket lines, once considered labor’s most effective albeit last-ditch weapon, are hopefully a thing of the past at Morrell. At one time, strikes were defining moments in the relationship of management and labor. Today negotiation is the rule.

Local 304 still remembers that overcast day in 1935. A painting of a birds-eye view of the brawl on “Bloody Friday” hangs in the lobby of the union office in Sioux Falls as a reminder of the conviction of their predecessors and of how things can get out of control.

Editorís Note: This story is revised from the January/February 1995 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call (800) 456-5117.

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Over 700 Years in the Making

Good Earth State Park at Blood Run, South Dakota’s newest state park just southeast of Sioux Falls, is one of the oldest sites of long-term human habitation in the United States. Rebecca Johnson, our special projects coordinator, visited the National Historic Landmark recently to hike the trails. Here are some of her photos.

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On the Quartzite Trail

There’s a geologic treasure in southeastern South Dakota that has been here longer than our famed petrified forests or the prehistoric fossils painstakingly brushed from the soil. Outcroppings of ultra-hard, 1.6-billion-year-old Sioux quartzite protrude from grassy prairies and riverbanks over 6,000 square miles from the James River eastward into Minnesota and Iowa.

Jim Kersten

People have placed significance upon the unique pink rocks for centuries, but Jim Kersten believes that what he calls”quartzite country” holds even more potential. He’s spent years creating the Sioux Quartzite Outcrop Trail that takes people to 10 primary sites, nine secondary locations and over two dozen historical attractions in South Dakota, Minnesota and Iowa that feature quartzite naturally or architecturally.

Kersten became interested in quartzite while operating a bed and breakfast in Alcester from 1995 to 2005. He often hosted kayaking ventures along the Big Sioux River and bicycle tours through southeastern South Dakota. Quartzite was right under his nose, though he never thought of the region as a destination until he served on the Big Sioux Recreation Council.”I ended up being the historian because I liked it,” says Kersten, who today runs a painting business with his twin brother in Aberdeen.”I decided to inventory some sites along the river from Dell Rapids to Sioux City. I found that a lot of my sites along the river were quartzite sites. I finally figured out that was the common denominator, especially in areas where outcroppings go across the river. I could develop a lot of themes, but the quartzite was the key.”

Quartzite is easily the oldest feature in eastern South Dakota, and it confounded early European visitors like artist George Catlin and explorer Joseph Nicollet, both of whom visited pipestone quarries in the 1830s.”The single fact of such a table of quartz, in horizontal strata, resting on this elevated plateau, is of itself a very interesting subject for investigation; and one which calls upon the scientific world for a correct theory with regard to this time when and the manner in which this formation was produced,” Catlin wrote.

Kersten says Nicollet and others offered a variety of scenarios to explain quartzite’s origin, including one with Biblical origins. But they had not heard the theory of Swiss geographer Louis Agassiz, who in 1837 became the first scientist to propose that Earth had endured an Ice Age, in which he argued that rocks — including Sioux quartzite — were shaped, transplanted and uncovered by huge, slowly-advancing glaciers.

Today’s impressive river formations began as fine grains of quartz no bigger than half a millimeter. They were deposited on the bottom of a shallow sea that once covered large portions of North America. The particles, rounded by water and compacted by heat and intense pressure, slowly built and hardened over millions of years. Then glaciers swept across the continent, revealing what Kersten considers,”the Black Hills of East River.””The Black Hills are gorgeous, but there’s little rock in the Black Hills as old as this,” he says.”This is as old as rock in the bottom of the Grand Canyon, and there you’re looking at 1.7 billion years of strata going down.”

Kersten’s”Quartzite Country” extends from Redstone, at the junction of the Cottonwood and Minnesota rivers in Minnesota, and runs to the James River near Mitchell. Exposed stone is found between Flandreau and Canton, but quartzite has been discovered during well digging as far west as Stanley and Jones counties in South Dakota, and across the Missouri River into northern Nebraska.

His tour of 10 primary quartzite sites — selected because of the significant outcroppings or association with Indian history — begins in Sioux Falls. The trail loops 370 miles through eastern South Dakota and western Minnesota, and ends at the Dells of the Big Sioux River near Dell Rapids.”The whole picture is bigger than its parts,” he says.”Each one of these sites has its own story, and it’s about much more than the rocks. Prairie is being restored at a number of places, including all the primary outcroppings.”

Take time this summer to explore the Sioux Quartzite Outcrop Trail and see the unique role prehistoric rocks have played in developing the frontier.


Queen Bee Mill & Falls Park, Sioux Falls

Queen Bee Mill and Falls Park. Photo by Greg Latza

Sioux Falls town builders were awed by the powerful torrents of water cascading over the quartzite boulders that comprise the falls of the Big Sioux River. About 7,400 gallons of water drop 100 feet over the course of the falls every second. Richard Pettigrew, a city father, politician and businessman, sought to harness that power in 1878 when he began construction on the seven-story, state-of-the-art Queen Bee Mill.

The new mill was capable of producing 1,200 barrels of flour a day. But soon after it opened in 1881, investors realized that Dakota farmers couldn’t produce enough wheat to keep the mill solvent. By 1883, it was closed.

Entrepreneurs tried various businesses in the old quartzite mill, but each venture failed. The structure became a warehouse in 1929, and much of it was destroyed by fire in 1959. Its upper floors were demolished after the blaze for safety. Its ruins still stand on the riverbank.

Today the city of Sioux Falls has transformed the 123-acre Falls Park into a popular destination for families with a cafe, picnic space and trail system.


Mary Jo Wegner Arboretum and East Sioux Falls Historic Site, Sioux Falls

Arrowhead Park, East Sioux Falls. Photo by Christian Begeman

Construction is finishing on the Mary Jo Wegner Arboretum and East Sioux Falls Historic Site at the junction of Highways 11 and 42. Sioux Falls’ newest park is the brainchild of Mary Jo Wegner, a local environmental advocate who envisioned a natural haven of gardens, plants and wetlands as an escape from the urbanity of South Dakota’s largest city. When completed, the area will include six gardens, interpretive exhibits and an extension of the Sioux Falls Bike Trail.

The 115-acre park sits on land rich in quartzite history. East Sioux Falls was once a thriving community of 600 residents, many of whom relied on local quartzite quarries for their livelihoods. A number of quarries were operating in Sioux Falls by the end of the 1880s, but the largest opened at East Sioux Falls in 1887. By 1890, nearly 500 men toiled there, cutting stone to ship via rail to cities like Omaha, St. Louis and Chicago for street paving.

An economic downturn in 1891 followed by the Panic of 1893 slowed production at the Sioux Falls quarries. As concrete became the building material of choice, workers began to leave East Sioux Falls. The city gave up its charter in 1913.


Jasper Pool, Gitchie Manitou State Preserve, South Dakota/Iowa Border

Jasper Pool. Photo by Christian Begeman

Just across the Big Sioux River in Lyon County, Iowa, the oldest exposed bedrock in that state is preserved at Gitchie Manitou State Preserve. From the 1890s to 1920, a quartzite quarry operated in the northeast corner of the 91-acre preserve. The remains have filled with water, creating the Jasper Pool.

Another feature of Gitchie Manitou is a series of conical mounds near its southern edge. Archaeologists are still determining their significance, but they may be part of a larger complex found at Blood Run, South Dakota’s newest state park along the South Dakota/Iowa border that was home to the Oneota people for 8,500 years.


Queen Rock, Palisades State Park, Garretson

King and Queen Rock, Palisades State Park.

South of Garretson, quartzite cliffs and rock formations rise 50 to 60 feet along the banks of Split Rock Creek. Among the most unique formations are two spires called King and Queen Rock.

At just over 150 acres, Palisades is South Dakota’s second smallest state park. Still, it boasts a campground, a lodge and four hiking trails, including the King and Queen Rock Trail. The 0.2-mile route passes the King and Queen and the rest of the park’s most impressive quartzite formations. The trail also winds past the site of Palisades, a small town formed in 1870 after homesteaders built a large flourmill along the creek. But A.S. Garretson, an entrepreneur from Sioux City, made sure a railroad junction was placed two miles north on land he owned, spawning the town named for him and facilitating Palisades’ demise.

Adventurers come to Palisades for kayaking and rock climbing, which poses special challenges. The surface of the quartzite ranges from gritty to slippery smooth, the result of glacial weathering.


Devil’s Falls, Devil’s Gulch Park, Garretson

Devil’s Gulch. Photo by Christian Begeman

Outlaws Frank and Jesse James robbed a bank in Northfield, Minn., in 1876 and rode west. Legend says that as they eluded a posse, Jesse spurred his horse and jumped a 20-foot chasm across Split Rock Creek on the edge of Garretson.

If it’s true, Jesse probably didn’t have time to appreciate the quartzite-lined gulch or the nearby waterfall. Some geologists speculate that an ancient earthquake split the quartzite and created the fissure. Today an iron footbridge spans the gap where Jesse is said to have leapt. A hiking trail leads to the falls and other quartzite features, such as Devil’s Kitchen and Devil’s Stairway.


Touch the Sky Prairie, Rock County, Minnesota

Here the trail turns east into Minnesota and stops near Luverne at Touch the Sky Prairie, site of a major prairie restoration project. The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service and the Brandenburg Prairie Foundation, led by local photographer and filmmaker Jim Brandenburg, have purchased 1,000 acres of land northwest of Luverne. Fences and old farmstead buildings have been removed to make room for native plants and animals. The acreage also features a mile-long quartzite ridgeline that served as a buffalo rub. Some of the outcroppings have surfaces as smooth as glass, the result of centuries of rubbing.


Blue Mound State Park, Luverne, Minnesota

Homesteaders traveling west across the prairie noticed a strange mound with a blue tint as they neared South Dakota. They soon discovered the”blue mound” was a 100-foot tall outcropping of Sioux quartzite, one of many at Blue Mound State Park, an 1,800-acre oasis of prairie grasses and flowers north of Luverne.

Local historians believe Plains Indians first utilized the mound as a buffalo jump because of the large number of bones recovered at the outcropping’s base.


Pipestone National Monument, Pipestone, Minnesota

The pipestone quarries near Pipestone, Minn., just across the state line east of Flandreau, have been sacred to Plains Indians for centuries. A Brule legend told by Lame Deer in the 1960s relates their importance in the creation of the Lakota people. It began with a flood that inundated all the land except a hill next to the sacred quarries. People clamored to the hilltop, but rising waters killed everyone except a young girl saved by a bald eagle that flew her to safety in the Black Hills. The Lakota people were descended from that union. Meanwhile, the blood of the flood victims turned to pipestone and created the vast quarries.

Indians have journeyed to the quarries for at least 800 years to extract pipestone from the layers of Sioux quartzite that jut from the Earth at the Pipestone National Monument. The monument was created in 1937 to ensure Indians of all federally recognized tribes had access to pipestone, used in making ceremonial pipes. A feature of the monument is a quartzite outcropping that forms a 10- to 15-foot cliff line that runs north to south along the entire length of the 301-acre site.


Jeffers Petroglyphs, Comfrey, Minnesota

Flat slabs of quartzite dot the prairie at the Jeffers Petroglyphs Historic Site near Comfrey, Minn. Here, Plains Indians — including the Lakota and Dakota — scratched over 4,000 images into the hard stone. The oldest drawings could be 9,000 years old, while the newest were done within the last two centuries. They tell of important events, sacred ceremonies, legends and stories of hunting and other daily activities. The age of the drawings indicates that Jeffers is among the oldest continually used sacred sites in the world.


Dells of the Big Sioux, Dell Rapids

Little Dells. Photo by Christian Begeman

The trail concludes at the Dells of the Big Sioux River, south of Dell Rapids in Minnehaha County. Quartzite was key to Dell Rapids’ development. Many of the 39 buildings in the downtown business district were constructed using locally quarried quartzite. Even the high school mascot is a”quarrier.”

At the peaceful dells, the river flows between 40-foot quartzite walls sprinkled with lush trees and prairie grasses.


Along the Way …

Kersten has identified nine secondary outcroppings along his quartzite trail. The first is Arrowhead Park in Sioux Falls. The 131-acre park features two quarry ponds that were once part of the bustling East Sioux Falls quarry scene. Dale Weir donated the land to the city of Sioux Falls for development as a park. Ducks and geese frequent the ponds, which are connected by a walking trail that also passes an 1888 barn designed by Sioux Falls architect Wallace Dow.

At Split Rock Creek City Park in Garretson, and Split Rock Creek State Park in Ihlen, Minn., quartzite walls tower over the placid stream. Kayakers enjoy paddling the stretch through the Garretson park, which includes a dam, bridges, a rock wall and a bathhouse built in 1936 as a Works Progress Administration project. All the structures are made of quartzite.

Rockport Hutterite Colony.

The Red Rock Falls and Red Rock Dells in Cottonwood County, Minn., feature more quartzite outcroppings. A 0.34-mile trail skirts the edge of some boulders and through a gorge to the small waterfall. Keep heading east toward Redstone, the eastern edge of quartzite county near New Ulm, Minn. An active quarry on the eastern edge of town has been operational since 1861.

Kersten’s trail re-enters South Dakota at the Three Sisters quartzite formation in the Big Sioux River near Dell Rapids and two sites of early construction: the Dell Rapids Mill and Saint Olaf Roller Mill and Power Dam in Baltic.”There are 20 mills in a pretty tight radius of Sioux Falls,” Kersten says.”Every town had a mill. My next project could be on the grist mills of southeastern South Dakota.”

The final stop is Rockport Hutterite Colony along the James River south of Alexandria. It marks the western edge of significantly exposed quartzite. Huge slabs lie between the colony buildings and the lazy river, along with quartzite foundations of buildings that comprised Fort James, built in 1865 to maintain peace between homesteaders and Indians. Soldiers occupied Fort James — one of the only stone cavalry forts in the West — for a year before it closed in 1866.

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

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Off the Grid

Brian Gramm was tailgating at a University of South Dakota football game in 2011, but instead of focusing on burgers and brats his noisy generator got all the attention. Gramm, a USD graduate and entrepreneur, thought there had to be a way to create a generator that harnessed solar power to produce electricity. He and fellow entrepreneur Daren Davoux designed a prototype and presented it to a group of investors. They all agreed it would work for tailgating, but they said there’s an even greater need for power in poorer countries.

He went back to the drawing board and produced the Forty2 solar generator. The device opens like a suitcase and collects solar energy that charges from one to eight lithium ion batteries. It includes foreign and domestic electrical outlets and can power anything from a cell phone to a small refrigerator.

Gramm founded Peppermint Energy in Sioux Falls to produce the Forty2, which has been used in disaster relief in the Philippines and at the Koidu Hospital in Sierra Leone, where refrigerators powered by Forty2s stored vaccines to combat the Ebola virus.

Variations of the Forty2 generator range from $2,300 to $3,700. The company has also produced smaller generators and battery packs that can be taken on hikes to recharge cell phones and other small devices.

Editor’s Note: This story is revised from the March/April 2016 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call (800) 456-5117.