Cowboys and Indians have been gathering in 19th century period dress on the Shearer Ranch near Wall for several years to create Wild West scenes for oil painters, sculptors and watercolorists, according to a fine Smithsonian article in that magazine's July issue and on its web site. We thought we knew what was happening in South Dakota, but this get-together (which is intentionally low key to protect the artists' privacy) is news to us. It is an invitation-only event.

"The West is dying," Shearer told the Smithsonian. "If not dying, dwindling. It'd be a shame to see all this just go by the wayside."

Roger Kasa, community activist & writer in Huron

The South Dakota Hall of Fame in Chamberlain has announced its 2005 inductees. They are listed in our July/August issue. A longer article will be readied for our Sept/Oct issue. Here's a quick rundown: Doug Fuerstenau, Bob Duxbury, Harvey Jewett, Rich Greeno, Al Cornella, Dr. Robert Ryan, Ordell Braase and Bob Oates.

Honored posthumously are Harriet Montgomery, Henry Wilson, Dr. Chester McVay, Barrett Lowe, Pearl Hoel, William Wilson, and Father Henry Hogebach. We congratulate them .... and their families and friends, for all achieved success only with the help of many others.

What's it like to lose an installation that becomes part of your community's heart and soul? A fine story in the Aberdeen American News tells of the trauma caused when the small city of Gettysburg, northeast of Pierre, lost its federal Aircraft Control & Warning Squadron in the 1960s. South Dakota travelers may have noticed the empty buildings and satellites on a hill just north of the Potter County community. There's a fine poem at the end of the article.

Gettysburg was founded by veterans of the Civil War who came in the 1880s for a fresh start. They named their town after the famous Battle of Gettysburg.

Tim and Joan Sullivan saw an irrigated soybean field on the outskirts of De Smet and saw something quite different. They saw Pa Ingalls' original farmstead (of Little House on the Prairie fame). The Sullivans were running a grain elevator in Iowa in 1996. They sold the elevator to their employees and bought the 160 acre farm about nine years ago. Yes, it's the very same quarter section that Charles Ingalls filed on in 1880.

They've been working to restore it to its 19th century condition. The Big Slough that Laura wrote about is again a slough with ducks. Small fields and native grasses have been replanted. A wagon trail cuts through the property enroute to a little country school. Marian Cramer, a local historian and occasional contributor to South Dakota Magazine, gives interesting programs to visitors several times a day through the summer. The Sullivans give wagon rides, provide camping spots (anywhere you want to De Smet and all of South Dakota.

We doubt they're getting rich. But the most famous 160-acre farm in South Dakota needed some love and attention. We're fortunate that the Sullivans came from Iowa to take it on.

Here's a fine article by John Tierney in the New York Times about just how wild the West was and why. He argues that the Deadwood characters were not as heroic or as violent as mythology suggests.

"It was a rather polite and civil society enforced by armed men," Dr. McGrath said. "The rate of burglary and robbery was lower than in American cities today. Claim-jumping was rare. Rape was extraordinarily rare - you can argue it wasn't being reported, but I've never seen evidence hinting at that."

And he immediately spouts off about feminism.



Everybody has a blog these days, even (the late?) Gutzon Borglum. It's properly named Gutzon Borglum Online and it's thick with satire, history, humor and commentary on South Dakota and very specifically a certain mountain near the Needles. Here is an edited version of one of Gutzon's posts:

After 41 years of silence, there are a few things I want the world to know:

1) Stop naming every crappy tourism store in the Black Hills “Rushmore this” or “Rushmore that”. This is one of the greatest monuments in the world, a modern wonder. If what you sell can’t stand on its own merits, then you ought not be in business.

2) I’m not too pleased about Mt. Rushmore sharing the new state quarter with a pheasant. The pheasant is an import from China and Rushmore is American-made.

3) Pick up your garbage when you leave the monument, dammit.

4) I never intended for the Black Hills to be a sculpture garden and I don’t like the giant concrete dinosaurs scattered about the region. But I am a fan of Crazy Horse monument and think every effort should be made to get it finished. I spent far too many years running around the countryside with hat in hand looking for the money necessary to finish Mount Rushmore. It’s sad that not once but twice in the last century, someone didn’t step forward and finance a great piece of public art. I should have accepted Coolidge’s offer to give me the full $500,000 for the monument — Sen. Norbeck was furious when I didn’t — but I was also afraid of being indebted to others.

5) I just loved North by Northwest.

6) No matter what anybody tells you, follow my lead and marry the first time for sex and the second time for love.

7) Nebraska is a great place to be from.

8) I always wondered why the name Gutzon didn’t become a crazy among new parents the way that Britney and Phoenix did.

9) I wouldn’t do well in this politcally correct society where you subsist today. I never really thought women and men should be on equal ground. That’s why I had so much trouble with the broads in the Daughters of the Confederacy and why I was livid when someone in Congress proposed, in 1937, that Susan B. Anthony’s face be added to the monument. We had already struggled with the four president and weren’t close to being done and all of a sudden they wanted another face? Luckily, some quick thinking lawmakers added a rider to the bill requiring that any additional faces be financed privately. Show me the money! Ha. It will be another 20 years before women make as much money as men, you think they could have afforded Susan B. on Mount Rushmore back then.

10) I always kind of liked the name “Mt. Harney."


Opinions expressed above are not necessarily those of South Dakota Magazine ... or even those of Gutzon Borglum, for that matter.

We're working on a photo story for the Sept/Oct issue which will feature a collection of black and white prints discovered in the archives of the University of South Dakota in Vermillion. They show a slice of life on campus that nostaligists will envy. The photo above is a part of the collection.

WILD COW MILKING



Irene's Rodeo is this weekend. It's one of East River's newest and best. There'll be bull riding, steer wrestling and other mild-mannered activities. I don't think they plan to have the quite popular Wild Cow Milking Contest this year. It's hard to find contestants, two-legged or four.

A few years ago, two friends persuaded me to join their three-man team at Irene. I agreed because I figured how wild could Yankton County cows be? The farmers I know butcher anything that looks cross-eyed or jumps a fence. With that selective breeding, local cows are as tame as burros in Custer State Park.

So I was surprised to arrive and see a big stock trailer rocking back and forth. I peeked in the rear of the trailer and a big black cow with red eyes and pointed ears charged the door. These were not Yankton County cows! Apparently the frugal Rodeo Committee figured they could save the $225 purse by going West River to find some critters that had never seen anything on two legs but cowboys with hot branding irons.

I was about to leave for home, but just then Kurt Johnson and Junior Rasmuseen came rambling over. That's what real Wild Cow Milkers do. They ramble. They were outfitted for battle, with leather gloves to prevent rope burns. And since they had gloves and I didn't, they voted to let me do the milking.

The rodeo committee held a quick meeting to explain the rules. We had to get a squirt of milk in a pop bottle and race it to the judge. If nobody does so in five minutes, the game is up. They didn't discuss disability compensation or survivor's benefits. But one of our competitors, a young man from Nebraska with several missing teeth, said he and his friends had done this before and he recommended that the milker watch for flying hooves.

Then it was time. Kurt, Junior and I rambled into the arena. Fortunately we didn't draw the black cow with pointed ears. We got a black baldie (white face). I tried to talk to her and pet her while we were waiting for the chutes to open. I told her I had no branding iron.

When the gun sounded, Kurt and Junior (fathers of 4-Hers with beef steers) led her from the chute and put the famous 4-H neck crunch on her. She froze. "Milk her, Bernie!" yelled Junior.
I stood about three feet away from her hooves and reached out for the nearest teat. Milk squirted into the Mountain Dew bottle. We raced lickety-split for the judge.

The black cow with pointed ears passed us along the way, with three men chasing her. We were easily the first to arrive with milk. The committee grudgingly kept their word and paid us $225 .... more than any of us had ever made on a cow.

Five minutes later a pretty girl in a halter top who hadn't risked anything but a sunburn all day won a big vacation to Las Vegas when her name was drawn in a rodeo raffle. Had the committee gone nuts?

Then we learned that everyone expected us to defend our Wild Cow Championship next year. I spent my winnings on leather gloves ... and raffle tickets.
(Bernie Hunhoff)