Living Here Spring 2020

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SOUTHEAST SOUTH DAKOTA AND NORTHEAST NEBRASKA

Buried History

Wayne, Nebraska Cemeteries Keep Heritage Alive ~ Page 6

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Spring 2020

LIVING HERE A magazine celebrating the people, heritage and communities of Northeast Nebraska and Southeast South Dakota.

Spring 2020

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VOLUME 16, ISSUE 2 Buried History, Cemeteries Help Keep Heritage Alive

By: Brad Kellogg

Steve Gross from Wayne, NE takes us on a journey to a cemetery that is all that’s left of the once Wayne County seat town of LaPorte, from there to Greenwood cemetary, then through a carnival, into a public rest room, and finally to World War Two.

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Remembering the Dakota 38+2

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Tyndall Bakery (The Secret Recipe)

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The Spencer Dam

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Amish, History or Present Day

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From Prague to Pinterest: the Evolution of May Day

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Family Secrets Revealed

38

Flashback To Spring 2010 Living Here Idyllic Times On The James River

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Wade Pitzer publisher@livingheremidwest.com

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ConTribuTing WriTerS And phoTogrApherS Brad Kellogg Loretta Sorensen Marita Placek Tim Trudell Alexandra McClanahan Mary Hurd Steve Gross Shelby Pitzer Carrie Pitzer Debby Gross

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By: Tim Trudell A monument that tells the story of “the largest mass execution in American history” and honors Santee veterans.

By: Loretta Sorensen No, you won’t get any recipes, but you will get a tale of of oh-so-tasty goodness.

By: Marita Placek The history of the dam and the bridges near it. From creation to destruction, the Niobrara River is the fastest flowing river in Nebraska and a force not to be taken lightly.

By: Alexandra McClanahan The Amish live their past in their present and are making an impact on the Orchard, Neb., community, where they treat neighbors as freinds and the town like home.

By: Lindsay Hindman If you find a mysterious basket of flowers or a cup of popcorn on your doorstep on the First of May. But do you know why?

By: Loretta Sorensen A family tale of moonshine, heroes and murderers. During Prohibition, South Dakota now doubt had it’s share of bootleggers. This story is of 3 deaths, 2 of which are murders.

By: Mary Hurd There was no break from the monotony of summertime’s dusty, baking heat quite like a day down by the riverside. Take a trip down the James River with this 2010 throwback.

On the Cover: Steve Gross with the “Meteorite Stone,” the most inquired about stone in Greenwood Cemerery.

Photo by: Debby Gross

Photo by: Shelby Pitzer

dear reader

Spring is springing up all around us, the sun has warmth again and by the time you read this the grass will be greening up for summer. I hope all is well with all of you, things are greening up here as this issue is 48 pages and 8 stories. I hope you enjoy it as we all do spring!

What worries us today, COVID-19. I hope by the time you read this that it is under control and no longer an issue, if not will be soon. Take your mind off things and get lost in the stories here for awhile.

After the smoke clears, I encourage you to get out, go see the people and places out there. There are so many things in each little town around you, read these stories and go see the sites after you read about them. Not all is written here, go discover more of the story.

We are at work on the summer issue for July 2020. Some possible stories are, Lynch Theater, Buried History #2, An Amish Horse Trainer.

As a new publisher I want to hear from you, please send me your notes, comments, concerns, story ideas via email at publisher@livingheremidwest.com . I am in need of historic photos for the back cover with caption or description.

Sincerely, Wade Pitzer, Publisher

4 • LIVING HERE

FALL/WINTER 2019-2020 • 5

Buried History

Cemeteries keep Heritage Alive

BY BRAD KELLOGG Photos by: Brad Kellogg

6 • LIVING HERE

Entrance to Greenwood Cemetery with the chapel and office in the background.

In Wayne, Nebraska, if you want to know where the clay bricks that form the bed of the main street were fired and kilned, you go find Steve Gross. If you are curious about the founding of the “Wayne Ladies’ Rest Room Society,” Steve Gross probably can tell you all about it. Or if you literally want to know “where the bodies are buried,” as well as the stories of those interred in the historic LaPorte Pioneer Cemetery, or in the modern Greenwood Cemetery, ask Steve Gross. In fact, if you want to know anything about the history of Wayne or the area, chances are Gross already has it researched, documented and at his fingertips, or at least in his “stacks of paper.” If he doesn’t, odds are pretty good that he will find the information.

Gross is recognized as a “go to” person on the area’s history and has spent many hours researching the local newspaper archives, court records, family history manuscripts, research material at Wayne State College, and through volumes of archival books. He credits for a lot of the help from the Wayne State Archivist, but also the people at the Wayne Herald and the Wayne Public Library. “Sometimes I think they are tired of me, but they always help,” Gross says.

He recalls that his interest in history was kindled when he was in grade school and had to write a one- or two-page report on his family history. That report still occupies a place in his office, as well as in his heart. He grew up with thirteen brothers and sisters and all moved on to employment and their own homes after graduation.

In later years, one of his thirteen siblings, an older brother who was a military “lifer” also helped deepen his interest in history. One day while they were driving back from Pender, they stopped at the cemetery west of that town. His brother walked around the military headstones and talked about the history of each unit that was listed on the monuments.

That led Gross to start reading books on not only the military, but early SPRING 2020 • 7

Steve Gross with a stack of research.

Nebraska history as well. His interest in history continued to grow.

With his keen interest in bygone times and the people who populated the area, it was only natural that Gross would spend many years as a member of the Greenwood Cemetery Board in Wayne, from which he recently retired.

“Cemeteries are where all of our history is buried,” he says. “From the pioneers who first came to the area to those who have recently left us, their stories are all resting beneath the hallowed soil of the cemeteries in the area. I wish those tombstones could talk, as a lot of those stories have mostly been forgotten. I’ve always had a passion for history. It’s not just the old saw about history repeating itself, although that is important also. I’m fascinated in learning about the people in the past, how the pioneers traveled here and survived while doing so without benefit of modern conveniences.”

According to Gross’s research, when the early settlers came here, this area was ‘the great unknown.’ William Huse wrote in 1896 that it was generally believed this area was chiefly a desert; in 8 • LIVING HERE

fact, the old maps had ‘Great American Desert’ written across the Midwest. It was believed that there was very little good land, with an atmosphere laden with malaria, without timber, and with water horrible to the taste and smell. Yet STILL they came!” Gross says. He adds that they knew it wouldn’t be easy but literally had no idea of the extremes of the weather and temperature shifts they would have to endure, or they would have only a few trees to build shelter for their families or to burn for heat and cooking. As hardy as they were, many didn’t survive. “We have trailblazers in our cemeteries who died from prairie grass fires and blizzards, even Indian attacks. Ironically one man was cutting down one of the few trees and was killed when it fell on him.” Some settlers suffered deep depression when they had to endure days on end of extreme hot temperatures, or spend long periods of time snowed into the confined space of a dugout. Often that depression resulted in either a death at one’s own hands or the death of others. “I love to research the stories of these people, both the positive ones and the ones that did not turn

out so well. The sad tales, as horrible as some are, are equally interesting in a sad sort of way,” Gross says.

That passion for their stories led him to the abandoned and un-maintained LaPorte Cemetery southeast of Wayne.

“One might call this a ghost town,” Gross says. “LaPorte was the first formal county seat of Wayne, though it was short-lived. Originally the railroad was planned to come through LaPorte, but at the last minute it instead was routed to the present location of Brookdale, now called Wayne. With that change the county seat was also moved.” Gross grins and throws in a couple of his patented tidbits. “When the Chicago, St. Paul, Minneapolis & Omaha first came here the tracks didn’t go farther west. It couldn’t turn around, so the train had to back up all the way to Emerson, a distance of about twenty miles.”

Gross recounted that when the decision was made to move the county records to Wayne, “ol’ Judge Cyrus Hunter was so displeased that he sat on the steps of what served as the courthouse with a shotgun across his knees to prevent the fledgling county

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records from being taken away.” However common sense prevailed, and the records were eventually moved. Gross chuckles, “Judge Hunter was so incensed, that he literally moved his entire house, every board of it, to the nearby town of Wakefield just over in Dixon County, and vowed that he would never again set foot in Wayne County. To my knowledge he never did. Today all that is left of the community of LaPorte is this old pioneer cemetery and its spirits.”

Gross realized that the abandoned LaPorte Cemetery was a historic jewel and set about establishing a group to restore it. With the help of many the Laporte Cemetery Association was formed in 1993. Weeds were cut, tombstones were repaired and straightened, and Gross set out to learn more about the individuals buried there. Now as he wanders through the recently mowed grass, Gross points out several of the gravestones, and recounts the stories of those who rest beneath them. “We have here a veteran of the War of 1812, as well as two Civil War Union soldiers. Over there is the plot belonging to the Durins.” Gross points out that their story is evidence of the adversity and trials the pioneers faced. “One of their sons was killed by a falling tree and a second by a bolt of lightning. Wilson Durin, the Patriarch of the family, died in 1876 of pneumonia. Two years later, his wife and eleven-yearold daughter burned to death in a fast-moving prairie fire. We today have no idea how hard things were for the early settlers.

Most of us could not survive if we had to live the way these strong people did and I have the utmost respect for them.”

Gross walks to the far edge of the cemetery and points to a stand of trees about one-quarter mile to the south. According to his research, “those trees are an original timber tract called Hunter’s Grove that was homesteaded in the 1800’s by the

Hunter family, and was a spot where the people from the area would gather for box socials, weddings and to hold meetings.

At one of the meetings in that grove in 1870, a vote was taken, and the result formally created Wayne County.” Gross says, “W.G. Vroman, chairman of the proceedings, was sitting there watching it all take place, and got so excited and animated that he fell off his chair and broke off a rocker when the papers were signed!”

In later years George and Rebecca Scott lived on the Hunter’s Grove property. “Few people know that the couple is buried in a small fenced in plot near the center of that historic wooded stand.” Gross says.

Because of Gross’s interest in the historical stories in cemeteries he became a member of Wayne’s Greenwood Cemetery Board. The Greenwood Cemetery is not owned by the city and receives no funding. It is operated and managed by the cemetery board from which Gross recently retired.

Maintenance is funded by the fees associated for purchasing plots and burial costs. To help defray costs, Gross organized a series of ‘Spirit Walks,’ and asked for a free will donation.

“We would take some of the stories of people buried in the cemetery and get people to dress in period clothing, and literally become that person.” Many times, they would apparently be descendants portraying their own ancestors.

One year they even had several young ladies who dressed as impish fairies who thought no one could see them. “That was so much fun. Sometimes they would be playfully looking over people’s shoulders, or you would walk around a corner and find them having a little picnic. They were quite the show stealers.”

One of Gross’s favorites was when someone portrayed Walter & Mabel Savidge. Starting back in 1915 or so the

Covered Wagon at LaPorte cemetery.

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Savidges operated a carnival and theater group out of Wayne, and did so for around thirty years. It was not just the typical rides, but they also had a group of actors who gave dramatic performances all around the Midwest, and traveled as far as Chicago and New York. At their peak they had twenty train cars and one hundred and twenty employees. Gross says “The stories they had to tell!” Gross also reveals that Walter was fond of quoting Henry Ringling North, of the Ringling Brothers circus, as it fit how many ‘carnie’s’ felt about their livelihood.

“The carnival is a jealous wench. Indeed, that is an understatement. She is a ravening hag who sucks your vitality as a vampire drinks blood – who kills the brightest stars in her crown and will allow no private life for those who serve her; wrecking their homes, ruining their bodies, and destroying the happiness of their loved ones by her insatiable demands. She is all of these things, and yet, I love her as I love nothing else on earth.” – Henry Ringling North “Of course,” Gross went on, “not all the stories in the cemetery are ones you would want to present during such a program.” He explained there are also the dark and depressing narratives that are part of our history. Although there are variations to the story, one is of a man, who after attending a revival meeting that aroused his fanaticism, used a heating stone to kill his wife and three little children. “To date no known record of where this family is buried has been found.” There is no sense of the fear and suffering that occurred, and one must wonder why something like that happens. Unfortunately, there are many such stories under the gravestones in every cemetery.

Gross’s wealth of historic knowledge does not pertain only to the cemeteries, but includes the Wayne area overall. “These same pioneers”, Gross continued, “were the first to build here.

Every time I walk down the streets and look at all of the things they built here with their bare hands almost one hundred and fifty years ago, buildings that still stand today, I’m amazed at their strength and fortitude.” A good example, he says is the current Wayne County Museum, which was built in 1900 as a home for Dr. Wightman who was a physician for the Union Pacific. “It is a gorgeous building, and one of several structures in Wayne that are listed on the National Register of Historic Buildings.” In fact, most of the downtown area is listed as a Historic District. Wayne had the Sherbahn brick factory that primarily produced what is called “soft bricks,” and which were used in a lot of the building construction. At their peak they produced fifty thousand bricks a day. By the time the streets were bricked, that factory was out of business. The company that laid down the brick streets had to bring ‘hard’ bricks in from out of the state. “That was over one hundred years ago, and they still work in the intended manner today.”

Gross’s research covers every imaginable historical theme, and is arranged in soft-sided binders by subject. One recently completed binder is neatly labeled “The Wayne Rest Room Society 1907.” Gross says “It seems that the ladies of the town wanted a place where they and their children could use the facilities and relax without the men around. If they were from Wayne or other communities and were out shopping with the 12 • LIVING HERE

Savidge Carnival Ads

Entrance to LaPorte cemetery.

children in tow, they really had no place to go, if, for nothing else, to simply get off their feet for a while. The only public rest rooms were predominantly in places like bars that the women would not go in. So, they came up with a ‘society’ with bylaws and a constitution and solicited donations. Most donations were of one dollar, but some gave fifty cents, no one was turned away. According to Gross’s findings, “The first location was described as being in ‘the old office building south of the white livery barn’. They paid a rent of eight dollars a month, and paid a matron four dollars a week to maintain it.” They also held monthly meetings. and in time, the society grew into an organization that even conducted concerts in the Opera House. One example was an April 13 program held for the financial benefit of the Society which featured instrumentals and solos by well-known Wayne family names such as Berry, Britton & Weber. By July of 1907, their guest book register listed over three hundred guests from as far away as Omaha, North Bend and Wausa. It became so well known that people from other communities came to study it in order to start their own Society. “One in particular came all the way from Hastings

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SPRING 2020 • 13

to see how it all worked, and he was a male!” Gross chuckles again. “It grew to be all that, simply because the ladies of Wayne wanted a public rest room of their own.”

Since the majority of the history Gross researches is far in the past, it is rare that he actually gets to talk to one of the people that make up his binders of material. Douglas Canning was one of the rare exceptions. “Doug was born and raised here in Wayne,” Gross says.

“Theirs is an old family name here though most people probably will not recognize it any longer. I actually had the pleasure of talking to him a couple years before he passed in 2016.” During World War Two Canning was a fighter pilot, and flew P-38 Lightnings. He was one of the sixteen pilots who were on the mission to shoot down Japanese General Yamamoto, the mastermind of the Pearl Harbor raid. The United States had broken the Japanese code and knew where the general was going to be. The sixteen flew over 400 miles to intercept his planes. The Japanese were flying Mitsubishi airplanes known as “Betty’s”.

“The squadron was under strict orders to never break radio silence. Doug was one of the first pilots to see the enemy planes, and excitedly keyed his mike and yelled ‘there are the Betty’s’, completely forgetting radio silence. The rest is

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14 • LIVING HERE

history, they shot down Yamamoto and made it safely home.” Gross said, “Doug told me, not too bad for a chubby farm kid from Wayne huh?”

“All this,” Gross says, “is what I enjoy.

Some stories I have researched for a long time. I’ll run across a little piece here, and then another there, and hopefully, eventually, the pieces all come together.

Then there is the satisfaction of seeing the results of all the effort being of use to others. But above all, it is about preserving the history and the stories that are being lost and forgotten.” He credits a quote he heard once that stuck with him, and sums up why he does this: “History is all about humans, events, towns and buildings, as mentally, physically or spiritually they all still exist.”

Gross mentions that he has family connections to Wayne. His mother, Frances Mary Surber, was the daughter of David H. & Mary Surber, who farmed south of Wayne. Also, a daughter of E.A. Surber, a brother of my grandfather, had a daughter Cora “Maude” Surber who married Elmer Gailey, who owned the Chrystal Theater and built the original Gay Theater. Another son of Enoch Surber, Carl, married Lucy Miller who owned the once popular “Dairy Bar” located next to the Gay Theater.

Through his mother’s side of the family, he likes to “claim” those great uncles and first cousins and “close relatives,” although he never met any of them that he remembers. He also has a brother, Pat Gross, who lives in Wayne. l

Remembering the Dakota 38+2

BY TIM TRUDELL

In December of 1862, 38 Santee warriors were executed by hanging for their alleged roles in the Dakota-U.S. War in southwest Minnesota. On the anniversary of that event-the largest mass execution in American history--members of the Santee Sioux of Knox County gathered at a newly built monument to pay their respects. Those present honored all Santee (iSanti Dakotah) military veterans, the two warriors who were captured and executed later, and the 38 who died that fateful day. They are considered to be the first true warriors of the Santee nation, reluctant heroes for the people who followed them.

The Knox County story begins in the Minnesota River valley near the small town of New Ulm. Some may recall the town from the books of Laura Ingalls Wilder, a 19th-century author who grew up in the area. But, to the Santee, New Ulm was

part of their homeland, as was most of Minnesota. The Santee lived and hunted throughout the Minnesota region, moving about freely from northern Canada, through the Great Lakes area, as well as part of the southern edge of the Midwest. Then, European-Americans started their westward expansion.

After agreeing to a series of treaties with the American government, the Santee relocated to an area near New Ulm. As part of the agreement, tribal members received an annual payment, which they used to purchase clothing and food, as well as other supplies. Santee members started farming on their Minnesota reservation. However, nature and the Civil War would meet at a crossroads that eventually led to hardships for the tribe and to the start of the Dakota War. Bugs damaged their corn and other crops. President Abraham Lincoln ordered funds designated for a Santee annuity to be redirected to the

Santee Tribal Chairman Roger Trudell (wearing headdress) and other tribal veterans fold the American flag as part of the December 2019 dedication ceremony for the veterans monument. Photo by Andrea Denny

SPRING 2020 • 15

Santee tribal members and veterans gather for the dedication ceremony for the new veterans monument, which recognizes tribal members from the 38+2 warriors and other veterans from the Civil War to the current Middle East conflicts.

Photo by Andrea Denny

Union’s Civil War effort. Unable to harvest crops, and no money to buy food, tribal members started to starve. Elders, young men, women, and children didn’t know where their next meal would come from.

While federal agents refused to help the Santee, their troubles were compounded when merchants and traders refused to give them credit in order to purchase goods. Basically begging for help, one local businessman supposedly told them to “eat grass.”

Unable to resolve the tribe’s emergency, leaders tried to plan their next steps. Meanwhile, a group of young men were returning from an unsuccessful hunting trip when they stopped at a farm to steal eggs from a chicken coop. The farmer engaged them and a fight ensued. The farmer and his four family members were killed. A few tribal leaders saw it as the first step in a new war. On August 17, a band of warriors attacked the local town of New Ulm, surprising residents. Taoyateduta, Little Crow, led the warriors. Between 300-500 settlers were killed during the fighting, as well as about 150 Santee.

The fighting lasted six weeks, until the Santee warriors became overwhelmed by the larger US army contingents that served under General John Pope. About 3,000 tribal members were captured and imprisoned at Fort Snelling, near St. Paul. The tribal members – mainly women and children, along with a few men – were imprisoned at the fort, struggling through winter with little food, clothing, and substandard housing on a small island below the fort, near the confluence of the Minnesota and Mississippi Rivers. Other men were sent to Davenport, Iowa, to 16 • LIVING HERE

serve prison time.

Following the war, while some warriors surrendered to the army, others escaped into the Dakotas and Canada, where they joined the Lakota under the leadership long side of Sitting Bull.

Several Santee later fought along Sitting Bull and the Lakota at the Battle of Little Bighorn in Montana, when Native Americans handed the army’s 7th Cavalry, under the guidance of George Custer, its greatest loss during the US-Indian wars.

Other warriors either surrendered or were captured by the military, or turned themselves in after the military threatened to kill more Santees if they didn’t surrender. Overall, 320 warriors were captured that September. With trials lasting up to five minutes, each man was convicted, said Arthur “Butch” Denny, a member of the committee overseeing the creation of the veterans monument.

“If you call them trials,” he said. “They had no representation and they were found guilty after only five minutes.”

Of the convicted, 16 were sent to prison, eventually serving time at a Davenport, Iowa, facility. The others were sentenced to be hanged, a punishment that required they be convicted of rape or killing settlers.

“Most didn’t do a lot to be on the list,” Denny said. “Only one met the requirements.”

President Lincoln wasn’t comfortable with hanging 300 people, Denny said. “It wasn’t out a sense of morality, he didn’t think it was a smart political move. Three hundred was too many and one was too few. So, he had the requirements adjusted.”

The Santee veterans monument lists the names of the tribe’s men and women who have served in the American military from the Civil War through the Middle East conflicts.

Photo by Tim Trudell

That adjustment resulted in 38 warriors being sentenced to death. Many had nothing to do with the fighting, Denny said.

It was difficult to determine who was actually involved. It’s unknown how many innocent men were among the 38. For instance, one man was named to the list because a white woman had been interested in him, Denny said. After the hanging of the 38 warriors, two more Santee, who had escaped to Canada, were kidnapped and returned to Minnesota, where they were also hanged. S’akpeda and Wakan Ojanjan joined their fellow warriors in being honored by the tribe as the 38+2.

Taken to Mankato to await their sentences, it was determined the men would be hanged on Dec. 26, a day after Christmas.

A square scaffold was built, not far from the banks of the Minnesota River. That morning, about 4,000 people gathered to watch the day’s events, which culminated with the mass execution of 38 Santee Sioux warriors. One man, whose rope broke when the trap door opened, was returned to the scaffold and hanged a second time.

The bodies were buried in a shallow mass grave a short distance away. Overnight, they were dug up and taken by doctors and professors to be used for research. This act was the cause of underlying tension between Mankato, the state of Minnesota, and the Santee tribe. Through the years, Minnesota and city leaders sought to reconcile the relationship between everyone. A public library was built on the site of the hangings.

A statue recognizing the Santee was constructed nearby.

In 1997, the city built Reconciliation Park across from the hanging site as a gesture toward reconciling tensions. A

sculpture designed to look like a scroll contains the traditional names of the 38 warriors hanged that day. On the reverse side is a poem recognizing the men. The park also includes other sculptures, such as a bison. A group of Dakotas annually rides into Mankato to mark the anniversary of the hangings.

In Nebraska, a group of tribal members has conducted their own horseback ride from the Santee ranch through the small town. Now, people can also pay their respects at the veterans monument.

The Santee honors and remembers the women and children imprisoned at Fort Snelling, who were sent to the Crow Creek agency in South Dakota following the 1862-63 winter. The men were sent downriver on the Mississippi to St. Louis, where they were then sent along the Missouri River until they joined the others at Crew Creek. After a few years there, the Santee were sent on their “Trail of Tears,” a 166-mile walk from Crow Creek to the spot in northeast Nebraska that would become the Santee reservation.

The 38+2 are also honored each June during the Santee Wacipi (wa-chee-pee), or powwow. The three-day event takes place near the site marking the end of the “Trail of Tears.”

However, the veterans monument pays special tribute to the 38+2, who have their names inscribed on a granite stone.

“That’s the cornerstone of the whole project,” Denny said.

“They were our first warriors.”

The veterans memorial features the images of two Santee warriors next to a stone with the tribe’s logo, as well as each of the five military services’ logos. In-between those are the SPRING 2020 • 17

words “All Gave Some. Some Gave All.” The warrior images are of Tate Kag’a (Wind Maker) and Walter Cody John (Was’agya Mani Hoks’ida), a World War II code talker. One side of the monument includes the names of the men and women who served in the military from the Civil War through the Vietnam Conflict. A second concrete wall eventually will include the names of tribal members who served in Desert Storm through today’s war.

As the second warrior on the monument, John, the code talker, helps tell a story not known to many. While the Navajo (Dine) are best-known for their service as code talkers, several tribes, including the Santee, provided code talkers in the Pacific Theater during World War II, said Roger Trudell, tribal chairman. John passed away in 1998. His family joined tribal chairman Roger Trudell in traveling to Washington, DC in 2013, where the soldier posthumously received the Congressional Gold Medal for his service.

“One thing some people don’t know is that the code talkers had a partner,” Denny said. “Their job was to kill the code talker if it looked like the Japanese would capture them.”

Today, the veterans monument serves as more than just a tribute to those who served. The small town didn’t have a real marker to let people know where Santee officially began, Trudell said.

“Now, we have a monument,” he said. l

The granite stone lists the names of the 38+2 warriors from the 1862 Dakota-US War, who were later hanged for their roles.

Photo by Tim Trudell

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Tyndall Bakery The Secret Recipe

Above: Taylor Van Pelt (left) and Carrie Wiepen are two of the high school students who assist Carol and Ed Radack (right) at the Tyndall Bakery.

Photo by Loretta Sorensen Right: This early photo taken in the Tyndall Bakery features members of the Klouda family, who first established the bakery.

Photo courtesy of The Tyndall Bakery

BY LORETTA SORENSEN Mouthwatering, scrumptious, delectable, delightful – the adjectives go on and on when customers describe the bakery at Tyndall, South Dakota.

Taste of Home magazine must have agreed with these evaluations as their area field editor submitted the Tyndall Bakery as “the best bakery in South Dakota” for the magazine’s 2020 “Best Bakery in Every State” list (https://www.tasteofhome.com/ collection/best-bakery-in-every-state/).

“We didn’t even know it happened,” bakery owners Ed and Carol Radack say. “Customers were coming in to congratulate us and we finally asked them why.”

The Radacks are the fourth family to own the bakery since it was first established by the Klouda family 115 years ago in 1905. The Axel Johnson family owned the bakery from the early 1920’s until

1970. Bob and Judy Rueb owned the bakery for 37 years after taking it over in 1970.

The Radacks came into the picture in 2007, at a time when the factory where Carol had worked closed and she was searching for a new job opportunity.

“Ed was working for the South Dakota Department of Transportation at that time,” Carol says. “Neither one of us had any experience in a bakery business.”

Nonetheless, the tireless Radacks each began devoting between 80 and 100 hours per week to produce the outstanding bakery products the Tyndall area has come to expect. Because there’s a limited labor pool in this town of just over 1,000, the Radacks often depend on local teens to meet additional labor needs.

“Especially around the holidays, it can get very SPRING 2020 • 19

At Right: The Radacks have continued producing the wide range of pastries, cakes and candies the bakery has been known for over the last 115 years.

Photo by Loretta Sorensen

At Left: In this 1970 newspaper photo, Axel Johnson and his wife (left) are pictured as they turn over keys to the bakery to the new owners, Mr. and Mrs. Robert Rueb.

Photo courtesy of The Tyndall Bakery

busy when we’re filling orders and making extra products,” Carol says. “We all have to know how to move fast.”

One of the Radack’s secrets for remaining successful (when other small town bakeries have all but disappeared around the region) is the bakery’s recipes, which date back further than anyone in the area can remember.

“Like us, the Rueb’s had to purchase the recipes when they bought the bakery in 1970,” Carol says.

“Because they’ve been so essential to the success of the bakery, I’m the only one who has access to them.”

A few brave customers have approached the Radacks, asking if they might consider sharing the long held formulas that have set the bakery apart.

“We don’t share our recipes,” Carol says. “The few people who have asked told us they didn’t expect that we would, but they enjoyed the baked goods so much that they wanted to ask.”

The Radacks don’t mind acknowledging that there are no preservatives in their baked goods and many products are made from scratch, not from a mix, including some fillings and icings.

“We believe that’s part of what sets the taste of our baked goods apart from commercial brands,” Carol says.

Breads, buns, fried rolls, Bismarcks (cream-filled and jelly-filled), and cake donuts are among the 20 • LIVING HERE

tasty treats that line the shelves of the 1940s bakery cases in the front of the Tyndall bakery.

Kuchen, kolaches, Klondike candy, peanut brittle and anise are among some of the local ethnic foods (Czech/Bohemian) featured at the bakery at different times of the year. Wedding cakes, alloccasion cakes and anniversary cakes are also available.

“We ship some of our products, but items like kuchen don’t ship well at all,” Carol says. “We only ship during winter months and we strive to send products out on Tuesdays or Wednesdays, so they arrive at the destination by Friday or Saturday.

There are too many unknowns if the package has to sit in a warehouse over the weekend.”

Because the bakery has been located in Tyndall for so many years, local residents are well acquainted with it and some even worked there in their youth. It’s not unusual for two or three generations of one family to regularly visit the bakery.

“We have many customers who stop in on a daily basis,” Carol says. “There are also those who come pretty regularly on the weekend and we often provide baked goods for special occasions. In years past, there was a meat market here where people came to purchase hot dogs. Once they had their hot dog, they came to the bakery for a sweet treat. It was a regular ritual for many local families.”

Former residents who return to their hometown typically make at least one stop at the bakery while they’re visiting. What surprises the Radacks are visits from out-of-towners like one Texas family who was on their way to the Black Hills.

“They told us they had a stop at Tyndall Bakery on their to-do list as they came through the area,” Carol says. “When we travel, we’ve also come across people who know about the bakery once we tell them we’re from Tyndall. Often they are people who used to live here or in the area.”

The Radacks often hear comments from longtime residents about their appreciation for the way the bakery has “stayed the same all these years” with few changes. Carol once asked a longtime customer if she was bored with the bakery offerings. “She said no, she had her favorites and was always happy to come in and find them.”

Outside of testing some new baked products from time to time, there is little about either the products or the bakery equipment that has changed over the years.

In the kitchen, where all the mixing and baking takes place, freezers and coolers have been replaced or updated. However, the same oven that started producing baked goods in 1970, still handles all the baking needs. The mixer that was new about that same time is also used daily.

“The mixer is a Hobart, which can be refurbished

and repaired,” Ed says. “That brand is known for its longevity. As for the rest of the workstations, they have remained pretty much the same as they were since the 1950s.”

One of their greatest challenges over the years has been maintaining a network of suppliers when something they used was discontinued or a supplier went out of business.

Long hours and the physical demands of operating the bakery, such as spending many hours on their feet, have not yet dampened Ed and Carol’s enthusiasm for their business.

While the smile on every customer’s face is a significant reward for all their diligent work, Ed and Carol say the delight they see in their littlest customers makes all their effort seem worthwhile.

“Those little kids, when they come in and run up and peer through the glass at all the pastries, there’s something special about that,” Carol says.

“Not long ago one little boy came in the door just grinning from ear to ear. He went right to the chocolate donuts and long johns. He knew what he wanted. That day I told Ed, that’s why we’re still here. That and all the nice people we’ve met over the years, all the repeat customers who keep coming back. We must be doing something right.” l At Left: The Bakery recipes that have been used for decades still satisfy patrons of all ages.

Photo by Loretta Sorensen

At Right: This vintage photo documents the moving of the bakery building in 1917. Details about the building – where it was originally built and where it was moved to – have been lost to history. The bakery is now located in a different building on Tyndall’s Main Street.

Photo courtesy of The Tyndall Bakery

SPRING 2020 • 21

The Spencer Dam

BY MARITA PLACEK

22 • LIVING HERE

Above: Taken the day after the flood of the backside of the powerhouse and dam Note the blocks of ice in the back that knocked out sections of back wall Photo courtesy of Carolyn Holmberg At Left: Photo of back of Powerhouse and dam taken 1979 Photo courtesy of Marita Placek

Life in Boyd, Knox and Holt counties has not been the same since a bomb cyclone of rain, snow and wind violently hit the area on March 14, 2019, and interrupted people’s way of life. The Niobrara River - carrying huge chunks of ice as big as a football field and several feet thick – destroyed the Spencer Dam and the nearby bridge on Highway 281.

On its downriver rampage, the storm demolished three bridges and swept away Angel’s Strawbale Saloon, homes, vehicles, campers, and anything else in its path. Farmers and ranchers suffered a big loss of livestock as they were in the midst of calving season. It tore out the water line under the riverbed that supplied rural water from Holt County to Boyd County, leaving over 2,000 people without drinking and running water. Most of Boyd County in northern Nebraska, including the towns of Lynch, Bristow and Spencer were instantly isolated – no bridges, damaged roads and no drinkable water for over seven months. Each person or family have a story to tell of their experiences and survival during and after the bomb cyclone flood.

The first and most important project after the flood was building temporary, one-way bridges (called shoo-flys), so people could travel out of Boyd County.

Before the shoo-fly was built on the highway 281 bridge, people were forced to drive many miles out of their way to get to their jobs, doctors, other businesses in O’Neill or further south. Being able to cross the Niobrara River was a critical factor in people’s lives in north central Nebraska.

The Niobrara, which is the fastest flowing river in Nebraska, emerged from the mists of time approximately 98 million years ago. Geologists estimate that the 430 mile river (which starts in Niobrara County, Wyoming, and flows east into the Missouri River near Niobrara, Nebraska), was probably half as deep and two to three times as wide as it is today. Over time, as the river flowed, it cut into the earth, narrowing and deepening, and eventually creating the high bluffs that provide so much beauty along the river today. Indians, explorers, and mountain men considered the river a convenient road for traveling in canoes,

bull boats, or rafts.

Although the collapse of the Spencer dam and the bridge in 2019 were devastating events, it was not the first time that bridges across the river, or even the dam itself, have incurred problems.

In 1891, as European settlers moved into the area, Walter Townsend, from Page, Nebraska, built the first bridge across the Niobrara River. Located four miles south of Spencer, it was called the “Whiting Bridge.” All the bridges built at this crossing have been known by that name.

The name was derived from E. L. Whiting, whose wife was half Sioux. In 1881, Whiting used his wife’s name to claim an Indian allotment just west of the present Hydro-electric plant. Both Mr. and Mrs. Whiting were hospitable folks, holding continual open house at their place and helping newcomers find suitable homes on the frontier. Many remembered the good meals Mrs. Whiting served and the exciting native American tales she told.

During high water seasons before the bridge was built, Whiting and his partner Martin Langan operated a ferryboat to ferry travelers across the river.

After the bridge was built, it was in great demand by freighters who were kept busy hauling goods to and from the steamboats on the Missouri River between Gross, O’Neill, and Fort Randall in South Dakota. From the beginning, the Whiting Bridge was plagued with problems. The first bridge was built too high and high winds caused it to sway and become dangerous. A replacement bridge was built that was about half as high as the first bridge, it was destroyed by high waters and subsequently replaced by a concrete arch bridge. That bridge was destroyed in 1924 when a workman, Mr. Schulz, was returning from Spencer with a load of oats for the work horses. As he was going down the hill from the north side of the bridge, the truck’s brakes failed. As he tried to shift to low gear to slow his momentum, the lever broke off.

The truck hurtled down the grade out of control and finally crashed into the side of the bridge, causing the whole structure to topple into the river. Mr. Schulz was thrown clear of the truck and landed on the bridge, escaping with only a sprained ankle.

At the same time as Schulz’s SPRING 2020 • 23

Bridge across Niobrara River photo dated 1909

Collapse of Whiting Bridge about 1927

terrifying ride, two dump wagons loaded with dirt were crossing the bridge. The first driver, Jim Coffman, of Lake Andes, South Dakota, was a third of the way across at the time of the crash.

He became pinned under a falling beam, and received injuries from being trampled on by a mule that was also trapped. Men rushed from their work on the dam to slowly free the imprisoned man. The mule was caught in such a way that it was impossible to release, and died. The other two horses were safely unhooked from the wagon. The second driver, Ora Bronson, of Bristow, Nebraska, was stunned by the falling beams and was still in the wagon when rescued. Although this was the sixth accident Mr. Bronson had been involved in, he said he had never experienced anything like it before. Meanwhile, Vern Koenig. Spencer, would have been on the bridge in another second. He was in a car and had started for the south side for water, but he decided to wait until the wagons were over. As he sat there, the truck came barreling down the hill and he witnessed the whole affair.

After this tragic accident, another bridge was needed. Almost immediately, work began on a new bridge that was funded with money from federal and state agencies. In 1925, North Nebraska Power Company (NNPC) recognized the river’s potential to produce electricity, so another new construction began when NNPC received state approval to produce electricity using water power from the Niobrara River, and they began working on the 4,000 horsepower dam, which cost $450,000.

The actual work on the dirt dyke started in 1926 for the hydro-electric plant which was built just west of the bridge.

The earth dike was constructed south of the river on an old hay meadow. The grass was mowed and raked off before construction started. The powerhouse and dam were built on shale in the middle of the stream to avoid a build up of silt. The reinforced concrete construction of the dam and power house was an enormous project that engineers and laymen worked on for over 24 • LIVING HERE

a year. The completion of this hydro-electric plant in 1927 was an important step in the development of the natural resources as the Inter State Power Company operated this plant and furnished several towns in Boyd County with electricity.

By 1929 the current was moving south along the dike, which had been rip-rapped with old car bodies tied into the dike with cables. All seemed to be well with the dike until 1931 or ‘32 when it was discovered that waves had washed out the dike so badly that it was necessary to hire Roy Rosengreen, a contractor, to bring the slope back up to grade with sand and sand stone rock. The contractor was well aware of the river troubles, as he had dealt with the problem years before the dam was constructed. He knew the biggest problem was trying to keep the water flowing in the channel under the Whiting Bridge. However, the river was just as determined to create a new channel south of the bridge. In the late 1920’s the county had bought $8,000 worth of jacks to hold the river in its present channel. These jacks were installed on cables with the hope they would catch trash and build a sandbar along the south shore of the river. Instead, the trash washed down into the sand and the river continued cutting its channel to the south. Eventually pilings and rip-rapping halted the river’s southerly flow.

By the summer of 1934, vast amounts of silt had washed down the river, completely filling the former lake with sand bars and leaving only the stream flow for electric power purposes. The dike was washed out on the south side diverting the water flow from the spillway and powerhouse section and thereby interrupting the operation of the plant. Reconstruction was completed around the first of September 1935, and power was restored. Unfortunately, on September 24, 1936, the entire concrete dam and spillway slid 30 to 50 feet downstream from its original location and broke into several sections, again interrupting operations.

Cyclinder to be installed in the dam –no date

SPRING 2020 • 25

Early photo of the dam - 1927

In July, 1937, Sheriff Duffy from Holt County was in charge of the sheriff ’s sale in which the First Trust Company, of St. Paul, Minnesota, had the winning bid of $50,000, and became the new owners of the Spencer Dam. Problems with the Spencer Dam continued, however. Construction of a diversion dam was required in the summer of 1956 when the Spencer hydro plant underwent major repairs and improvements. In order to clean, back fill, and reinforce the spillway, tail race, and river bed, the river had to be diverted.

There are many more stories related to the Niobrara River, the Whiting Bridge and the Spencer Dam. In addition to the accidents described earlier in the article, the river’s erratic and unpredictable nature has been responsible for many accidents and close calls over the years. The river has also claimed eight victims – one each in 1931, 1934, 1947, 1951, 2009, 2019, and a man and child in 1991.

The stretch of water below the Spencer Dam with its large rocks and shale bottom provided excellent fishing for anglers, plus there was an excellent recreation and picnic area on the south shore for families, but it also proved to be treacherous at times. Don Stewart and Fred Pierson, both of Lynch, were ready to walk out on the spillway to fish when the entire river rose over a foot, undermining the structure, slipped on the soapstone and upset in the river bed. The brick powerhouse and turbines for generating electricity remained intact. A fisherman already fishing on the spillway was rescued some distance downriver and taken to the doctor in Lynch for medical attention.

One of the most unusual and strangest stories, which was recently verified by a former employee of the Spencer Dam, occurred on the night the north span of the Whiting Bridge fell into the river. A man nicknamed “Brother John” was going home after staying too late in the bar. He was going down the hill very fast when his car sailed over the open space and landed 26 • LIVING HERE

on the remaining bridge left standing. It wasn’t until the next day that he learned of his terrifying near death experience.

In another story that took place during the March flood of 1958, Mike Smith, that dam foreman at the time, was standing on top of the dam trying to dislodge chunks of ice from the open floodgates when he slipped, fell into the icy water and was swept through an open floodgate. He managed to grab hold of an old bridge pier and hung on until William Hambek, a dam employee, rescued him by closing the floodgate and throwing him a life jacket and rope. Lucky to be alive, Smith was taken to the O’Neill hospital with a fractured leg, a severe concussion and scalp lacerations.

Problems and work on the bridge continued over the next few decades. The 54-year old multi-span bridge was used until 1951, when the state of Nebraska moved highway 281 further east and erected the most recent bridge ninety feet east of the old one. The bridge had undergone a couple of renovations during the 1960’s when the embankments under the bridge needed to be reinforced with concrete and the piers were lined with sheeting to protect them from erosion. The third Whiting bridge across the Niobrara River was demolished by explosives in 2005.

Work also continued on the dam over the years. In the fall of 1997, workers began a major job of repairing the Spencer Hydro flood gates and spillway. In order to make these repairs, the level of the reservoir behind the concrete structure was slowly lowered to allow for the major maintenance project, and the Niobrara River flow was channeled to bypass the hydro structure. When the dam’s Unit 2 generator was returned to service in 1998, it generated enough electricity to serve most of the households in Boyd County.

In 2010 the Niobrara River again showed it mighty power when excessive rainfall prompted Nebraska Public Power

Spencer Dam before the flood.

District (NPPD) to shut down the Spencer Hydro plant and to open both river and spillway gates, allowing the excess water to safely pass through the spillways. As water levels continued to rise, and to further protect the integrity of the dam and hydro system, plant operators opened addition gates at the south end of the dam that had not been opened since 1966. These spillway gates were held in place by steel I beams and thick wooden timbers installed horizontally, which were raised by hand to relieve dam pressure during emergencies.

On March 14, 2019, the ancient Niobrara River, once again, came roaring downstream and wiped out all its previous history. Many unbelievable changes on the Niobrara River that resulted from the bomb cyclone can still be seen today. In fact, people have a hard time imagining what the dam, river and bridge looked like before the flood. Upriver from the new bridge construction, piles of sand and debris litter the dry channel. The river has returned to its original channel of long ago and the remains of the floodgates stand as silent sentinels to the power of the bomb cyclone that destroyed the Spencer Dam a year ago.

Looking forward to the future, new construction and other changes are underway. The bridge is in the process of being replaced and by the end of 2020, people should have a new bridge that will enable them to travel between Boyd and Holt Counties. In addition, several agencies, including the Niobrara River Basin Alliance, the Nebraska Game and Parks Commission, and NPPD, are working together to find ways to provide protection for all users of the Niobrara River, including wildlife, recreation, and agriculture. For future generations, new histories will be written about the bridge and the Niobrara River. l

Ad Space

SPRING 2020 • 27

n

The white head coverings worn by Amish women inside are called “covers.”

AMISH:

Histor y or Present Day BY: ALEXANDRA MCCLANAHAN Photos by: Alexandra McClanahan

28 • LIVING HERE

Amish wife and mother Catherine Mast knew right away that Nebraska was going to be different from her home in Le Raysville, Pennsylvania, because nearly everyone she met on the country roads – total strangers – waved at her as she passed by in her buggy. It was the same on the streets of Orchard, the town she and her husband Vernon moved to in 2008. People she had never met smiled at her and greeted her with a kindly hello.

“I like it here,” Vernon Mast said, explaining that he prefers the slower pace of a less populated area than where they moved from. Their former hometown in northeast Pennsylvania was only about 20 miles from Binghamton, N.Y. The Masts and their four children are one of 18 families making up an Amish community of 87 people in Orchard.

Not only has the Amish congregation grown with the birth of children, but more families continue to arrive. Four new families – 21 people – are expected this spring.

And that friendliness is one of the reasons that living in Orchard helps the Amish maintain their particular lifestyle. For example, in an urban area, people are less likely to be respectful and careful when driving vehicles around horses. But the people of Orchard are supportive of the Amish. They regularly turn out in large numbers to attend monthly suppers the Amish sponsor.

The free-will donations go a long way toward funding the Amish school.

The first few Amish families arrived from Wisconsin in the mid-2000s. Two families first toured the Verdigre area, according to the Central Plains Directory, a listing of Amish people from Montana to Texas. But in March 2006, they settled on the Ewing-Orchard area because land that suited their needs was available for sale.

And being able to purchase land is important to many of the Amish business ventures. Rudy Borntrager, a horse trainer, moved to Orchard not long ago and was able to buy land and construct a horse training arena. He trains horses for ranchers throughout the Sandhills in Nebraska and even other Western states. He said for him, his family and business, Orchard’s appeal is its rural nature.

There is a small settlement of Amish near Verdigre, but Orchard and Pawnee City, Nebraska, are home to the only relatively larger congregations.

Orchard’s population today is about 350 residents, which does not include the Amish because they live outside the town. It had been as high as 532 inhabitants in the early 1900s, according to census data, but has declined in most of the decades since then. Given the population decline that Orchard and many other small towns throughout Nebraska face, an influx of new people is welcome. And for local businesses, the Amish are particularly welcome because they tend to shop locally. Driving to Norfolk or O’Neill for shopping is not an option in a horse and buggy. The Orchard Amish congregation allows members to hire drivers to take them longer distances by car, but the cost involved generally works in favor of local purchasing.

Although virtually all of the Amish people near Orchard live outside the village limits on farms or acreages, they consider the community their home and shop there.

Donna Hamilton, director of the Orchard Public Library, said the Amish are “great readers” and add significantly to

Yearling Percheron horses are curious when people wander by.

Clothes dry outside in all seasons for Amish families.

the number of people using the facility. And for small-town libraries in the state, survival is all about numbers, books checked out, patrons coming in, computer usage, and requests for assistance.

Hamilton said that since the Amish are not allowed to have their own computers, many use the library’s to obtain hunting and fishing licenses because applications can be submitted only online. A few of the Amish occasionally shop online at the library, and many make use of the copy machine for such things as their Christmas letters.

The Amish probably account for about a third of the people using the library, which Hamilton said goes a long way toward ensuring the facility’s continued existence.

Hamilton said she also appreciates the Amish and their attitude when they are in the library.

“Even the kids are respectful,” she said.

Ben Clifton, president of the Bank of Orchard, said the Amish have made a big impact on Orchard.

“They have become an integral part of the community,” he said. In addition to their positive effect on Orchard financially, he said the fact that a number of them are skilled in carpentry and willing to do odd jobs helps a lot. “They are good at fixing things, and they are as honest as the day is long.”

Brenda Harrison, village clerk, said the Orchard Board of SPRING 2020 • 29

Horse and buggy parking is behind Orchard’s grocery store, TJ’s Market.

Trustees recently hired Vernon Mast to build two additional bays for the Orchard Fire Hall.

“They are always so reasonable in their bids,” she said.

The chairman of the Orchard Board, Dennis Clifton, said he appreciates the fact that the Amish shop locally. The only drawback is that the Amish do not send their children to the public school, but rather choose to operate their own school.

Additionally, a few people in town complain about horse manure on town streets. But other than that, he feels they have been accepted as full members of the town.

John Ferguson, Orchard Village board member and owner of Ferguson Agronomics as well as the Orchard Lumber Yard, said the Amish are an asset to the community. He purchased the lumber yard a few days before it was set to close mainly because he cares about Orchard’s economy and he did not want to see a major business disappear. Without the Amish business, he said, the lumber yard today probably would not be viable.

Ferguson and his daughter Laura Ferguson both said Orchard may be an ideal place for the Amish because the people of Orchard generally have a tolerance level that allows people to be different and still accepted.

John Ferguson said he feels it’s good for young people to see the Amish living modestly, not buying all the latest fashions in clothing, gadgets or appliances.

“They are outside a lot, being part of nature. And they get together a lot. They have fellowship.” he said.

Roy Borntrager, one of the Amish church Elders, and his wife Elizabeth are retired and live in a small house near relatives.

Roy Borntrager said while the Amish live their history in part by prohibiting such things as electricity in homes they build, they have changed with the times. For example, landline phones are allowed in small outbuildings, mainly because being in business requires such communication.

30 • LIVING HERE

Cell phones, however, are not allowed unless a particular job requires it for short-term use. “We don’t want them cell phones,” Borntrager said.

At the same time, he said he appreciates some of the oldfashioned business practices in Orchard, such as the local grocery store allowing the Amish to make purchases on an account. Much of the work done by the Amish – carpentry, a greenhouse, farming and construction – can be seasonal with lean times in the winter months.

Borntrager said he also appreciates the people of Orchard and their small-town values.

“People have time for you,” he said. “The English people here (Amish refer to non-Amish as English) are more laid back than in bigger cities.”

Also, the Orchard environs has a number of old houses and acreages. The Amish have renovated several of the old houses,

Todd and Leah Erb have owned and operated Orchard’s grocery store for 39 years.

and in some cases they have built new homes and other buildings.

Ferguson believes the fellowship people have in a small community goes a long way toward making small towns viable.

One of Orchard’s rescue unit volunteers (who wears several other hats in the community), Glen Cheatum, recently bought Orchard’s hardware store with his wife Tammy. They purchased it for reasons very similar to Ferguson’s reasons for buying the lumber yard: they did not want to see an important business, an anchor in the community, go away.

Tammy Cheatum said that even though the pair have operated the store for only few weeks, she can already see how important the Amish are to the business. But for Tammy, her relationship with the Amish goes beyond business. They are her friends.

An educator who works at the Educational Service Unit in Neligh, Tammy said when she was taking a multi-culturalism

class as part of her work on an advanced degree, she realized she could focus her class work on learning about the Amish culture. That led to long-lasting, deep friendships that have even included taking an Amish friend to the hospital for births of two of her babies.

Eventually, the Cheatums hope to partner with the Amish for various endeavors related to their hardware store, such as flower baskets from the Amish greenhouse or a farmer’s market.

Tammy said when the Amish first came to Orchard, there was perhaps some apprehension on both sides. But today, that has vanished and been replaced with genuine friendships.

“They are very important to the community,” she said. “I feel those connections.”

Todd and Leah Erb, owners of TJ’s Market for 39 years, said the Amish have an enormous impact on their grocery store business. “They’re good people, salt of the earth,” Leah Erb said.

And even though Orchard’s small size helps the Amish maintain their culture and traditions, many of them look to the future, seeking ways to grow new business endeavors, endeavors that may be a boon to both the Amish and Orchard.

Herman Mast and his wife Lovina operate a custom butcher operation. He recently built a 100’ by 40’ building to house his new metal working business. Anyone using tin siding will be able to obtain an order within a day or two rather than longer wait times associated with shipping from long distances.

Whether it’s new business endeavors, carpentry or local shopping, Leah Erb speaks for a number of Orchard residents when she sums up what the Amish mean to Orchard: “They are a blessing to the community.” l

SPRING 2020 • 31

From Prague to Pinterest, the evolution of

MAY DAY

BY: LINDSAY HINDMAN

Photo by: Carrie Pitzer

32 • LIVING HERE

If you find a mysterious basket of flowers or a cup of popcorn on your doorstep on the First of May, here’s why: It’s May Day, a traditional day of spring celebration with ancient roots, and May baskets are the Midwest’s favorite way to celebrate.

While British maypole dancing is arguably the most iconic May Day tradition, the holiday may have its deepest routes in Roman, Greek and Celtic spring agricultural and fertility festivals. Throughout Europe and other cultures with strong seasonal weather differences, such celebrations were common.

One famous poem, “May” (Maj, in the original Czech) from Czech romantic poet Karl Hynek Macha immortalizes the celebration of the day in Prague (at the time, part of the Austrian Republic) as a day of lovers. It begins: “Late evening, on the first of May— The twilit May—the time of love.

Meltingly called the turtle-dove, Where rich and sweet pinewoods lay.

Whispered of love the mosses frail, The flowering tree as sweetly lied, The rose’s fragrant sigh replied To love-songs of the nightingale.

In shadowy woods the burnished lake Darkly complained a secret pain, By circling shores embraced again; And heaven’s clear sun leaned down to take A road astray in azure deeps, Like burning tears the lover weeps.”

But Macha’s vision of May was soon to fade. In the late 1800s, labor organizers began to celebrate May Day in a vastly different way — as a day to celebrate workers rights, and in some communist regimes, such celebrations became mandatory, and the May Day of Macha was blotted out of the people’s lives in Eastern Europe. Today, lovers in the free Czech Republic meet on May 1st to kiss by at statue of Macha in Prague’s Petrin Park, and leave flowers at his feet.

In America, both the springtime and labor movement sides of May Day celebrations emerged as immigrants flooded the young nation, but the tradition that has endured most into the 21st century American Midwest is May baskets. It is presumed to be based on a medieval German tradition of anonymously leaving flowers or rice on the doorstep of a crush on May Day. After leaving their treats, the gift-giver would run away, and the recipient would answer the door and then attempt to quickly catch their secret admirer. Two of America’s First Ladies are known to have received May baskets full of flowers at the White House in the early 20th century--Grace Coolidge and Eleanor Roosevelt. Newspaper articles from Canton, So. Dak., and Columbus, Neb., show that children in this area were delivering May baskets in this area by the early 1880s. In the Midwest, the treats are usually left in little baskets, often handmade of paper, and the recipients are most commonly neighbors, friends, grandparents and loved ones — rather than romantic pursuits.

In keeping with the German tradition — we Americans leave our treats anonymously and the lucky recipients attempt to catch those leaving the baskets.

While newspaper articles from the 1940s, 1980s and early

May Day Basket being delivered.

Photo by: Lindsay Hindman

2000s all bemoan the decline of the May basket tradition, children in our area continue the fun each year, and the advent of social media has even led to a bit of a resurgence, as Midwesterners enjoy sharing photos of the May baskets they make and deliver with their online friends. The most common tradition in this part of the Midwest specifically is to leave plastic or paper cups with pipe cleaner handles on them to resemble baskets, filled with unbuttered popcorn and small candies, and maybe some flowers — but whether there are enough flowers in bloom to pick is always a big question mark in Nebraska and South Dakota on May 1! Some flowers to plant in your garden that may be ready in time if the weather cooperates include tulip, crocus, iris, daffodils, lilac and occasionally peonies, but paper flowers make a lovely substitute when mother nature has other plans. Colorful candies also help brighten a basket in years when real flowers aren’t yet in bloom, or cookies from your kitchen or a local bakery!

The traditional delivery method is by foot, but modern sprawl renders this unrealistic in many cases, so parking around the corner has become the new tradition. Look for bushes a reasonable running distance from the doorbell. Then place upon the doorstep, ring the bell, and run away!

If you’re truly intending not to allow yourself to be caught, consider leaving a tag to let your recipients know who left the treats, or use pre-packaged treats. And conversely, if you receive treats from an unknown source, use caution in eating them or allowing your kids to do so, although it’s unlikely anyone will hijack this lovely tradition. If May Day is rainy, consider placing the cups inside clear treat bags to ensure they stay dry. It also means you can run away more quickly without fear of spilling the cup.

Regardless of the exact style or contents of these sweet baskets, May Day is a charming tradition full of fond memories, and each May brings with it a chance to make more. Making and delivering May baskets is a unique opportunity to do something little and nice for your friends and neighbors with no strings attached, and to brighten up the day, so get out there and make someone’s May Day! l SPRING 2020 • 33

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34 • LIVING HERE

Family Secret Revealed

BY LORETTA SORENSEN

Vintage Moonshine still. Photo courtesy of Blue Ridge Institute and Museum.

None of my immediate family had any idea that the era of “moonshine” had dramatically impacted us until we learned about the story of South Dakota ATF (Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms) Agent Charlie Bintliff.

The year 2020 marks 100 years since the United States adopted prohibition, a law making the sale or use of alcoholic beverages illegal.

Certainly, every State in the nation was affected by this tumultuous, often violent and chaotic era. Until recently, I had no idea how greatly this period had affected my own family.

A SUBTLE CLUE Over the years, I often wondered why my father’s middle name was Charlie. Charles seemed a more likely spelling. But with all the busyness of life, I never took time to ask about it.

I might have thought imagination led me astray somewhere along the road and Dad’s given name really was Eugene Charles Stainbrook. However, when he passed away in October 2013, the obituary clearly stated his middle name as Charlie. I still didn’t know why, still didn’t ask.

Interestingly, I wasn’t searching for an answer to that question when I stumbled across it. I was looking for historic information about South Dakota moonshiners and bootleggers.

What I found was that South Dakota had plenty of moonshine and bootlegger stories to tell. Chuck Cecil’s book, “Astride the White Mule,” highlighted the tragic story of Charlie Bintliff,

one law enforcement member who lost his life in an attempted bootlegging arrest.

Bintliff, a Mitchell (South Dakota) Federal ATF agent, was fatally shot at Redfield (South Dakota) in May 1927. He and another agent were on an overnight stakeout at a known bootlegger’s farm.

His last name immediately grabbed my attention since it was my paternal grandmother’s name. I was also struck by his first name: Charlie.

Turns out, Charlie’s mother, Wilhelmina (Glendy) Bintliff, was my grandmother’s sister.

Charlie died in May 1927; my father was born in March 1928.

No family members from that era are here now to confirm it, but it seems likely that my father’s middle name was a salute to Charlie, who was an only child and was married but had no children.

When my sister (Bonita Carlson) produced copies of the Redfield newspaper’s account of Charlie’s ordeal, which my parents had saved for decades, it seemed pretty likely that Dad’s middle name reflected the Bintliff ’s regard and respect for Charlie and his family.

THE STORY BEGINS Perhaps Charlie’s story really begins in 1889, the year he was born, and the year Dakota Territory was divided into North and South Dakota. Although alcohol was already illegal in the state, SPRING 2020 • 35

Charlie Bintliff Photo courtesy of Officer Down Memorial Page, odmp.org through Loretta Sorensen

everyone ignored that law. When South Dakota passed a second prohibition law in 1917, two years before the nation adopted prohibition, the law was again disregarded.

Charlie was born July 14, 1889 in New York state. When he was 4, his parents moved to a farm some 15 miles south of Milltown, South Dakota. His father, Thomas H. Bintliff, died in 1893. Charlie and his mother, Wilhelmina (Glendy) Bintliff, remained on the farm for a number of years. After graduating at Milltown in 1910, Charlie continued his education at Dakota Wesleyan University, served on the Mexican border during a 1916 “war scare,” and returned as a 1st Sergeant of Company F, 4th South Dakota Infantry. He served in World War I until 1919. He joined the Prohibition unit in March 1920, with an annual salary of $1,500 per year.

IN THE LINE OF DUTY The series of events that would lead to Charlie’s death began May 4, 1927 when Deputy Sheriff R. W. Labrie attempted to arrest rural Redfield farmer Walt Crisman. Crisman shot Labrie in the arm. The injury wasn’t fatal, but Labrie did lose his arm to amputation.

Crisman fled the scene, leaving his farm. The incident led Mitchell law enforcement officers to launch an intensive search for Crisman, who was on the run. By May 12, according to newspaper reports, law enforcement officials learned that Crisman might attempt to visit his home.

With that news, Charlie was paired with South Dakota 36 • LIVING HERE

State Deputy Sheriff Charles Halpin of Aberdeen to set up an overnight stake out at Crisman’s farm. They hoped to confront and arrest him. The two were joined by Spink County Sheriff Floyd Bradley and State Sheriff ’s Agent John Urhe.

Bradley and Urhe concealed themselves in positions on the yard so they could observe the house, where Crisman’s wife and two children were.

Bintliff and Halpin hid near the barn, where they remained from about 11 p.m. until around 1:30 a.m. The Redfield newspaper account says, “Then, according to Sheriff Bradley, they must have decided to take shelter inside the barn. No sooner had they entered the building than Crisman fired upon them through a partition inside the building.”

Crisman’s first shot struck Halpin in the heart, instantly killing him. The second shot struck Charlie just to the left of his heart. “While it inflicted a mortal wound, Bintliff didn’t fall.

He ran from the barn crying to his comrades,” the newspaper reads.

Charlie covered some 30 yards before he fell and died. Bradley and Urhe ran toward the barn, catching sight of a man running toward them. In the early morning light, the lawmen didn’t realize it was Crisman running toward them, until he veered away, crawled through a barbed wire fence and ran. He was out of their firing range, so Crisman escaped.

COLD BLOODED MURDER When the lawmen found the bodies of Halpin and Charlie, they could see that neither man had drawn their weapon. It appeared that Crisman had been in the barn all along and fired upon the men without warning.

That same morning, when Sheriff Bradley called for a posse, more than 400 men responded and began scouring the countryside for Crisman. United States Senator Peter Norbeck was among the posse members.

Dave Jones, a Redfield farmer who was said to be a friend of Crisman, contacted authorities later the morning of May 13, saying he believed he had persuaded Crisman to surrender.

Apparently, Crisman had fled to the Jones farm right after the fatal shootings.

“The sheriff gave Jones a pair of handcuffs and told him that if Crisman were brought to him in a car with his hands cuffed, that he would accept his surrender. ‘But remember,’ Sheriff Bradley said, ‘if his hands are not above his head when he gets out of the car, we will shoot him down like a dog.’”

By 10:30, nine hours after he killed the agents, Crisman was found dead in a stack of straw at Crisman’s farm. He had committed suicide.

REMEMBERING CHARLIE When Charlie died, he left behind his wife Edna and mother, who I always knew as “Aunt Minie.” All I remember about her, since she passed away a year after I was born, was a picture of her seated in a wheelchair with her legs resting on a chair.

“Bedridden” was the term used to describe her anytime her name was mentioned. Too late now to ask if Charlie’s death had anything to do with her physical decline.

There is one newspaper reference to Charlie as the “adopted son” of Tom and Aunt Minie. If that was the case, I can easily imagine Aunt Minie’s grief: she lost her husband, her only child,

and there were no grandchildren to help ease the pain of the loss.

After learning “the rest of the story,” I could better understand why my parents never said much about Charlie. I can well imagine that the circumstances of his death, which even now seem quite horrific, were cause for an abundance of grief in that day.

South Dakota didn’t repeal prohibition in the State until 1934. Production of moonshine – or any type of “spirits” – is still illegal all across the United States.

Charlie’s story is just one mournful tale from that era. Most likely, there are many that never were or ever will be told.

Perhaps the truly sad element here is that, even after being legalized, alcohol continues to be at the center plenty of tragic stories in every state. l

This clipping, originally taken from the Redfield, South Dakota, newspaper, was part of the family records collected by Loretta Sorensen’s family.

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SPRING 2020 • 37

Idyllic Times On T

There was no break from the monotony of summertime’s dusty, baking heat like a day down by the riverside.

By: MARY HURD BACK BEFORE video games and air conditioning and e-mail, folks used to leave their homes and socialize with friends and neighbors on a remarkably frequent basis. Nowhere was that more true than along the banks of the James River near Mitchell, South Dakota, beginning around 1900. It was the close of the Victorian Age and the beginning of the Edwardian Era, when corsets were out and leisure sports, educational lectures, and live music were decidedly in.

With people hungry for education, culture, recreation and entertainment in their isolated farming communities, several informal parks sprouted up along the James River in Sanborn, Hanson and Davison Counties. At first these gathering places were nothing fancy: perhaps a good fishing hole with a shady 38 • LIVING HERE

n The James River Decade Flashback From Spring 2010 Issue

Left photo: A young woman canoes on the James River in the early 1900’s.

Right photo: People board the “Capital” for a leisurely ride on the James River.

Photos courtesy of Dakota Discovery Museum, Mitchell, SD

SPRING 2020 • 39

The Ruskin Hotel was at the hub of what was once South Dakota’s most popular recreation spot.

Photo courtesy of Mitchell Area Historical Society spot where adults could talk farming or religion or politics while their offspring played in the cool water on a sweltering summer afternoon. The atmosphere was so satisfying that folks soon found other excuses to gather at the river. There were church and school celebrations, political rallies, business meetings. Women brought their signature fried chicken or potato salad or baked goods, men hand-cranked ice cream, and youngsters guzzled homemade lemonade.

Lou Cook, an entrepreneur from Artesian, even operated a merrygo-round of his own design and construction. Powered by one horse, that crude conveyance was remembered as an all-time favorite ride by many area children.

In the early days, these gatherings came to be known as Settlers Picnics.

Some sort of program or entertainment always followed the picnic dinner. These pioneer families had survived prairie fires, blizzards, Indian scares and epidemics.

They sat around a bonfire burned down to hot coals, sharing lessons learned, wisdom gained, heartbreak survived.

For the next 60-plus years, people gravitated to these parks for picnics, concerts, sporting events and a wide variety of programs. James River parks included Island Park near Milltown, Glenwood Springs Park (6 miles east and south of Mitchell), Electric Park, Tobin Park, the old Quarry site (3 miles south and 4 miles east of Mitchell), and 40 • LIVING HERE

Riverside Park (3 miles east and a mile north of Mitchell), which opened near J.R. White’s mill on the Fourth of July, 1915.

But the first and most successful of these riverside parks was Ruskin Park, 20 miles northeast of Mitchell. Ruskin was the brainchild of Hiram Augustus ‘Gus’ Rodee, Jr., a native New Yorker who made his living as a pioneer claim holder in South Dakota. Gus Rodee owned a 1,900 acre farm along the James, and was a big fan of the Chautauqua movement, which originated in western New York and sought to bring learning, culture, and entertainment to rural areas.

The prettiest place on Gus Rodee’s large farm was a pleasant, wooded, horseshoe bend of the James River just south of Forestburg. Known as Rodee’s Grove, it had been the site of Pioneer Picnics for many years. Aware of its ever increasing popularity, Rodee envisioned the grove’s greater potential.

This was where he would create his Chautauqua model! Beginning in 1903, Gus Rodee cleared the grove and built an amphitheatre, hotel, and several other buildings. Rodee christened the development Ruskin Park, as a tribute to one of his heroes, English artist and writer John Ruskin, a rather forwardthinking gentleman and nature-lover himself.

Gus Rodee’s timing was spectacular and his location (close to the river and later the railroad) was spot on. Ruskin

Park soon became the cultural and entertainment center of Sanborn County.

Thousands of people traveled there for Chautauquas, plays, programs, meetings and picnics.

A thriving Ruskin Park was sold

by Rodee in 1908 to a close friend, local farmer and state legislator R.E. Dowdell, and Artesian banker Ben Millard. The two men subdivided the property, reselling for capital to develop a recreational center that was unrivalled in South Dakota at the time. Dowdell and Millard were determined to make their new venture a true showplace; upon hearing that the World’s Fair in St. Louis was being dismantled, they travelled there and purchased the huge, leaded glass windows. Workers installed these windows in the new Ruskin Park dance pavilion. With its airy, unique architecture, the dance pavilion became the property’s centerpiece.

Ruskin Park now boasted fifty cabins, a frame theater, houses, a baseball diamond, tennis courts and a golf course.

Canoes, boats, launches, bath houses, diving boards for the swimming area, basketball equipment and horseshoes were provided. A rustic wooden bridge spanned the James River at Ruskin Park, and an excursion boat named Capital was operated by Jim Tobin from Ruskin Park to Rockport. The pavilion, the bridge and the boat were favorite subjects of many photographs and postcards, frequently captioned, “Ruskin Park, Forestburg, SD:

Above: This beautiful mural, “Fishermen and Picnickers on the James River”, captures a bygone era. It was painted (c. 1943) as part of the Works Progress Administration (WPA) - South Dakota Artists Project and is Located in the Davison County Court House.

Photo courtesy of the Davison County Commissioners.

Left: Floating on James’ placid waters in “Capital” may not have been high adventure, but for these genteel souls that was most likely just fine.

Photo courtesy of Dakota Discovery Museum, Mitchell, So. Dak.

SPRING 2020 • 41

At Ruskin Park visitors could sit on shore in shade or sun and watch shile more adverturous sorts enjoyed the river’s cool waters.

Photo courtesy of Mitchell Area Historical Society

The Most Popular Summer Resort in the State.” Dowdell and Millard built a small depot for shelter at the nearby train stop, to encourage visitors by rail.

And visit they did! People continued to stream to Ruskin Park, seeking new forms of recreation. A mile-long racetrack for both horses and cars was built, complete with grandstands and stables. Eddie Rickenbacker declared Ruskin was the fastest dirt track he had ever driven. After an airstrip was carved out for air exhibitions, daredevil pilots from as far away as Florida came for special picnic air shows. Colonel Charles Lindbergh even flew over and saluted Ruskin Park, to the delight of the people below. There were a few airplane accidents during the years of the air shows but only one fatality, a caretaker named Billie Williams. Sadly, Billie Williams’ sister, Ada, was the nurse in the ambulance that rushed to the scene.

A new bandstand was constructed for concerts, and a motion picture house was built, complete with a stage for theater productions. A director was even brought from California, and a traveling 42 • LIVING HERE

company was formed.

Five artesian wells supplied Ruskin Park with ice-cold soft water that flowed troughs and provided refrigeration for the entire park for years. Campers placed whatever they wanted to keep cool in the troughs overnight, though their goods sometimes changed ownership before morning. The late Ethel (Dowdell) Abild wrote a history of Ruskin Park in which she recalled, “…when camping we put canned goods in the artesian well troughs that led from the wells to the river…the labels washed away; the surprise menus were occasion for ‘gambling’!” The daughter of Ruskin Park developer R.E. Dowdell, Mrs. Abild also remembered a gunnysack bag that hung from an overhanging branch above the high north bank of the James River at Ruskin Park. “We challenged each other as to who could pendulum the longest and farthest,” she said. “Many a fully dressed braggart found himself scrambling out of the river and up the steep bank, often to try again!”

From 1910 until the late 1920s, Ruskin Park was synonymous with

excitement, entertainment, and of course, romance. It was THE place to be on a warm summer night. Attendance was estimated at 15,000 at special events such as car races, quite remarkable for a park some might say was virtually in the middle of nowhere…or at least nowhere near a large population center.

The late Herbert Hein of Huron described the excitement of Ruskin Park in a 1988 letter to the Huron Plainsman.

Do I remember Ruskin Park? I should say I do! I remember the grandstand and the one-mile racetrack. Every Fourth of July there was such a crowd, you wouldn’t believe it. Going back to 1913 when I was 13 years old, we went to Ruskin Park for the Fourth. My father and I were standing across from the grandstand by the pit where the race cars would stop if they had trouble. There was a 79 model Overland car stripped down for a race car. As the mechanic was testing it out it started to misfire. Mr. Leighton, the mechanic, at the pit, said the distributor cap was cracked. Now, where could they get a new distributor cap in a hurry?

My father said he had a 79 model

Above: This is a snapshot of a race day at Glenwood Park, along the banks of the James River, circa 1950.

Photo courtesy of Mitchell Area Historical Society

Middle: Stripped of the essentials to save weight and equipped with straight exhaust pipes for that oh-so-satisfying roar, Number 9 was ready to take it’s driver on a deathedefying spin around Glenwood’s dirt track.

Photo courtesy of Mitchell Area Historical Society

Bottom: What young woman wouldn’t look forward to a Sunday afternoon at the river when there were guys like these around?

Photo courtesy of Dakota Discovery Museum, Mitchell, So. Dak.

SPRING 2020 • 43

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44 • LIVING HERE

Overland and they could get his distributor cap, but the car was quite a distance from the racetrack. There was a young gentleman at the grandstand that spoke up and said he had a roadster 79 Overland close by and he would loan his distributor cap. This man was a cattle buyer by the name of Lampe. Every round the mechanic, Mr. Leighton, would motion the driver to go faster. He would say, ‘That car can go faster, open it up.’ Anyway, it did come in second. Then in the next run, Mr. Leighton drove the racer, and what did you know? It came in first, way ahead of the other cars. You should have heard the people cheer, yelling and clapping in the grandstand.

Ruskin Park was defined not just by the activities that played out there, but by its idyllic setting. Early Chautauqua attendees remember old Mr. Visher, who lovingly tended the many flower beds (that Gus Rodee had planted) and meticulously mowed the broad expanse of bluegrass lawns which carpeted the park in the days before the horses, cars and people wore down the grass.

Another aged caretaker was Mr. Nichols, whose fishing prowess was regularly challenged by a weekly summer visitor, Mr. Troutman from Howard. Nearly every visitor, though, mentioned the birds: the chorus of songbirds that wakened campers each morning…the meadow larks on the far side of the James

River, the wrens, robins, thrush and orioles intermingled with the harsh call of the blue jays. Each evening brought the random, haunting screech of hoot owls…and each morning woodpeckers were the insistent alarm clocks for sleepy campers.

Dare and Opal Johnson were a young husband and wife two-piece orchestra company hired by Dowdell and Millard to play for six consecutive summers (19121916) at Ruskin Park. Because they had a huge orchestral repertoire and played multiple instruments, the Johnsons quickly became crowd favorites. Opal Johnson had the unique talent of being able to play both the piano and the cornet at the same time! Park management built the young couple their own cottage, and the Johnsons played two dances each week from the end of May to about the first of September. In her autobiography, Opal described one of those dances: One very lovely occasion was the Harvest Moon Dance. The pavilion was decorated with branches of trees. There was a moon at the east end, which was made by stretching yellow muslin cloth over a washtub with lights placed inside.

It made a very good imitation of a moon.

When the party started, the moon was low, and as the evening progressed, the moon kept rising higher and higher, as moons do. At midnight the moon was at the highest point. Then when it came time

for the last dance we played a medley of good night songs: “Home Sweet Home”, “I’ll See You in My Dreams”, and “Good Night Sweetheart”. Mr. Moon faded from view.

Another special occasion at Ruskin Park recalled by Opal Johnson was the Lawn Dance. “Mr. Millard stretched muslin across the ceiling,” she wrote, “but before it was put up we punched holes in the cloth. With the lights above, it gave the appearance of stars shining through. There were big branches of trees in the center of the room. Many rolls of sod down the center of the pavilion made a perfect lawn. In the very center was a fountain. Those were neverto-be-forgotten occasions, beautiful and lovely…what a joy to play while looking out at a sea of friendly faces.”

In 1915 the Johnsons purchased a 240-acre farm seven miles east of Mitchell. The property included an area that was somewhat similar to Ruskin Park: there were 50 acres of trees, two miles of James River frontage, 50 acres of tillable land, and the rest rolling pasture. The following summer Opal was very pregnant with the couple’s first child, but she and Dare still played every dance at Ruskin Park. There were tearful goodbyes as the Johnsons moved from Ruskin to their new farm in September of 1916.

Several years later, between 1924 and 1926, Dare and Opal Johnson constructed a pavilion and picnic facilities on their riverfront property. The couple now had two young daughters and they thought hosting dances would be a welcome alternative after so many years of traveling as a two-piece orchestra. They called their venture Glenwood Springs Park, after the many natural springs in nearby ravines. There was a natural amphitheatre along the riverbank, an open area surrounded by trees. Dare Johnson built a half-mile race track in this open area and put up grandstands in the trees on each side of the track. Calling the area South Crossing the James River on this rickety Ruskin Park foot bridge was not a journey for the faint of heart.

Photo courtesy of Mitchell Area Historical Society

SPRING 2020 • 45

Dale and Opal Johnson performed as newlyweds at Ruskin Park, and years later with their daughters Maurine and Bethel, on road trips and at their own Glenwood Springs Park.

Photo courtesy of Mitchell Area Historical Society

Park, the grandstands provided pleasant seating even on the hottest days.

Glenwood began hosting 4th of July celebrations featuring auto and motorcycle races, horse races, ball games, and even rodeos. These events drew crowds as large as 8,000, even during the Dirty Thirties. There were $200 purses for motorcycle races, $1,000 purses for auto races, and $2 and $3 prizes for children’s scooter and bicycle races. Eight separate concession stands supplied refreshments, and a second, open-air pavilion provided more dance floor space.

The Johnson also had roller skating at the Glenwood pavilion.

Sunday afternoons and evenings were for public skating, and private parties were held on weekdays. Opal Johnson recalled in her autobiography that many church groups, schools and clubs came for skating parties, including nearby Dakota Wesleyan University. “As this is a Methodist College,” she noted, “many Methodist ministers’ children attend there. These young people were known on campus as P.K.s (preacher’s kids).

George McGovern was one of the P.K.s who skated at Glenwood during those years of the 30s and 40s.”

Dare and Opal Johnson would listen to the church groups singing around the campfire. “Roller skating usually followed the supper and services around the campfire,” she wrote. “Our home was less than a block from the pavilion. There was a balcony upstairs off our bedroom 46 • LIVING HERE

where we slept in the summer. It was enjoyable to lie there and listen to the picnic groups and the spirited music of the roller rink.”

Throughout World I, the Roaring Twenties, the Great Depression and the long years of World War II, the James River parks like Ruskin and Glenwood provided relatively inexpensive activities and entertainment and much-needed diversion during difficult and tumultuous times. Glenwood Park had its biggest crowds in the 1930s.

Ruskin Park changed hands several times over the years, always adapting to the changing interests of young people, and hosting a wide range of musical talent from Lawrence Welk to Bobby Vinton, Jerry Lee Lewis, the Everly Brothers, Conway Twitty and many others.

Doug Nurnberg of Forestburg worked at Ruskin Park after school and on weekends while in high school (1959-1961). Ruskin Park was owned and operated by Walt and Dagmar Siegenthaler at this time, and they were paying $1,500 to $2,000 a night for some of these big name entertainers, who drew crowds of more than a thousand.

Nurnberg recalled in a letter to the Huron Daily Plainsman: “Sometime during those years a bright idea was formed. We all decided that we wanted to have Elvis Presley at Ruskin. When Elvis’ manager was confronted and offered Ruskin’s going rate of $2,000 (or around that amount) he just laughed and said,

‘You couldn’t even get Elvis’ guitar for that kind of money!’”

The resort atmosphere of the James River Parks gradually faded as the Rock and Roll era became the Pop and Rock era in the 1960s. Crowds still numbered around 1,000 at the larger parks, but the dancers were younger and rowdier.

Former Sanborn County Sheriff Carl Regynski remembers Ruskin had its “fair share of brawls” though most fights were conducted outside the pavilion.

Walt and Dagmar Siegenthaler operated Ruskin Park from 1954 until it closed in 1968. Its dilapidated remaining buildings were burned down in 1999.

The other James River parks have all disappeared, too, living only in the memories of tens of thousands of aging South Dakotans who were once young, carefree and decidedly fun-loving.

But, like a phoenix – or perhaps a pheasant - rising from the ashes, Ruskin Park is now making a comeback as a wildlife production area and hunting preserve under the ownership of Ben and Helen Zoss and their son, Lee. While today’s Ruskin Park Hunting is very different from Gus Rodee’s Chautauquastyle park, perhaps Gus would approve that the Zoss family is preserving the rustic essence of this James River paradise, building a business that draws visitors who can appreciate that beauty, and still providing respite and relaxation from a turbulent, challenging world. l

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This photo First provided by the Antelope County Museum fair livestock Bloomfield: Nebraska regiment band, Bloomfield, NE. shows Photo courtesy of being exhibited.

Boys are holding onto calves on the racetrack.

A crowd watches. the Nebraska State Historical Society Trapeze rigging is in the background.

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