On the road... to so many little stories in the huge green immensities of the noble
“Tatanka� by joan nickles photos by domenico cilenti
Voices of
S outh D akota
On the road... to so many little stories in the huge green immensities of the noble
“Tatanka�
Voices of
S outh D akota by joan nickles photos by domenico cilenti
editorial project, graphic design and layout by joan nickles and domenico cilenti in collaboration with “Daily News Travel” English edition
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, scanning, recording or otherwise without prior written permission of joan nickles/domenico cilenti
copyright joan nickles/domenico cilenti 2001 Rome, Italy
Inside cover: particular of Indian painting on view at Prairie Edge Trading Co. & Galleries, Rapid City On this page: sculpture of “Seated Lincoln” by Gutzon Borglum, on view at the Rushmore Borglum Museum and Gallery, Keystone
Words becoming images before and after the Buffalo Roundup belong to so many of South Dakota’s Great Faces... ... to Dawn Allen, Chris Braendlin, John Brockelsby of the Reptile Gardens, Michael Burchfield, Jerus Campbell, Mary Cerney, Willie Collignon, Senator Tom Daschle, Marty Davis, Mike DeMersseman, Colonel Tom Dravland, Maureen Droz, John Flores, Deenie Frederick, Michele Ganshow, Sharla Garrett, Dee Geurn of the Days of ‘76 Museum, Julie Gregg, Dave Hansen, Jesse Hansen, Steve Harding, Gary Hargens at The Journey Museum, Daniel Haugen, Emma Haugen, Shonna Janklow Haugen, D. Greg Heineman, Brad Hemmah, Chris Hull, Charlie Hunt, Jim Husted, Ted and Rick Hustead of Wall Drug, Dayton O. Hyde, Ex-Governor William J. Janklow, Mary Dean Janklow, Richard Kaan, Mark Kayser, Bill Kelly, Ellen Killey, Phil Lampert of Custer State Game Lodge, Roger Larsen, John Lopez, DJ Mertens, Leah Mohr, Joe Muller of the Mammoth Site, Donna Mullett, Mary Lehecka Nelson, Rollie Noem, Cliff & Michelle Ozmun of the Mount Rushmore Brewing Co. in Hill City, Terry Philip of the Reptile Gardens, Craig Pugsley, Bruce Rampelberg, Phyllis Reller, Bob Ross & Kathy Stewart of Cheyenne Crossing, Barbara Schug, Wes Shelton of Mt. Rushmore Black Hills Gold, Paul V. Sherburne of the Minnesota Office of Tourism, Colonel Mark Snyder, Mayor of Hill City Peter Stach, Michelle Thomson, Cindy Tryon, René Vallery, Tina Van Camp, Charlie Van Gerpen, Patricia Van Gerpen, Bruce Van Vort, Hill City Chamber of Commerce President Mike Verchio, State Senator Drue Vitter, Pat Walker, Meg Warder at the “1880 Train”, Dan Wenk, Ron Williamson, Rick Woods, Greg Young, Ruth Ziolkowski...
We thank you all
On the road... to so many little stories in the huge green immensities of the noble
“Tatanka”
Voices of
S outh D akota If words are images and I can connect the images from the words spoken by others... listen with me to the voices of South Dakota..... ... to the Gettysburg Address
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... to the thunder of hooves as hundreds and hundreds of buffalo stampede across the prairie every fall during the Buffalo Roundup at Custer State Park page 8 ... to the cowboy-poet-preacher Charlie Hunt
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... to “We are all related” and the Lakota Sioux Indians
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... to one of the fiercest warriors of the Sioux Nation, Crazy Horse... and Great Faces... Shonna, Tom Dravland and Charlie Van Gerpen page 52 ... to Rick Hustead of the legendary Wall Drug on the edge of the Badlands... it’s an American dream come true page 70 ... to Dayton O. Hyde and his wild, wild horses.“There's nothing more beautiful than a wild horse, running in the distance, manes and tails flying in the wind. It represents freedom. I see 'em and I want to run with them...” page 76 ... to the Great Faces from Hill City, aboard the “1880 Train” to Keystone at the foot of Mt. Rushmore National Memorial page 86 ... to the Great Faces at Mount Rushmore National Memorial... and the words of sculptor Gutzon Borglum for whom “Beauty is as undefinable as spirit, and yet it is the dominating force in civilization... the measure of its revelation depends on the measure of our own soul-consciousness, the boundaries of our own spirit...” page 98
e, here in America, hold in our hands the hopes of the world, the fate of the coming years and shame and disgrace will be ours, if in our eyes, the light of high resolve is dimmed, if we trail in the dust the golden hopes of men.� Theodore Roosevelt in his address at Carnegie Hall on March 30, 1912 Particular of mural (above) at Mount Rushmore National Memorial
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If words are images and I can connect the images from the words spoken by others... listen with me to the voices of South Dakota... the interviews and photos on these pages take you straight to the heart of America... and if the faces change... the voices of South Dakota remain etched in time and space... like Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address... our score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.
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But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate -- we can not consecrate -- we can not hallow -- this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us -- that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion -- that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain -- that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom -- and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth. Abraham Lincoln
The State Game Lodge (below) at Custer State Park became the summer White House for President and Mrs. Calvin Coolidge in 1927 and the Dwight D. Eisenhower family in 1953.
November 19, 1863 - Gettysburg, Pennsylvania On June 1, 1865, Senator Charles Sumner referred to the most famous speech ever given by President Abraham Lincoln. In his eulogy on the slain president, he called the Gettysburg Address a "monumental act." He said Lincoln was mistaken that "the world will little note, nor long remember what we say here." Rather, the Bostonian remarked, "The world noted at once what he said, and will never cease to remember it."
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The Buffalo Roundup
Custer State Park
If words are images and I can connect the images from the words spoken by others... listen with me to the voices of South Dakota... to the thunder of hooves as hundreds and hundreds of buffalo stampede across the prairie every fall during the Buffalo Roundup at Custer State Park.
The Buffalo Roundup is a real “people connecting” event. At first it seems as if I know everyone. But that's the way people make you feel in South Dakota... it's “home”.
rotagonists... more than 1,500 bison, cowboys on horseback, park rangers in pickups, and a whole lot of people at an authentic happening that culminates in foot-stompin' Western music and elbow knocking at the “Chuckwagon Cookout”. It's a real “people connecting” event. At first it seems as if I know everyone. But that's the way people make you feel in South Dakota... it's “home”. It's a place where I feel comfortably intimate with myself. In the faint light of daybreak, it's “hi there” or “how 'ya doing?” with the “locals”. The sky, still heavy with stars, acts as a backdrop on this crisp fall morning as I head down to the general store of the Game Lodge... the air already thick with excitement as the morning mists begin rising. In front of the store bighorn sheep are too busy breakfasting to take note of my arrival. Inside, there's always hot coffee... and as it's too early for everyone to gather around the front porch of the Lodge to head out at 7 for the buffalo corrals, I hang around the festival grounds. Out from under the big tent the air begins to fill with the scent of hot pancakes and sausage... as people set up their booths for the fair: there are a lot of local crafts to be seen and useful items like handmade wool mittens and sheepskin ear warmers from Montana, leather jackets, dream catchers from Wyoming. I say “hi” to Jim Bechtel of Montana who's hanging out his photos of bison. And there's Rick and Barb setting up their chili wagon which they brought all the way from their ranch in Harrison, Nevada. Today, cookers from across South Dakota and the Midwest are testing their chili cooking skills in fierce but friendly competition. Former Governor Bill Janklow intuited the great potential of this event... he, himself, can't do without being in the heart of bison action. His last words to us before we take off for the corrals: “Just listen to your driver!” Getting close to thundering, stampeding buffalo is that easy... Or is it?
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South Dakota’s colorfully painted countryside 9
What a challenge... to capture these emotions... to create memories...
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I turn... looking for a storm cloud... but the low rumble I hear is coming from the herd of massive buffalo moving up to the top of the hill in the distance, heads lowered and horns thrust forward. It’s a magnificent sight! The sound of the noble “Tatanka”, as the Lakota Sioux Indians call the buffalo, envelopes me... captivating me... I want to get closer. “Hang on,” shouts Rick, abruptly stompin’ on the gas and turning the pickup round with a jerk. We bounce and jounce over rough, potholed terrain... like being on the saddle of a wild buckin’ horse. Luckily, I’m wedged between our driver Rick Woods and Mike DeMersseman... inside... protected... but back in the open bed of the pickup Nico and four others are bracing themselves, clutching the roll bars in one hand and cameras in the other.... eating and breathing in the swirling dust we’re kicking up. “Is there any danger?” I ask Rick... just for the record. “Well, the buffalo can dent these 4-wheel pickups pretty good... no, not really... in the back the only danger is if you’re not paying attention and hanging on. Like I said... I’ll give them as many pictures as I can... but then they’re gonna have to hang on.” What a challenge... to capture these emotions... to create memories...
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“When you see the buffalo run... you'll see! ... you'll see! It's a fabulous sight! I've been out here at least a half dozen times and each time it's just absolutely terrific.”
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Yelping cowboys on horseback, choreographed into patriotic red, blue and white teams, and park rangers in pickups, just like Rick’s - all with radios and walkie-talkies and each assigned an area within the 73,000 acre Park - begin racing up and over the undulating hills around Lame Johnny Creek. As our pickup heads north... I can see the Creek below stretching out with the warm rays of the autumn sun and the gentle prairie wind creating waves of golden yellows, coppers, deep browns, the color of the noble “Tatanka”. It’s so intoxicating... inciting hundreds and hundreds of buffalo down to Lame Johnny Creek... then up the hill to where the crowd is waiting and past the viewing areas... and into the corrals... never mind if it takes me almost the entire roundup to get my bearings straight... it’s like being on a twister at the county fair... impossible to know in which direction I’m moving. Rick says he wouldn’t have minded riding a horse this time... “if I had the right horse! But then, the horse’s gotta get the scent of the buffalo. They’ve got a different scent... it excites the horse. They’ll get use to it this morning. If one’s really acting up because he’s nervous about the buffalo, the cowboy will ease ‘em into it... although some of the horses are pretty high spirited.” “What’s fun,” adds Mike, a lawyer, businessman and fly-fisherman from Rapid City, “is when a couple of the old bulls start picking on each other. It happened a couple of years ago and we were close enough to watch them. They didn’t want to be taken in... and the clods... they started throwing the clods up...” As we talk about the wildlife in the Black Hills of South Dakota where he grew up, Mike chuckles, “The hunting season is also the mating season for elk.” He says it’s not a contradiction, “No... that’s
when they’re the dumbest... when they’re thinking about sex...” Mike’s favorite sport, besides fly-fishing, is hunting pheasant and grouse. He says, “Horses are an expensive hobby...” “There’s a guy that made a lot of money in gambling,” Mike begins. “He bought a ranch and he's just making it into a beautiful place and along the creek there are a few rows of milo and midget corn which he never harvests. He just leaves it for the pheasants. And man! ... Have you been down Battle Creek lately?... I've never seen so many pheasants... They're really going to be set up! Good winter cover!” From hunting pheasant to cooking it... anything’s game during the Buffalo Roundup especially when you’re people connecting! So we end up in Mike’s virtual kitchen even if it’s only 9 in the morning. It’s a great way to pass the time as we wait for instructions over the airwaves. While Ross and his horse Buck ride over to us... and then Bruce... and Pat... little Will feeds his horse Montana an apple and Mike continues on the culinary arts, “The breast of the pheasant is very good, if you prepare it like you would a veal marsala. It's just delicious. The breast is quite large... it's better to hammer it and thin it out.” “Do we have to go out and find where the buffalo are today?” I ask. “No...,” Rick says. “They know where they are,” Mike adds, “It takes a couple days, doesn't it, to bring them in? You leave a bunch of the old bulls, but in about two or three days you push them into the big corral?” “Yeah... to finish branding them and stuff?” “No... I mean to get them to this stage,” Mike explains.
“Every year is different and simply doesn’t happen anywhere else ...sometimes it gets pretty wild... a lot of horses get pretty excited around them... it's the smell... and sweat... and the sound... and the buffalo are just different looking...”
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... in three strides, the buffalo can go from 0 to 45 miles per hour... turn on a dime and even outrun a quarterhorse...
“To get them to this stage?... the buffalo pretty well moved down here by themselves... this year,” Rick states. “How convenient!” I chime in. “Yeah,” Rick says, “they're getting use to the routine.” Like Bruce Rampelberg... who loves the “routine” of being a cowboy at the roundup... and a banker in Rapid City. “Actually, this is my fifth year riding,” he tells us... as Ron Williamson from Sioux Falls gets out of his pickup and joins us. “Buffalo are unpredictable,” Ron says... explaining how he use to ride, that is until he fell and broke his hip. Now he’s afraid to mount a horse... but loves being up close for the roundup. “I think it's just in their nature...,” he continues, “and they're very powerful. When you see the buffalo run... you'll see! ...you'll see! It's a fabulous sight! I've been out here at least a half dozen times and each time it's just absolutely terrific.” “I understand that in three strides, the buffalo can go from 0 to 45 miles per hour... turn on a dime and even outrun a quarterhorse... I can see it takes your heart away,” I quickly interrupt. “Yeah!” he sighs. “Every year is different and simply doesn’t happen anywhere else,” says Pat Walker of Custer State Park, pointing towards the southwest, “...like right now, the buffalo are turning around and going back up the hill.” “What's that edge of excitement that you like about the roundup?” I ask Pat, who has ridden in probably all the Governor’s roundups. “Just staying ahead of them when they start moving. Just staying up with them. Nobody’s suppose to get right in the middle,” he goes on to explain. “Our job is to keep them from coming up over here. So they'll come off that hill and we'll try to keep them in the bottom... sometimes it gets pretty wild... and you have to hurry a lot to keep them turned... a lot of horses get pretty excited around them.” And a bit agitated and scared, I imagine. “So it's the smell... and sweat... and the sound... and the buffalo are just different looking... a combination of all those things.” “Do you see them coming down off the hill right now?” Ron calls out. “The buffalo are running pretty fast. Here comes another group of them down that side. There's a fence over there so they can't go too far.” “They look like they're running in all directions,” I notice. “But they'll all stop,” Ron assures me, adding, “they sort of do whatever they please.”
Domenico Cilenti Why is the noble “Tatanka”... the undisputed king of Custer State Park? It isn’t simply because he’s the largest land mammal in North America, weighing in up to and over 2,000 pounds... or because he stands up to 6 feet tall at the shoulders? Even with his mountain of muscles... horns and thick hide of fur... almost immovable prehistoric stance... his knowing stare... so active, proud, human...so powerful... I’m not afraid of him... I would love to touch him... to play with him... to create a mock battle just as he does with others in the herd, or to create a playful stampede or a game of “race-andhide”. It’s as if he loves the game of the roundup... he loves to run... DJ Mertens, a banker from Murdo, recalls, “Last year we had a terrible time with them, because the herd spread on us. They were working against us... they say that there’s no other herd in the world like this one... the genetic makeup of this buffalo herd is the same as it was a 1,000 years ago... these are like the herds that inhabited the plains of America before the country was even founded.”
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The real condottiere at the roundup is the noble “Tatanka”. He must be so amused... he decides the moves... letting us believe that he’s turned in a particular direction because we are forcing him into turning with our pickups and horses. What a delightful game... it’s his game... a great game... he wants to play... like now... we expect him to be in front of us but... he’s playing “let’s race and hide”... surprising us and coming up from behind.
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The airwaves crackle on the radio in the pickup... a voice breaks the charming colloquial. “If you guys can be ready over there, that'd be good.” We quickly head for our pickups... as the cowboys mount and ride off howling and snapping their bullwhips. “Hang on,” Rick yells out... and with that we turn and head further uphill, seemingly attacking every hole and boulder. I hear a voice I recognize... it’s Walker coming through over the radio, “We're right on the wing K fence. We're watching everything back from here. We’re moving east slowly... I’ll let you know where they’re at.” “Stop where you're at!” Such a babel of voices now begins to fill the airwaves! “They're a lot of animals over here.” “You've got about a dozen, maybe thirty, that are crossing mid-slope back to the west. Now, you're going to have to drop back and catch them and bring 'em back to the east.” “Matter of fact, Bill, I'd bring your whole team back to your gate there... and just go ahead and start 'em again. Red team, you can hold up in the valley... we're going to start on the north side again.” “That's us... the north side,” Mike says, looking puzzled. “They must have come in behind us, huh?” “Yup! Just as I thought!” Rick points to the buffalo.
“Just let them all come over here and push 'em all down at one time.” “Do you want us to go all the way to the gate?” “Well, let's just kind of ... we've got buffalo coming all around... kind of clear the vehicles out a little bit and let the buffalo go and then we'll push them all through in one bunch.” “We got a bunch of them coming up over the hill and they're swinging back to the left now... clear down on the north fence. (That's us!) We got three strays here that we're trying to keep down there but we have about 50-60 heads coming over here.” “Bob Lantis, bring your team back and we'll let 'em start 'em again on the north fence. You've got some in the bottom, just stay behind them and we'll see what happens on the north side.” “We're back in the corner...” “Get a vehicle down there and protect that gate... Rusty, go ahead.” “Brian, we've got a lot of buffalo coming over...” “We're heading back to the west side.” “Vehicles up here... if you can keep them four buffalo down there with that blue Suburban and you and them other two vehicles and maybe work this draw... if they want to come back up that draw.” “Breske and Bill, see if you can start them down the bottom again.”
Buffalograss has short curly leaves that look like a buffalo’s hair. It grows in mats that rarely reach more than 5 inches tall.
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“Roger, where are you?” “I'm right behind you Bill... Rusty and another vehicle down there at the bottom will push 'em.” “Okay, we need to move the buffalo here pretty quick.” “Well go ahead... Rusty, get up on 'em and Millie, go ahead and start pushing 'em.” “Let's move them off the fence.” “Hopefully, we'll help keep 'em there or we'll end up going back up the hill again, I think. Is that a fair assumption?” Mike turns to Rick. “Yeah, see... our objective, Doug Scott and I ... if the buffalo get going and keep going, we'll have to protect the people down at the viewing fence. We gotta make sure the buffalo cut to the right instead of going into the viewing area.” “Okay. I gotch’a.” Ron: “Breske, Walker...” Rusty: “Go ahead Ron... I suspect we'll bring that bunch out of the creek back up to the top...” “... do you read that?” Ron: “Lantis, Walker.” Walker: “Go ahead, Ron.” Ron: “Where are you?” Walker: “I'm right here on the north side of the road just coming down the hill. I'm about 50 yards from the road.” Ron: “Okay, here's what's going to happen. All those buffalo on the north side are going to go back to the corner and they will cross the road and we'll bring 'em back up to the top of the hill. All vehicles... read that? And if you can communicate that to whatever horseback people there are near you, do that.” “We'll get 'er done.” “Doug, you and Rick back there in these vehicles in the bottom, why don't we back off and see if we can't bring 'em back down through this first jaw
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where these two buffalo are coming in. Get 'em over there to that other herd.” “Blake, you might want to turn around.” Blake: “I'm trying to find a spot.” Rick: “Hang on.” Ron: “Lantis, Walker.” “Go ahead, Ron.” Ron: “I'd suggest you gather your team up again and come back to the west fence. I'm going to have you push 'em to the top. You've got riders scattered all over creation down there.” “I realize that. I've got about half my team here but we'll get some more here.” “You want to bring all those guys over there with you back to the fence. All the extra team riders you see there, take them to the fence, the west fence.” “... Stigman.” “Go ahead, Jeff.” “We got somebody in the pickup down there. We want to let these buffalo come up to the top. You got any on the south rim there? “I believe that's where they're gonna go.” “We might as well get them off of Breske's side and bring them in.” “Yeah Reed, I think all the buffalo are going to come back south of the loop road... 'um, if some want to stay on the bottom, that's fine. Those who want
to come up to the top, that's fine. “So they want to let the buffalo go up there?” I add, finally getting my bearings straight, what with all the turn-arounds of the pickup. “I would think they want to keep them in the bottom, if they could, don't you?” Mike turns to Rick. “I don't understand why he wants to take them back up to the top,” Rick shrugs. “Make sure the north side is clear,” we hear over the radio. “Bill... heard that? He's right in front of me. I'll notify him and I'll take the pickup crew and help you guys over there on the other side.” “Go ahead Bill.” “I'm going to take half my team and make sure this is clean back here and drop the south half off at the bottom in case we have another blow up.” “Nice curl to his horn,” Rick points out on the huge bison slowly and fearlessly passing our pickup... going in the opposite direction. He’s old enough... to have made up his mind that he’s not heading for the corrals. The cowboys and rangers let him be... with great respect. “How old could he be?” I ask myself. I see in his eyes the great wisdom of the noble “Tatanka”... he doesn’t want to play today...
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“Okay. I'm just going to kind of sit here with this group that I've got and see that everything goes good, then I'll kind of head up on top to the north here too.” “Dan, let the buffalo go ahead and go all the way down to the fence. We'll use the fence. They're all wanting to go that way anyway.” “Hang on!!! They do whatever they want to,” Rick calls out. “Do you want me to head back that way off the sixth?” “I think you probably ought to stay there, Jeff. We're gonna move 'em down to the south end and bring them to the east on that.” “Do you think that's a good idea for Ron to go down there and take that corner?” “Yeah, that's probably a good idea. I think we're going to move him down to that corner and head 'em east from there anyway.” “How many more are still coming up the hill?” “Oh we still got 60, 70, 75 head coming up... horses behind them.” “They're pushin' them up... they're going to take up...,” Rick explains, cut short by... “The governor's comin' up too!” “Lantis, Walker.” “Six hundred and twelve up there. Sounds like they're going to take them clear down, and then east.” “I know it. They're...” “Hey, we got a bunch coming up over east. You see 'em coming up on the ridge? “No.” “Okay. I've got some buffalo
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on Lame Johnny down there in the middle. You can let me know when you're headed east and we'll move them.” Lame Johnny Creek. There must be some story to that name, I ask. “He was just an old prospector, I think,” Rick replies. “Ron, we're just lying out here right now. We're going to make a sweep right straight through there.” “Our cowboys are to the north of us.” “Okay, keep that buffalo in there so you'll be chasing him out.” “We'll keep 'em movin' so they'll stay up on your side.” “There's a whole lot of cowboys ahead there! Right behind the tree,” I tell Rick. “I'm sorry guys,” Rick apologizes as he jerks forward, turning up the dust over everyone in the back of the pickup. “...I'm apologizing to the guys in the back... they can't hear me, I know,” Rick explains about the photographers perched in the open bed of the pickup. I look back through the trailing cloud of dust and count how many we’ve still got aboard... “Breske...” “Go ahead.” “We’re staying on the
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It’s now a game of surprise... on both sides. The buffalo know what their doing... But we do, too! We’ll let them make the moves... it should be what we want them to do... hopefully...
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Wildlife Loop Road. Is that correct?” “Well done, Roger.” “Ron, Walker.” “Go ahead.” “Talk to us a little bit down here in the bottom 'cause we can't see nothing. We don't know if we should be moving forward, or trying to go to the crooked bridge or...” “Hang on!!” It’s Rick again. “Ron, you can go forward to the crooked bridge.” “There's some nice mule deer running out in the open down there,” Mike observes. “Everything looking good up there?” a voice interrupts. “Yeah, the deer are just wondering down the loop...,” Rick replies. The spectacle is spilling out into the valley... the air cracks and snaps with bullwhips and yelling cowboys moving alongside the agitated, panting buffalo. The horses, too, are excited and overheated... I see the sweat around their girth... and I feel the heat of stampeding buffalo in the rear-view mirror... they’re so close
as they move alongside us... I can almost touch... “Hold up now, let them go through.” “Did you see his eye?” I ask Rick. “It won't be long now,” he replies rapidly... suddenly... everything’s accelerating... wildly unrestrained... the radio is almost silent now... instead there’s the thunder of the stampeding buffalo, the screamin’ yeehaws of cowboys darting in and out of the herd, the snorting of the horses, the clicking of Nico’s camera. “Keep the vehicles in a straight line.” “Okay, you're going to have to push hard now. Don't let them turn around. Get right after them.” “You’re pushing them all the wrong way. They ought to be moving up quicker over here to get them into the gate.” “It sounds like they went through the gate.” “Yeah.” “They’re going to lose them,” a voice howls... “No, we’re going to bunch ‘em up right down here.” “Keep your line in. EASY... EASY... EASY... EASY... EASY... EASY... There are only so many that can get through there at once.”
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Grunting and hissing... the free roaming bison begin squeezing through the gate into the corrals... a passionate and explosive scene that happens once a year... similar to when the Great Plains were covered with stampeding buffalo. At that time, the Lakota Sioux Indians hunted the “Tatanka” in order to survive... then, the cowboy discovered the West and hunted buffalo for their hides... today the photographer clicks his camera to immortalize on film the noble “Tatanka”, who is the real actor of the roundup, providing us with this unique experience... this complete contact with nature, as if projected in a documentary. The only difference... this is true... real. And the proud trophy no longer offends the buffalo... it’s not his head, stuffed and mounted as a tribute to the prowess of the hunter, but the splendid images... and sounds... which will always evoke the roundup... seeing... smelling... feeling... imagining...
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Ongoing festivities take place in South Dakota from 2003-2006 to celebrate the 200th anniversary of the Lewis and Clark Expedition. In 1803, President Thomas Jefferson purchased the Louisiana Territory from Napoleon for $15 million. A year later, on May 14, 1804, Meriweather Lewis and William Clark and their hardy crew called the “Corps of Discovery�, began the two-year 8,000-mile trek along the Missouri River. The expedition was particularly charged with seeking an all-water route to the Pacific Ocean.
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I smell the chili and burgers... the lines are already swelling... and I can hear from under the big white tent some foot-stompin’ music, like “Y’all come... y’all come... y’all come an’ see us now and then” or some ragtime, like “Tiger by the Tail”. I perch myself near the stage to hear a back-slapping joke: I sure am sore today... What did you say? I sure am sore today... How come you’re so sore? I fell down the stairs this morning. Fell down the stairs this morning? Did you miss a step? No, I hit every one of them.
Y’all come!
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“Cowboy poetry is just story-telling. It’s all true... it has happened or it probably will...”
Particular of charcoal drawing above on view at Randy Burger’s Warrior’s Work Studio & Gallery in Hill City. Randy specializes in creating leather frames in deerskin, buffalo or elk.
If words are images and I can connect the images from the words spoken by others... listen with me to the voices of South Dakota... to the cowboy-poet-preacher Charlie Hunt.
owboy poetry is just story-telling. It’s all true... it has happened or it probably will...,” Charlie says. I look at this tall, strapping figure... at the book resting on his knee, his long lanky leg on the chair, the spurs on his boots, the gun in his holster... he enjoys reading his poems...
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“The prairie grass is long and brown The weather is growing cold There’s fire in the tepees now It’s a story centuries old The buffalo once roamed these plains As far as I could see These seven now are all that’s left The buffalo that made us free. Our tepees are made with their hide, Their meat, our bellies would fill. The white man then came hunting hides And others shot just for the thrill. Our food supply was quickly gone Our tepees soon wore out A reservation took their place We couldn’t hear a shout.
Charlie Hunt
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You steal from us our way of life We are not free to roam Our freedom like the buffalo was traded for a home The white man stole the buffalo And still the greater death was when our freedom disappeared And just seven buffalo are left.”
“We are all related”
If words are images and I can connect the images from the words spoken by others... listen with me to the voices of South Dakota... to the Lakota Sioux Indians. “We are all related” Sculpture by DC Lamphere Original drawing by Richard Under Baggage This sculpture represents hope for reconciliation, dignity, and respect for all the human race. The earth itself is in the shape of a hoop or circle of life. The crossed pipes represent world peace. The eagle symbolizes all flying creatures, and communication with Tunka Sila. Wisdom and the healing arts are represented by the grizzly bear, and a long and productive life is symbolized by the turtle. The bison reminds us of our ancestor’s healthy lifestyles, free from famine, and also of the White Buffalo Calf Woman who brought up the pipe. “Mitakuye Oyasin” Takuwan kakanpi kile maka sitomnj wicasa tuweke eyas ohokicilapi kte, na ob ocinwasteya onpi kte, na igluonihanpi kte. Maka kile cangleska selececa heun he iyacinpi. Cannumpa kaicic’uya kihe Maka owancaya wowahwala kte, na Wanbli Oyate ki ins wocekiye hoyeyapi ki hena napeiyuze, na wahupa koze ki hena iyacinpi. Mato’ ki he woksape ki hena yuha, na wapiyapi kena yuha, na Keya ki he wiconi hanske kihe iyacinpi. Tatanka kihe ins wiconi wan waste ca onk’upi, akihanpi cola, na nakun Winyan Wakan wan ptehincala cannumpa wan onk’upi. Ho, Mitakuye Oyas’in.
The only Lakota Sioux Indian statue is on view in downtown Rapid City. Today, approximately 62,000 American Indians live in South Dakota. Lakota creation stories trace the nation’s birth to the Black Hills.
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“He is, they are”
The song of the Black Hills is ancient... filled with the sounds of children, families, tribe and the hunt... the epic hunt across the prairie... of men embraced in the memory of a journey ... until the people were squeezed onto desolate reservations ... until there was barely a whisper of the ancient song... From “voices” at The Journey Museum, Rapid City
“... Now he lives in faded glory with the life he cannot know His reservation is confining like a fenced-in buffalo...” from the poem entitled “Freedom” by Charlie Hunt
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“He is, they are” a larger than life sculpture by Glenna Goodacre The Sioux and the Plains Indians were moved from their homelands and placed on reservations. Though their “hands are tied”, the dream of their homeland remains.
“Iye Na Oyate Ki” Lakota, na ta okola kiciyapi, hena ob uspa spayela, oyanke ece kcel ewicagna ka pi, tkha, “Nape Iyawacakaska Pi Iyecel”. Tkha, he sapa ta woihanble ki sutaya glu ha un pi.
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“My lands are where my dead lie buried.” Crazy Horse 52
If words are images and I can connect the images from the words spoken by others... listen with me to the voices of South Dakota... to one of the fiercest warriors of the Sioux Nation, Crazy Horse... and other Great Faces... Shonna, Colonel Tom Dravland and Charlie Van Gerpen. he roundup... the cowboy-poet... recollections of long lost memories.“My lands are where my dead lie buried,” said Crazy Horse. Crazy Horse Memorial dominates these immensities... with his chiseled face coming alive out of the mountain... challenging the “ancient forefathers” sculpted in nearby Mount Rushmore National Memorial. Crazy Horse Memorial is different... it’s a family dream... a dream of Korczak Ziolkowski, the sculptor of Crazy Horse... and a dream of the Lakota Sioux Indians of the Great Plains. Crazy Horse is their hero. “Those that have gone before us. Can you feel that? You hear it in the wind, the rustling of the trees... the stillness. And you just revive yourselves spiritually,” says the modern-day Lakota hero, Olympic gold medalist Billy Mills. “Crazy Horse represented, in a sense, the dreams of the people. And now he represents the dreams of our children. There’s no better place to honor the past and celebrate the present and dream the future, than
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The Badlands area, known as “mako sica” to the Lakota Sioux, is a place of mystery, spirituality and natural beauty. It was formed about 65 million years ago. In a secret place to the south near Wounded Knee, along the stream called Chankpe Opi Wakpala, it is said that the heart of Crazy Horse was buried by his mother and father. The Badlands was proclaimed a national monument on January 25, 1939 by President Franklin D. Roosevelt.
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Crazy Horse dominates these immensities... 54
right here... You know there’s an old saying: When legends die... dreams end. And when dreams end... there is no more greatness.” 2002 marks the 20th anniversary of the death of Ziolkowski who felt both the glory and tragedy of the Native American reflected in Crazy Horse. The greatness of Ziolkowski’s dream lies in the fact, that ever since then, his wife Ruth and seven of their ten children, and others, continue his work... this dream which began humbly in
1948... humbly because I hear him say during the documentary film on his life and work that he wasn’t a sculptor... and I see the coarse and unrefined facial features of Crazy Horse... but what energy Ziolkowski had... and what a crazy project... it’s not easy to mine and carve into a mountain... the project is so immense and grand... And it all began with an idea... and from that crazy idea
Crazy Horse Memorial is a family dream... a dream of Korczak Ziolkowski, the sculptor of Crazy Horse... and a dream of the Lakota Sioux Indians of the Great Plains.
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“When legends die... dreams end. And when dreams end... there is no more greatness.� Korczak Ziolkowski
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Sculptor Korczak Ziolkowski began creating his 563 x 641 foot sculpture on June 3, 1948. To date, more than 8.4 million tons of granite have been blasted from the mountain.
Ziolkowski could not but become great. It shaped and formed him. “I always wanted to do something worthwhile with my life”... and his family believed in him... and loved him... and are continuing... Touching the granite... I am also helping this great family mould and shape the mountain... Let’s go to the top... it takes only seconds to get just under Crazy Horse’s nose. But it wasn’t so easy for Ziolkowski. For the first seven years he climbed 721 steps up to nine times a day, carrying everything up the 600foot-high mountain on his back. There were no roads, no water, no electricity. They say that mountain goats kept him company... they loved the staircase and climbed it right along with him. I wonder... will I see it finished?... will I get to see Crazy Horse straddling
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Work continues on Crazy Horse Memorial, based on three books of detailed plans Ziolkowski left after his death in 1982.
Models of Crazy Horse Memorial.
his horse with a flowing mane? Progress today is measured in tons of granite blasted off the mountain. But for Ziolkowski, the important thing “was to keep on working”. One of his daughters says, “Dad and Mom made it special... it’s a dream that can become reality. It’s important to be a part of it.” His son says, “To me, it’s the only job I want to do for the rest of my life. He left us a letter that he wrote back in 1952 and we never saw it until after he died. He said, in that letter, that you don’t have to do this, but if, after I am gone, you take up the task of doing it, you’ll never let it go.” Another daughter says, “I think it was born in us. I don’t belong any place else... I belong here.” In 1998, the nine-story-high face of Crazy Horse was completed, bigger than all four heads of the presidents combined on Mount Rushmore National Memorial. With the face complete, the sculptors are now working on the horse’s head, which will be 219 feet high. And when finished, Crazy Horse Memorial will be the world’s largest mountain carving, measuring 563 feet high and 641 feet long.
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In 1998, the ninestory-high face of Crazy Horse Memorial was completed, bigger than all four heads of the presidents combined on Mount Rushmore National Memorial.
Crazy Horse Memorial from various perspectives.
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Here I am! There... this little speck... it’s me! And that speck? It’s Shonna and her two children. We’re all straddling the huge granite form of what will one day be the outstretched arm of Crazy Horse... it’s almost the length of a football field. We’re all little specks stuck to one another in this “family” photo... I often look at it... it helps me keep my perspective... because we are so small... and Crazy Horse is so overwhelming! “It’s funny because I lived in Minnesota for a while, then I also lived in Colorado,” Shonna tells me... “But when I decided that I wanted a family, I decided I would do it no where but here in South Dakota.... it’s the quality of life... the friendship you have with everybody. Instantly almost. You can trust everybody.” Shonna is Ex-Governor Bill Janklow’s youngest daughter. She admits it was “hard growing up” as the governor’s daughter but feels he promoted this “family” kind of feeling in South Dakota... and “his work with education is amazing... the technology... he’s a firm believer that you need to start education early.” “It took me actually moving out of the State to realize everything. He was governor since I was in third grade and before that, he was attorney general. So I’ve only known politics my whole life. When I moved to Colorado I had a chance to figure out who I was. And then come back...” to her roots... to her
We’re all little specks stuck to one another as we gather together for a “family” photo... straddling the huge granite form of what will one day be the outstretched arm of the Crazy Horse Memorial.
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Great Faces at Crazy Horse Monument.
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Daniel
Emma
Shonna
land, I say without speaking. “There are great people in this State. It’s going to be difficult when my Dad’s not governor anymore...” “Your mother Mary Dean has all the makings of a great first lady”, I chime in. “She does. My mother is wonderful. She knows when to get involved and when not to... you almost make me want to cry when I talk about my mother.” Being a mother has given Shonna a whole different way of looking at things... As we squeeze together for our family photo, she tells me about the photo she took of her daughter Emma. “I bought four dozen roses and took a photo of her in a basket with all these roses...” As for her son Daniel, “...we did him in a big bowl of cherries”.
Ruth Ziolkowski
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Mary Dean Janklow
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“People connecting” and trust. Not too far from Crazy Horse’s daunting and austere face is Colonel Tom Dravland, head of the Highway Patrol in South Dakota. He says South Dakota has always been a people connecting place. “My troopers on the road will wave at people they meet. It’s a gesture of friendship... just a greeting, I guess. We encourage people to approach us and talk.” “We’re a small State. There’s 710,000 of us here... so frankly anywhere I travel in the State, I run into somebody that I know personally... because we’ve all been here and we know each other. Although things have changed a lot since September 11th, I think the event is bringing us all closer together. We’re realizing that we’re all Americans. It doesn’t matter what color of skin we have, what language we speak... we’re still all Americans.”
Colonel Tom Dravland with Joan Nickles
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Nearby is Charlie Van Gerpen. “Hi there”, he smiles. We may feel like family... but “coordinating all the transportation... and all the comunication”... and simply keeping this “family” all together is Charlie’s job. No problems this year he says... the “weather’s cooperating”. Now into his seventh roundup, the biggest problem Charlie says “was one year when there was the fear of fire as it was very, very dry that season... because there’s always a chance of fire out there when you have that many vehicles in the field... Then one year there was just enough snow and ice... and the cowboys didn’t want to chance falling off the horses...”
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D
eadwood
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On the left (from top to bottom), modern Deadwood with her typical lamp posts and street signs, from Butch Cassidy & the Sundance Kid to Wild West Winners Club and Oyster Bay; September menu at the renown Saloon #10 where Wild Bill Hickok was gunned down; fun-loving sheriff at the Days of ‘76 Museum.
A dramatic scene, below, at the Journey Museum in Rapid City depicting the tragic death of Wild Bill Hickok in the Old West town of Deadwood. The legendary gunman never sat with his back to the door. That is, until August 2, 1876 when he was gunned down in a Deadwood saloon by Jack McCall. Wild Bill’s last poker hand - black aces and eights, and the Jack of Diamonds - is now known as the “Deadman’s Hand”. Today, there are over 80 gaming establishments in Deadwood, although it was only in 1989 that gambling was legalized.
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Many of the wood carvings in Wall Drug are done by Kenny Vance of Louisville, Ohio. He did four famous Sioux Indian chiefs: Red Cloud, Spotted Tail, Crazy Horse and Chief Gall. All the lamps
The legendary Wall Drug...
Rick Hustead
If words are images and I can connect the images from the words spoken by others... listen with me to the voices of South Dakota....... to Rick Hustead of the legendary Wall Drug on the edge of the Badlands ... it’s an American dream come true...
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all Drug started in 1931 when my grandparents, Ted and Dorothy Hustead, moved here from Sioux Falls...,“ says Rick who today runs the busines with his brother Ted. “That was the dirty ‘30s... the worst possible time to start anything. My grandparents lived in the back of the store which was 24 x 60 feet long... so they were never late for work... they were always there.” “The first five years were really tough. In 1936 on a hot Sunday afternoon, Dorothy had an idea. Here we are with a great big soda fountain and no customers... while a constant drone of tourist cars come out of the Badlands on US highways 16 and 14. She went into the store and said to my Grandpa, ‘Ted, we have to let people know that we're here. I think we should put up a sign that says, Get a soda, get a beer, turn next corner, near Highway 16 and 14. Free ice water. Wall Drug Store’.” “Ted thought the idea was a little corney, but it just might work. He hired a high school boy and they went out and put the sign up. Before he got back to the store the first customers had already stopped. They were so busy that first summer they needed to hire eight local girls to help them with all the extra business.” “Grandpa was very tenacious. He thought if one sign would
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in the dining room are handbleaded tint Tiffany lamps.The brands along the wall are from the 1870 and 1970 South Dakota Brand book. All the panelling is American plank black walnut.
... an American dream come true have such an effect, what would twenty or thirty do? He put up Wall Drug Store signs along the highway going west all the way through South Dakota into Wyoming and eventually into Montana. And going east along the highway, all the way through South Dakota into Minnesota.” “These days we sometimes serve 20,000 glasses of water... free... each day! This summer we had 235 employees. In this day and age getting that many employees in a town of 800 is a trick. Thank goodness we have Karen, our personnel director. But how it got to be the mega store that it is today is due to my father. He was the visionary builder. He used to hitchhike 400 miles to school back then... and his friends would say, 'Where are you from?' He said he was from Wall. They'd say that's where that little drug store is with all those signs. He was so embarrassed... he vowed as a young man that if he went back into the business he would build the store into a 'must stop' along the highway. And he really did.” “There's a lot to do and see here for free... two mechanical bands, our Cowboy orchestra and Chuck Wagon Quartet. They sing and play every fifteen minutes. We have our western shopping mall... a travelers chapel... dedicated to all the priests and ministers who served the Badlands since the 1900's. You can have your picture taken on a life-sized bucking horse next to a six foot rabbit or a miniature Mount Rushmore. We have a life-sized animated Tyrannosaurus Rex that's fun to see... that performs every twelve minutes.” The T-Rex is, in fact, so skillfully reproduced that it literally gives me goose bumps during its performance... “There's a Prairie Food Parlor, a little arcade and shooting gallery for kids. A Skinny Dog Saloon with a collection of historic photos taken in Montana in the 1800's. We also have another series of photos taken in the 1900's of South Dakota and Montana. There's a dry goods store where we sell South Dakota products.” “My dad Bill said, ‘You don't have to spend a dime at Wall Drug, but if you've got a nickel, you can get a cup of coffee.’ Five cent coffee is a Wall Drug tradition.”
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“Our art gallery dining rooms house 225 original western oil paintings. My dad put this collection together. Some of the most prominently known ones are Harvey Dunn... he's the most famous South Dakota artist. He did Grey Dawn...this series here. Gutzon Borglum, the sculptor of Mount Rushmore, also did these two paintings of his mother and father when he was in his early twenties. Here are a couple of my favorites by Gerald Farm... the one with the old cowboy and the little girl in the yellow dress called Tea for Two. He also did the largest painting across the way, where you have a cowboy looking over his shoulder at an attractive young woman. She has a bible under her hand as she's going to her Bible meeting and his buddy's tuggin' on his arm getting him to go into the bar to have a beer. He's thinking that maybe he should be going to the Bible meeting and meeting that good looking young woman. The title of that painting is Mixed Emotions. Mixed emotions... I have them, too... at not having enough time to “hear” and “see” more of this American dream... Miles and miles later... I’m touched by the words in the Welcome to Wall Drug brochure: “Free Ice Water. It brought us Husteads a long way and it taught me my greatest lesson, and that’s that there’s absolutely no place on God’s earth that’s Godforsaken. No matter where you live, you can succeed, because wherever you are, you can reach out to other people with something that they need!”
A “must” on any traveling itinerary is a stop at the world-famous Wall Drug Store on the edge of the Badlands to view one of the largest collections of Western art.
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The Badlands National Park, with over 240,000 acres of jagged buttes and gently-sloping valleys, is a paleontologist’s field dream. Sunrise is the best time to drive along the thirty mile Badlands Loop... especially if you take along a five cent coffee from Wall Drug... and your suitcase filled with fantasy and colors from your imagination.
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The Black Hills also has its geological oddities. This smooth granite surface, along Needles Highway, allows your imagination to see forms and faces... embraced in the memory of a journey... two and a half billion years in the making... the heart of everything that is... that beats a rhythm... legend says that all the universe was given a song and each part of the universe was given a piece of the song... but only in the Black Hills can the whole song be heard.
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Wild, Wild Horses! If words are images and I can connect the images from the words spoken by others... listen with me to the voices of South Dakota... to Dayton O. Hyde and his wild, wild horses. “There's nothing more beautiful than a wild horse, running in the distance, manes and tails flying in the wind. It represents freedom. I see 'em and I want to run with them.” is spirit is as wild as his horses but he’s a dapper-looking cowboy in his very tailored red and white striped shirt... suspenders... a gray felt hat... black ribbon... and a black feather. What passion... this man! I’ll tell you here... what I discover later... Dayton is also a rancher, photographer, essayist and author of 15 books. You’ll see... you’ll see... as you listen to his words. “I'm Dayton Hyde,” he introduces himself energetically at 77 years old. “I started this fifteen years ago... this sanctuary. I've got a ranch out in Oregon and I was down buying cattle in northern Nevada and saw those horses... captured wild horses being held in the feed lots... And as I grew up with wild horses, I owed them a little bit of my time. So I've been here ever since, fifteen years and I originally looked for some area where there's lots of grass - good wild horse country. My luck... I found this. If I had come six weeks later, the whole Cheyenne River would have been sub-divided. We have it set up now so it can never be built on and will always be a home for wild horses. And when I get ready to fold up, there are a lot of eager people ready to take my job. Although I'm a volunteer, but they haven't figured that out yet,” Dayton says, delighted in his own joking... and me, too... “I hope you enjoy what you see. If you have any questions, just holler,” which is exactly what Dayton does as we move off in his crickety old school bus... through the 20 miles of potholed road inside the 11,000 acres of rocky canyons, windswept prairies, and dark pine forests... The sweet pungent scent of pine drifts my way... and I am swept away... with delight and wonder... at the likes of Dayton. He reminds me so of a famous doctor I met in the Tyrolean Alps. I can’t recall his name... nor do I remember all the particulars about which Pope he cured... but I do remember his horses. He, too, wanted his horses to be free... and they became such delightful mountain bandits... stopping all highway traffic... if
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Dayton says his dream “... happened in about 15 seconds. I saw those wild horses being held captive in a corral and it made me angry. The horses were so sad and thin and we turned 'em out here and within a month and a half, they were fat. They've been called the luckiest wild horses in America.”
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you didn’t give them something to eat... they wouldn’t let you move on... how? ...simply by lying across the road... “We've protected this land for all times,” Dayton tells us once again, pulling me back to the present... he’s so proud of what he’s been able to do for “his girls”, he says referring intimately to his mustang mares. “The buildings that exist at this moment - and there are very few - are the only ones that will be built on this land.” “There are anywhere between three and four hundred wild horses on this land. We'll see a lot of them here, but they don't like to be in the timber because of the mountain lions. So they stay out in the open where they can see along the way.” “Mountain lions are pretty secretive, they see you a lot more than you see them. I've got one saddle horse I ride that is able to find them and take 'em out. If you ride right up where that horse is looking, you can generally jump a mountain lion out from behind a rock.” “This is a private, non profit sanctuary,” Dayton explains. In fact, the Black Hills Wild Horse Sanctuary is part of a greater reality created by Dayton: The Institute of Range and the American Mustang. We don't get any help from the government of any sort. And one of the things we do is welcome any movies that we can get to come here and shoot. If you want to look over that cliff...” And I did. It’s an awesome sight... we’re on a great prairie about 1,000 feet above the Cheyenne River... “... you can all get out so you can see about 300,000 dollars worth of Ted Turner's money. He built a model of Fort Robinson in Nebraska and the movie Crazy Horse was also shot here. Practically in its entirety. If you look to the left of the fort, there's a covered wagon there, which I drove with my black work jeans up in the canyons here. At least I got into that movie,” he says, provoking a refreshing laughter. “I didn't realize when I started that I was saving the land from the sub-divisions... so the wild horses are my partners in keeping this place alive. We’re all volunteers here... we exist somehow and have a good time doing it. We get a lot of volunteers from all over the country. They're quality that I couldn't afford to hire. They love to come here and build fences and do whatever we ask 'em to do. Dayton says his dream “... happened in about 15 seconds. I saw those wild horses being held captive in a corral and it made me angry. The horses were so sad and thin and we turned 'em out here and within a month and a half, they were fat. They've been called the luckiest wild horses in America. The feed is so great here. You'll never see a skinny horse unless it's very old. They were all old when they came here and that was fifteen years ago. So, a lot of these mares are old animals but they stay fat and they love it here. All year long they roam the hills and nobody molests them.” “It’s a good life. And it's a good life for an old cowboy like me too. I still have a ranch in Oregon, but I hardly ever get there. I don't want to leave my girls.” “We've discovered that this band of wild horses has some wonderful wild horse blood in their veins. It's very important now,
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genetically, to keep this herd from being harmed, or sold off or anything else. These horses are smarter than domestic horses. They've bred domestic horses for racing and rodeos without much regard for brains. These wild horses have to be awfully smart to exist. I've trained several of them and I can train three or four of the wild horses while I'm training one domestic horse. “My girls” pay attention. They're very eager to please and they adopt a person as a friend. They’re raised in a family situation, so if you get them alone, then they’re your buddy.” “The horses know us. You'll see horses that come up and put their noses right through the window of the bus, practically. They seem to enjoy being photographed. They see these buses two or three times a day. When we first came, you'd just see a bunch of runts disappearing over a ridge. Now they love us. I've got one mare that goes fencing with me. Every time I go out to build a fence, she goes with me all day, leaving all the other horses. I have never been able to touch her, but she is always ready to go. If she sees me with fencing tools walking along the fence, she'll come, and out of curiosity, probably, she'll go with me.” I simply have to interrupt him... “Above and beyond your being angry when you saw those horses confined in the corral fifteen years ago and your wanting to free them, you said you also owed it to them. Does that mean, perhaps, that they had saved your life?” “Well you see, I grew up with wild horses, and I owe them for a great deal of joy. There's nothing more than that. There's nothing more beautiful than a wild horse, running in the distance, manes and tails flying in the wind. It represents freedom. I guess that's a very deep part of my nature. I see 'em and I want to run with them.” “In southern Oregon where I grew up, we had lots of wild horses. The best horses that were ever on that ranch were captured out of the wild. So very early... when I was around 12 years old I was riding wild horses and breaking 'em. They were so much better than the other horses we had... I've always had an admiration for them.” The horses recognize Dayton’s bus... he says as we jump out. “Usually I carry some grain with me... so if I call them, they all come running. But it's not out of affection for me. It's out of affection for the grain.” “The animals with a white freeze brand on the hip are the old original mares. They're pretty old now... they’re up in their 30s,” Dayton says, pointing to his favorites who are, in turn, staring back at him... and also, out of curiosity, at us. “They're still having babies. The Phillys go back into the herd and we sell the stallions to support the sanctuary.” “We've got about three stallions that we've raised out of the herd. We've got a beautiful flashy stallion, maybe we'll see him. He’s called Painted Desert. He’s from a very beautiful wild mare that looks just like him. This time of the day they're down off the plateau. We can drive right down to them there. It's on our way,” he says.
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“It’s a good life. And it's a good life for an old cowboy like me too. I still have a ranch in Oregon, but I hardly ever get there. I don't want to leave my girls,” Dayton affectionately says about his mustang mares.
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Do these wild horses have an hierarchical system? Is there one who commands all the others? Dayton says no. “The stud doesn’t have much to do than look beautiful and the mares decide where to go and graze, and how to get away from enemies. This bunch were all captured in the wild, so they have a lot of lead mares... the lead mares don't get along very well with each other... they all want to go in different directions.” “I guess I'm the grey stallion that commands everybody. But they don't ever do what I want.” Dayton happily emphasizes, adding, “as soon as you try to move them, these horses are wild again.”
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If words are images and I can connect the images from the words spoken by others... listen with me to the voices of South Dakota... to the Great Faces from Hill City, aboard the “1880 Train” to Keystone at the foot of Mt. Rushmore National Memorial. he screach of her whistle punches the air and drifts off into the distance... blowing away the quiet of Hill City, today a fashionable western town of about 890 people and a veritable center for the arts - there are 5 galleries, artists owned and operated all within walking distance... Randy Burger’s leather framing at Warrior Work... Deborah Carroll’s watercolor landscapes at the Snow Creek Gallery... Victor Jepsen’s Jewels of the West... and paintings on western life at the Hershey Ranch Gallery. Brooke and Margie Hershey also live on a working ranch where they raise registered Angus cattle. Great faces there in Hill City! The town’s gourmet mayor Peter Stach, who voluntarily tastes the Italian truffled olive oil I just happen to have in my bag... State Senator Drue Vitter... Mike Verchio now president of the Chamber of Commerce, Cliff Osmond and his great kitchen at the Mt. Rushmore Brewing Co.... the black and beautiful Harley Davidson that leads me to the black and beautifully dressed guy at the bar down the street. And Meg at the railroad depot... she’s getting married on Saturday... in a sense, the “1880 Train”, otherwise known as the Black Hills Central Railroad, is her dowry. Gotta go! “All aboard!”, Dave hollers out... he’s our conductor. It’s a great beginning... as it is everyday since then... as I bought a replica of the “1880” train... which wakes me every morning with the bellowing whistles and chug-a-chug-a-chug-a-chug... until I simply squeeze the little red button on top of the engine... Today it’s a slow-motion hour-long trip in the “1880” steam train... whistling and chugging through Black Hills backcountry... a rugged landscape mostly of ponderosa pines. “When we reach Keystone,” Colleen says, “take one of the pine needles and hold it between your fingertips. You’ll notice one end is flat, absorbing light... which is why the hills appear black from a distance.” For the same reason, the Lakota Sioux
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Indians call this area “paha sapa” because this vast area of hills is so forested and dark green, light simply doesn’t enter. Everything appears so simple aboard the “1880” ... from mid-May to the beginning of October, the train “can only go in one direction... forward or backward... fast or slow”. “Right after the second crossing,” Colleen says as we pull out of the train yard, “you guys in the open cars should get a treat. Butch, our fireman, gets to put two cans of white silica sand into the fire box... which will come out of the boiler flues... black. It’s not hot... it won’t hurt you... just two big, black clouds of smoke.” “That’s the first road crossing,” we’re told... but there’s also another surprise. “Now we have the running brake test. You got to be running to have the brake test. One toot and two little ones means the brakes are okay.” Fortunately, I hear all the toots! “The only time the engine is really loud is going up to Tin Mill Hill, which is right after you guys get sanded. It’s a mile long hill. The grade is 4 to 6 percent,” Colleen shouts over the whistling and chugging of the train. She points to the brown barn. “They raise angora goats. None of these animals like it when it’s very hot. They’re wearing heavy coats. They don’t like it when it rains either.” The trip is a photographer’s paradise... spectacular mountain scenery, including that of Harney Peak, the highest point, 7,242 feet above sea level, between the Swiss Alps and the Rocky Mountains. “We use 1,400 gallons of water per round trip,” Colleen says about technical aspects. “Back in 1926 they used bunser oil. Today we use waste motor oil. We use 180 gallons per trip. It's a good way to get rid of the waste motor oil. You can’t burn coal or wood in the forest, it causes too many fires. All of our engines use waste motor oil. In the engine shed we have our number 110. Our pride and joy. It took two years to restore.” Colleen is full of information... something for everyone. “This time of year there's a few wild flowers left. Not many. There's some asters, blue, golden rod... yellow. The greyish green foliage is sage. These tall plants with the fuzzy leaves at the bottom are called mullin.” “I love seeing Sassy... the little black colt with the diamond on her forehead,” Colleen says,
The “1880 Train”
pointing her out, as we noisily chug along. “We saw her the day she was born. She's almost four months old now.” As the train whistles, “Now we're down into Battle Creek Canyon. We've crossed this road quite a few times. We're passing over trail 89 right now. It was built for South Dakota's 1989 centennial. It goes from the top to the bottom of the Black Hills. It's a hundred miles long. There are markers every 8 to 10 miles. It's nice for driving... also for hiking in the hills.” “Over to the left you can see the granite cliffs. This is the same kind of rock that Mount Rushmore is carved out of. This is what they first looked like... before they became the nice white faces of Rushmore. The faces we normally see on these cliffs are those of rock climbers or mountain goats. The short needled pine that you see through these trees is the black hills spruce, our State tree. As we go down in elevation there's some oak and
cottonwood. The shorter red trees are choke cherries.” Winter must be beautiful... I thought. “We're going to run a Christmas train once a day every Saturday in December...,” Colleen tells me as she reads my thoughts. “It will only make half the journey... from Hill City to Oblivion and back. We’ll decorate the train... with lights and we’ll have Santa on board for the kids. It'll be fun. And all the cars will be heated so nobody will be very cold... hopefully.” “Our speed’s between 10 and 15 miles per hour. Mike is a pretty steady engineer. Nice and easy. Of course if something breaks on the train, he has to fix it.” “Oh there's that little boy fishing. He's always fishing... And up here Fred is always waving at us. He's on the upper deck. He's still there. Hi Fred! Every day he waves,” Colleen says as the train chugs slowly into Keystone.
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eystone is a story in itself... everyday as the train arrives, this cowboy... pistols and all... runs out onto the town’s Main street... and starts shooting! So I duck into the “Old West” atmosphere of Ruby House, order a beer from Linda... at the bar is Brent who’s working on Dizzy’s Harley-Davidson. It happened two months ago... but they’re still talking about motorcycles and Sturgis... it ought to be a unique experience, after rounding up thundering, stampeding buffalo, to hear the rumble of motorcycles... as anywhere between 350,000 and 500,000 people on motorcycles stampede across the country every August for the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally... right here in the Black Hills. So instead of putting a string around my finger to remind me of Sturgis, I buy myself a great t-shirt to keep the spirit ever alive... mine says “The Legend Lives On” Black Hills Rally - 61st Annual Harley-Davidson Motor Cycles.
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The Sturgis Rally
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phenominal variety of motorcycles have been showing up every August on Main Street, Sturgis, since 1938, for the annual Rally, today one of the largest outdoor events in North America... when Sturgis literally becomes Motorcycle City USA for a full week... with the Black Hills providing a beautiful backdrop... with winding, scenic highways... and nearby geological wonder, Bear Butte. Rising from the prairie, this ancient volcanic laccolith is the hardened core of a volcano that never erupted... unlike Sturgis which erupts once a year with showcase bikes, choppers, antique bikes, custom rigs... from all over the world.
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Mount Rushmore National Memorial South Dakota historian Doane Robinson first conceived the notion of historic rock carvings in the Black Hills in 1923. His original proposal to sculptor Gutzon Borglum was to carve statues of Western heroes such as Kit Carson or Buffalo Bill Cody. Sculptor Gutzon Borglum was 60 years old when he began work on Mount Rushmore National Memorial in 1927. He completed the masterpiece 14 years later when he died in 1941. Mount Rushmore National Memorial was named after a young New York lawyer, Charles E. Rushmore, who first set eyes on the mountain in 1905.
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If words are images and I can connect the images from the words spoken by others... listen with me to the voices of South Dakota....... to the Great Faces at Mount Rushmore National Memorial... and the words of sculptor Gutzon Borglum for whom “Beauty is as undefinable as spirit, and yet it is the dominating force in civilization... the measure of its revelation depends on the measure of our own soul-consciousness, the boundaries of our own spirit...” n September 11th, 2001 Mount Rushmore National Memorial was closed for the day... as it is as much a symbol of democracy as the Statue of Liberty or the Stars & Stripes. The Memorial is overwhelming... the imagination of the men who imbued history and legend into this majestic mountain carving... it’s awesome! “We opened Mount Rushmore National Memorial again on the 12th....... Crazy Horse was not closed during that time,” Colonel Tom Dravland tells me. “I, in fact, happened to have a conference
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of six highway patrol chiefs going on... that started on Tuesday, the 11th. We were in Rapid City... so I brought them out and had those chiefs tour this area... both Mount Rushmore National Memorial and Crazy Horse Memorial.” “What better security than all of you here,” I say aloud... thinking about all the changes since the 11th of September. Seeing these “forefathers” is so personal an experience... it’s not unlike approaching St. Peter’s in Rome... that’s where I live... it has the feel of Via della Conciliazione’s wide thoroughfare stretching out and leading to the great curved colonnade and sumptuous grandeur of the Basilica... In the same way, the broad promenade and impressive Avenue of Flags, like Rome’s Via della Conciliazione, opens up onto the Grand View Terrace and the radiant faces of Presidents Washington, Jefferson, Roosevelt and Lincoln... each as tall as a six-story building... and so white due to exposure to rain, snow, and sun. Down along the Presidential Trail at the base of the monument, it's simply beautiful... and cool.
The granite faces of the four American presidents are 5,500 feet above sea level and are scaled for men who would stand 465 feet tall. The sculpture of President Washington was dedicated in 1930, followed by Jefferson in 1936, Lincoln in 1937 and Roosevelt in 1939. Washington soars 60 feet high from forehead to chin with each eye measuring 11 feet wide The Presidential Trail, about a half-mile walk, is a great way to get a close-up view of each of the four presidents. Mount Rushmore National Memorial is considered America’s “Shrine of Democracy”.
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“Why were those four presidents chosen?” I ask René as we walk along the pine-scented trail. René replies with her delightful “rough version”... which is more than adequate because what I really want to know is why the Presidents were placed in those positions? “He did George Washington first,” she explains about the father-son sculptor team, Gutzon and Lincoln Borglum. “He initially wanted to do them down to their waistcoats. But, if you look over here by George Washington, it looks like there's been some rock moved.” “He started Thomas Jefferson on that side, and then they found out that the rock wasn't stable enough. So they had to blast what they started away and then move him over there,” she says pointing up through the opening in the rocks which provides a special and most unusual view of the Presidents. “And then they did Lincoln, I believe, and then Teddy Roosevelt. He's pushed back farther just because of the rock formation.” Neither of us want to get too technical... there are books and books and books... and pamphlets... and brochures on the monument... and inside the Visitor’s Center, completed only in the late 1990s... murals, exhibits, interactive displays... like the touch screen that René says is “really interesting... about those who worked on the monument... their stories...” retold years later. “... that particular morning,” begins the aged voice after I touch the image on the screen, “when we got right to the level with Lincoln’s nose... something broke...” “... all the time,” another voice adds, “... coming down... I thought if anything would happen and that thing broke loose... the compressor house was right below... I figured I'd jump out of that thing and hit that roof. And I figured I'd probably break a leg and pick up a lot of splinters but it would be a lot better than slapping up against that rock.” “... but luckily the bucket... came in on an angle... and we just turned around and came in real easy... the only guy that got hurt was the one fellow that jumped out...” “... and to this day I'm not sure whether I jumped or fell out of that thing. Some of 'em said I jumped and some of them said I fell out.” René points to another exhibit, “It's fun to see... this is their wages back then... and big wages,” for about 400 men who helped to carve Mount Rushmore National Memorial. “Really? A dollar an hour? $1.50 for the head of operations.” How much would that be worth today? I quickly quiz myself until a huge wall mural grabs my attention... with unforgettable words and moments in Americas’s history... words said by different presidents, at different times... but with a feel for continuity... in a common destiny. From George Washington to Thomas Jefferson and Abraham Lincoln, there is a swelling intensity for freedom. Then, at the beginning of the 1900s Theodore Roosevelt, with great foresight, said “We, here in America, hold in our hands the hopes
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of the world, the fate of the coming years and shame and disgrace will be ours, if in our eyes, the light of high resolve is dimmed, if we trail in the dust the golden hopes of men.” Beautiful... these four American presidents forever fixed into the granite of Mount Rushmore National Memorial. “From the initial idea in 1923 to the present...,” so they say, “the story of Mount Rushmore National Memorial is a tale full of high hopes, bitter frustration, battling egos, fascinating characters, hard work and triumphant celebrations... ending with the onset of World War II.” From this struggle, a dream has become a national symbol. Today millions of people come to the Black Hills to see the result of that dream. Dusk is falling, I look down from the Grand View Terrace into the new amphitheater at each and every member of this huge new “family” gathered today, a joyously unrestrained and high-spirited family created for the occasion of playing “buffalo roundup”. Playing a part in this family is a ritualistic return to life... a necessary reawakening to the fundamental things in life... The lighting ceremony begins... the four presidents are looking down at us... and as if playing the game “being at Mount Rushmore National Memorial”, they are about to let us share in their limelight. We begin seeing ourselves projected on the huge outdoor screen... one by one, each and every member of this huge family is out there... bigger than life... each like a magnificent mountain carving. Music wafts through the pine forests of these Black Hills as we view our own “Great Faces”... the lyrics ring familiarly with “From the lakes of Minnesota to the hills of Tennessee, across the plains of Texas... from sea to shining sea... from Detroit down to Houston... from New York to LA... where there’s pride in every American heart and it’s time we stand and say... that I’m proud to be an American... where at least I know that I’m free... and I won’t forget the men who died who gave their life to me... and .... there ain’t no doubt... I love this land.... God bless the USA.” “Great Faces... Great Faces... South Dakota!” Several days later I return to Mount Rushmore National Memorial ... to see if these “forefathers” are playing games with me, just as the buffalo do during the roundup. The presidents seemed so content the other evening to be with our huge family... and talk about family matters... and laugh and joke and sing. This time, it’s dawn... their best light... Are they blushing?... or are they simply a bit timid or reserved and quiet as the morning begins to glow? Or are they surprised to see me? Seeing them alone in this light, they almost smile... welcoming me again into their living area... they know I know... this work will never be finished... they’re waiting for other Great Faces to visit them...
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Posters 19,75x27,5 inches (50x70 cm) 39,5x55 inches (100x140 cm)
Wild, wild horses n. 1
Mt. Rushmore National Memorial n. 2
Mount Rushmore National Memorial n. 1
Mount Rushmore National Memorial n. 3
Buffalo Roundup n. 2
Buffalo Roundup n. 1
Sculpture n. 1 “We are all related”
Badlands n. 1
Buffalo Roundup n. 3
Buffalo Roundup n. 4
Sculpture n. 1 “He is, they are”
Badlands n. 2
Badlands n. 3
Sculpture n. 2 “We are all related”
South Dakota Prairie
If words are images and we can connect the images from the words spoken by others... listen, as we did, to the
Voices of
S outh D akota
During a very special trip to South Dakota, we created a book of superb photographic images and interesting interviews focusing, in particular, on “real” people and the reality during the Buffalo roundup held annually at Custer State Park. Wild, wild horses n. 2
Wild, wild horses n. 3
Posters 19,75x27,5 inches (50x70 cm) 39,5x55 inches (100x140 cm)
On these pages are some of the most incredible action photos (more than 180) telling a tale of adventure through the actual words of the people who live in South Dakota, once the land of the Lakota Sioux Indians, buffalo, and wild, wild horses. This book appeals to “little” people through the photographic images because children are natural – as natural as the people and animals which populate these pages. It also appeals to “big” people because real, natural people still continue to amaze us and make us dream about the Far West – what it was and what it still is.
Buffalo Roundup n. 6
Technical characteristics of the book: Buffalo Roundup n. 5
Lakota Sioux Indians of South Dakota
Wild, wild horses n. 4
Dimension: 14,5 inches high by 11 inches wide (36x28 cm.) Number of pages: 106 plus 4-cover pages with a total of more than 180 photos Weight of inside pages: 7,05 ounces (approx. 200 grams) Weight of cover: 10,6 ounces (approx. 300 grams) Price per copy book: € 100,00 F.O.B. Rome, Italy Price per copy poster (photos on these pages): 19,75x27,5 inches (50x70 cm) € 30,00 39,5x55 inches (100x140 cm) € 60,00 Delivery: approximately 60-90 days after written order Contact: “Voices of South Dakota” email: nicocilenti@gmail.com email: joannickles@gmail.com
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, scanning, recording or otherwise without prior written permission of joan nickles/domenico cilenti copyright photos domenico cilenti
Sunrise in the Badlands
Wild, wild horses n. 5
All rights reserved.