Text of Ziebach Co., SD History (1982) - pages 219 - 232
	This file is the text of the book, "South Dakota's Ziebach County, 
	History of the Prairie", published in 1982 by the Ziebach County
	Historical Society, Dupree, SD

	Permission to publish this book in electronic form was given by Jackie Birkeland,
	member of the Historical Committee. This book is copyright, 1982 by the Ziebach
	County Historical Society, Dupree, SD.
 
	Scanning and OCR by Terri Tosh <chipnter@lnd.com>, final editing by Joy Fisher,
	<sdgenweb@yahoo.com>.



Chapter 13 NATURE'S RAMPAGES

GHOST LIGHTS by Jackie Birkeland
     These dancing lights of changing colors of red, green, and yellow were a strange 
phenomenon to behold. They would appear from very near the ground to a height of ten 
feet or so and did not seem to follow any predictable runway although they were familiar 
to certain areas. One might be riding along horseback after dark and suddenly within two 
or three hundred feet or further, one of these lights would appear and dance over the 
terrain, bobbing up and down. They were rather like a rainbow in that the closer you tried 
to ride, the further they would recede or disappear entirely. You might look in another 
direction and another would be dancing to and fro as though seeking a game of play with 
you.
     We saw them many times in the breaks east of Cherry Creek on the path to the L/Y 
Ranch and more frequently on Little Cottonwood Creek north of the Sam Eagle Chasing 
residence. Our friends were very much afraid of them and would ride miles to avoid a 
light that happened to appear. My father's explanation was that gas or oil underground 
probably was the reason for their appearance, so we were not in awe of them although it 
was a rather ghostly experience. Horses did not seem to mind them at all.
     At our present home and before barns and haystacks were placed in the pathways, 
our boys often "visited" a ghost light from their bedroom window at night. It was and is a 
captivating experience.
     One time one of our Indian friends was describing to my father about his experience 
in encountering a light that would not let him get by; no matter which way he rode it was 
in the way. Dad finally asked him what he did and his reply was, "I just shut my eyes and 
rode like hell!"
     These mysterious glowing orbs were also known as "Spook Lights." Thelma Frame 
related this story:
     "Jim Frame was ten years old when he had an eerie "spook light" experience.
     In November, 1931 a severe blizzard blanketed the ground with deep snow. 
Geraldine Burke, teacher of the White Swan School, which Jim attended, was lost in the 
blizzard, rescued, and recuperated until after Christmas.
     It was when school was closed in November and December that Jim and his dad, 
Floyd, hauled grain for their livestock from Dupree, a distance of about 20 miles. Each 
trip by team and bobsled took four days. The first day they would arrive at Chase where 
Jennerson's lived and ran the post office (it's now the Harold Johnson place). The 
second day they got to Dupree, loaded their grain and slept in their bedrolls at the 
elevator. Day three took them to Chase again and home again on the fourth day.
     The team of horses Jim was driving played out on the way home one trip, so they 
were left at Chase to rest. Jim came back with his dad the next day to take his load of 
grain home. It was nearly dark when he started home, the night was very cold, and the 
still-weary team traveled slowly.
     He was still several miles from home when a "spook light" appeared about 100 yards 
to his right. Spook lights were commonly seen but usually at a safe enough distance that 
they only caused one to wonder, rather than be alarmed.
 Its appearance brought terror to the heart of this young lad for it seemed to be alive and 
playing sinister games with him. Sometimes it would come quite close, then skip over 
the frozen snow-bound prairie, and be almost out of sight. Then back it would come, 
float down into a draw and once again appear to follow him at close range. This ghostly 
companion kept Jim company for about a mile. Jim vividly remembers his predicament; 
he was alone, far from home in the middle of the night with a team that couldn't be 
hurried."
     "Spook Lights" were once such a common sight that almost everyone saw them and 
had tales to tell of their encounters with them.

FIRE RAZES MAIN BUSINESS BLOCK 
$100,000 Loss Covered by $9,500 Insurance
     Early on the evening of Thursday, February ninth, during a biting blizzard, the worst 
fire Dupree has ever known razed an entire block, burning seven places of business to 
the ground in a little more than two hours. The loss is estimated at about $100,000, 
covered by only $9,500 worth of insurance.
     The blaze began in the basement of the Club Pool Hall, and is believed to have been 
started by an explosion of loose coal that had just been thrown on the fire.
     First to become aware of the fire were J. Larson and Arthur Flick. Upon hearing an 
explosion they rushed into the basement only to find that the fire had already made great 
headway, and a pile of boxes on which burning coals had been thrown was all aflame. 
Mr. Larson attempted to put out the flames with his bare hands and suffered serious 
burns on his hands and arms.
     A call was put in for the local fire equipment, but it was entirely unable to cope with 
the rapidly spreading fire, for the building was good fire material and the strong wind 
fanned the place into a blaze in a few minutes, scattering burning missiles for several 
blocks and endangering the buildings on the east side of the street.
     So rapidly did the conflagration spread that there was no time to save anything from 
the Pool Hall and some very valuable papers that were inclosed in a safe were totally 
destroyed, while all the equipment and stock burned.
     In a few minutes the Club Cafe and Barber Shop also were fired, the smoke forcing 
several patrons to leave their meals unfinished in the cafe. Nothing from the cafe was 
saved, everything in the Barber Shop was safely removed with the exception of about 
$20 worth of tonics.
     The Club Cafe was insured for $500; neither the Pool Hall or the Barber Shop was 
insured. It is reported that James Larsen's Off-Sale Liquor Store will be reopened in the 
rear room of the Silverman building in the near future.
     Of the four other buildings destroyed in the fire very little was saved except the 
equipment of the Wayside Inn, from which nearly everything was taken out before the 
flames reached it. Its proprietor, Walter Weaver, has set up a temporary business in the 
basement of the Legion Hall.
     Mr. Ziegler, whose stock was not covered by insurance and almost totally destroyed, 
has accepted a position for the present with the Leader Store.
     M. B. Salisbury has bought and is remodeling the Hall garage building. It will be open 
for business in a short time. Mr. Salisbury was covered with $6,500 insurance.
     Arthur Hurst, proprietor of the Hurst Pharmacy was covered with $2,500 insurance 
and will reopen his business in the office of the Dupree Garage soon.                              
February 16, 1939 
"Ziebach County News"

PRAIRIE FIRE and TORNADO.    
by Lorna Robertson Vance
     One of the most exciting events I can remember was the prairie fire that almost came 
into Dupree from the southeast in 1916 or 1917. It was a windy fall day and from the 
upper rooms of the school house we could see the billows of smoke in the distance. 
School was dismissed as it was feared the town might soon be in great danger with such 
a strong wind. Most all the men were gone to the fire but had to come back when it 
became certain the fire was headed for the town. Men carried all of the furniture out of 
our house and the women were told to go across the road to the west and stay on some 
newly plowed ground. The fire burned all around the house, burned the barn and 
chicken house but the men fought it off and stopped it at the street just south of where 
the Dr. Creamer house was later built now owned by the school district. Had it not been 
stopped there it would certainly have been a major disaster as the whole town could 
have been burned.
     Another memorable experience was the storm or tornado of 1918. It was a Saturday 
and there was to be a picture show in the evening but the train was very late and the film 
was on the train. Around ten o'clock the storm struck almost without warning and a large 
number of children were in the theater waiting to see the show. They panicked and tried 
to run outside but Babe LaPlante held the door and managed to keep them inside where 
they would be safer. After the storm the theater was setting crosswise but very little 
damage otherwise. At our house the west window blew in and the wind sucked out a 
large window on the east, putting out the lamps so we were in complete darkness with 
wind and rain coming in the house. My brother left the car just west of the house and ran 
to the house and just got inside when the shed over the door blew away. All buildings 
except the house and one granary blew down that night. (This is the farm on the south 
edge of town now owned by Fred and Shirley Menzel.)
     Sister Rachel, O.S.B., Jake Maca's daughter, tells of another fire experience:
 "Used to the slow burning of grass in vacant lots in Chicago (Oak Park), Pappa decided 
to burn the tall grass by a well he had dug. By the time he came up with a bucket of 
water, the fire was on the hill! All he had to fight it with was his spade!
     He was overcome with the kindness of all the neighbors who converged on the fire 
and put it out after it had burned 160 acres. The kindness and friendliness of all the 
homesteaders won his heart."

[photo – Cyclone near Isabel, June 25, 1914]

BLIZZARDS
     If you live in Ziebach County long enough, you will witness the drama of a blizzard 
and, perhaps, have your own tale to tell.
     Here are a few of the hundreds of stories which might have been told.
 Charles Dog With Horns has this to say about a storm in Bridger:
     "In 1949, when we had that big blizzard here, we can't go any place, the roads were 
all blocked. The men gathered here and talked about having a meeting. So we got 
together and had a meeting. We elected a man to go to the post office, they opened that 
road to up north. The post office was right over the hill here at that time. And so they 
wrote a note to the Red Cross in Rapid City and told them that we are out of jobs, coal 
and kerosene.
     And so, an airplane was coming around, landed over there west of the school house. 
And two men came out and asked us so we list the groceries and coal and they said 
they're going back to Rapid right away and they are going to ship some groceries and 
coal. But they can't ship no kerosene, because that'll bust.
     Well, about 4 o'clock that evening, two bombers came, went over there and dropped 
some coal, here in back of the house here and they dropped some groceries right along 
there. The snow was about that deep. I had a sled, so I went over there and two men 
helped me to load. They got big sacks, you know, but when they hit the ground they 
busted open. Canned goods of all kinds. Bacon, coffee, rice, beans.
     We picked them up and we got two loads of groceries over at the school house. And 
then we pick up the coal. We took it up there and divided it among the homes here. The 
groceries we divided up and share with the other people.
     A lot of stock died that winter. Snow was so deep that they can't get no feed. They 
had to drop them bales, the airplanes. They spot some cattle and they drop some bales 
to feed them.''

[photo – Ed Edwards feeding cattle, 1949]

     Sister Rachel, O.S.B., relates this incident:
     "Mamma wanted to go back to Chicago, at least for a visit. So one day Pappa took 
her to town to put her on the train for this visit. An accident with the double trees, and 
then a thick fog which gave the horses an excuse to get off the road and head for home, 
delayed them so much they missed the train.
     My father settled Mamma in the hotel to wait and take the train the next morning. 
However, such a blizzard broke out, that the train could not be running for days!
     Mr. Karley took Mamma to their home where she stayed as their guest for four days, 
until the storm was over. She caught a ride home and surprised my father and me, 
walking the last mile in the deep snow. It was already getting dark when we saw her 
coming over the hill! We were milking the cows, we were out to the barn for the first time 
in four days. What sticky snow that had been!
     We had tried to shovel our way into the barn, to at least make an opening for air for 
the stock. The barn was on the side of a hill, completely covered with snow. Each time 
we tried to shovel some snow, our eyes would be covered with snow and sleet, and all 
the snow sticking to the shovel, at last we dug a tunnel to the barn and we were lucky to 
strike the door! ''

[photo – 1966 blizzard. Calvin Anderson cattle. Dupree]

[photo – Lonnie and Vicki Anderson standing in the tunnel they helped their Dad shovel 
in the 1966 blizzard]

[photo – The terrible winter of 1978 at the Elmer Parker home]

     Glynn Hurst tells of a blizzard on Pretty Creek:
     "When I was a young boy, we had one of those blizzards South Dakota is so well 
known for. One spring morning it began to drizzle but turned to snow by late afternoon. 
By nightfall the winds had risen creating a fierce blizzard that was to last nearly three 
days.
     Prior to this blizzard we'd had some unusually warm days and the waterholes were all 
full of water from the spring run-off. The new snow now lay on top of the water and as 
the cattle drifted with the storm, they walked right into the water holes. Storms make 
cattle extremely prone to the "follow-the-leader'' syndrome and they just kept on coming, 
drowning those critters already in the water. Following the big thaw, every waterhole on 
Pretty Creek was full of dead animals.
     That particular disaster proved too much for the Diamond A Cattle Company and they 
were forced to relocate their operation further east near Eagle Butte, South Dakota."  
     Here's all account of someone lost in a storm.
     To anyone caught out in a blizzard, it is a never to be forgotten nightmare. One such 
experience happened to Geraldine Burke, the teacher of the White Swan School in 
November, 1931.
     It began to snow and blow in the middle of the afternoon, so Miss Burke sent the 
children home early, but she stayed to work awhile. Miss Burke bearded with the 
Bowling family and they became concerned when she wasn't home at the usual time. 
The storm had worsened so Jim Bowling went to the school to investigate and found no 
one there. She still wasn't home when he got back, so he rode horseback the two miles 
down the creek to Floyd Frame's and the two of them went to look for her.
     They hunted in vain for over six hours then decided to wait until dawn to resume their 
search. They stopped at Giles Brown Wolf's home to ask him to help them in the 
morning.
     Giles set out immediately and found Miss Burke wandering in a draw east of the 
schoolhouse, rather than west, toward the Bowling's home. He took her to the 
schoolhouse, built a fire, took kerosene from a lamp to put on her frozen feet, and then 
went to let Bowling and Frame know that she had been found.
     Frame and Bowling had already looked in the draw where she was later found, but 
she may not have been there when they were because she seemed to have wandered 
about in a circle. She had also burrowed into a snow bank to get out of the wind for a 
while.
     Miss Burke was taken for medical care and school was closed until after Christmas 
when she was then able to resume her teaching duties.

     Eb Jones told this story about a May storm: (Note: Years before the Cheyenne Indian 
Reservation was opened for settlement in 1910, Eb Jones established his ranching 
headquarters on Bear Creek a few miles south of where Lantry is -- now owned by Willis 
Thomas, formerly owned by Oscar Cuff.)
     "I would like to mention a storm that we had. This storm started on May 9, 1905, 
beginning with a rain which lasted for two days, then turning into snow and finishing with 
a regular South Dakota blizzard. About 18 inches of snow fell and the creeks were all full 
of water. Stock could see nothing but snow and when they drifted with the storm they 
just walked off into the water and hundreds drowned. -The cattle that had shed off just 
froze to death when the temperature went down to zero. The late Mr. McKillop, who lived 
for some years at Leslie, and his son Ray, who was just a boy at the time and now lives 
at Manila on Plum Creek, were at my ranch on Bear Creek.
     "Some of my cattle tried to come home, hit the wire fence, followed it to the creek and 
later I found thirty head of white-faced cows in one water hole. I also lost 30 head of 
saddle and work horses. They drifted south into a corner of the fence and froze to death 
as they had shed and had been used to being well kept and fed through the winter. 
There were a lot of fences on the reservation at this time for the cattlemen had leased 
the land and divided it into four pastures, 24 miles square. In addition to this there were 
a number of smaller fences."
     The late Gene Holcomb, one of the big cow men of Rapid City, was moving some two 
thousand three and four year old steers that he had been feeding alfalfa hay on his 
ranch on Rapid Creek all winter and besides that he was moving 259 stock horses.
     The wagon was camped on Bear Creek about three miles below the present location 
of Dupree, with Severt Holly in charge. They held their herd through the two days of rain 
but when the blizzard started they had to turn them loose and those big fat steers started 
south, crossed the Little Bear Creek at my ranch where Oscar Cuff lives now, went 
through all the fences and drifted into the Cheyenne River breaks, leaving a trail in mud 
that could be seen for ten years. In spite of this only a few got into the water holes and 
drowned and the loss was not great. The horses did not fare so well. They drifted up the 
creek looking for a place to cross and I do not believe that they got more than 30 head of 
them back. I saw 118 of them in one pile just north of Bear Creek across from the 
McGarraugh place, less than a mile from where Dupree is located and I believe that at 
least 200 of them died within ten miles of the town of Dupree. I remember seeing at least 
five hundred head of stock scattered from the south corner of a fence, east along ten 
miles of fence. This corner was about a mile east of where our County Commissioner, 
Ben Henderson, now lives.
     I have seen some bad spring storms but this was the worst one and caused more 
loss than any I ever saw. It reached from the North Dakota line to the Nebraska line, 
causing heavy loss all the way across the state."
     Of that May storm Mable Ross told this:
     "Holcomb was the owner of the H O brand out of Rapid City.
     In the 1905 storm, one of Holcomb's range bred stallions kept his herd of mares alive 
by forcing them to run from shelter and then back again to keep from freezing.
     By contrast, an Iowa bred stallion, kept his larger herd of mares in a sheltered spot 
during the storm, where they huddled and died, as they could not endure the frigid 
weather."

     Bill Pogany sent this final story:
     "The fall of 1931 had been nice, business was good with coal selling for $2.00 a ton 
loaded. About the middle of November after finishing lunch, we had loaded a four ton 
load, when the driver, Herman Boeding, noted that the clouds in the west were 
threatening and advised us to leave the mine and get to town. We picked up the tools, 
pumped out the water that had seeped in during the day, fed the horses, and walked up 
to the scalehouse, banked the fire in the large cookstove we used for heating. As we got 
into the Ford it started to snow, we headed north for about '/4 of a mile when the blizzard 
hit in all it's fury. We turned the car around and headed back to the scalehouse where 
we spent the next two days with only one banana for food. We slept with our feet on the 
oven door, each of us taking turns to keep the fire going. An insulated building? No. Just 
sheeting boards on the outside.
     Saturday as the blizzard let up, we prepared to walk to town, when my sister Carrie 
came walking in with a basket of food. She had ridden out with Floyd Beebe, the 
mailman, who had built himself a Snowbird, a Model T equipped with tracks and skis. 
We hired Hand Bachman to plow out the road, he pulled a V-shaped seven foot plow 
made of bridge planks and grader blades, pulled by four large horses. ''

[photo – Ziebach County has a variety of weather – even an occasional flood. This was 
taken of the "Iron Bridge" just north of Highway 212 at Dupree before 1920]

EPIDEMICS
     Smallpox, measles, diptheria and scarlet fever have all taken their toll of lives in 
Ziebach County. The world wide influenza epidemic of 1918-1919 was, perhaps, the 
most dramatic. The symptoms came on quickly and often whole families were afflicted at 
the same time.
     While figures are not available, it is quite certain that the influenza virus claimed more 
Ziebach County lives than did the battlefields of World War I.
     Three accounts of epidemics are told:
     In 1901, Black Smallpox, broke out in the western part of Meade County. Pete 
Culbertson, who owned a horse ranch there, had some young Indian men working for 
him, and they contracted the disease. They were told to stay at the ranch; however, they 
came back into the reservation and started an epidemic among the Indian people. The 
Indian police on the reservation had the responsibility of burning the households, in an 
effort to control the epidemic. The Black Smallpox is highly contagious, and when an 
Indian family was infected, it always resulted in death.
     In 1971 Sarah Buffalo had this to say:
     "During the influenza epidemic, I had two girls then and they both have it but I kept 
them and I watched them without the doctor's help. Headaches and fever -- high fever, 
but I pulled them through.
     The doctors gave them castor oil and camphor oil and cough syrups like that.
     Here in Bridger, there wasn't much cases at all. But along Cherry Creek, there was a 
lot of cases where they lost two or three children at a time. There was one family where 
they had three children die close together."
(From South Dakota Oral History Center, Vermillion. S.D.; A.I.R.P)  
     Again in 1971 Oscar White Weasel recalled:
     "During the smallpox, my father was an Indian policeman at that time, too. A lot of 
people died. He don't come into our house. He stopped quite a ways away and he wants 
his clothes. He stopped while Mom took them quite a ways and set them out there and 
he goes out there and pick them up.
     And then we want to feed him or anything, we took the plate over there and feed him 
and they just left the plates. They don't bring them back."
(From the Oral History Center, Vermillion, S.D.)

Chapter 14   FEATURES

Deserted House

This house was once a happy place,
	A home with a clean and shining face,
Curtained windows gleaming bright,
	My tidy yard a pleasant sight.

Once I knew laughter within my walls,
	Whispered words and shouted calls,
Of children's voices at their play,
	And warmth and love and songs each day.

Then a happy housewife kept me neat,
	Bustling, alive with busy feet,
Neighbors called, a welcome sight,
	To spend an hour, or the night.

All that is past. No more, no more,
	Do friends come knocking at my door.
My people left, and so did they;
	There's no one here, all gone away!

Plain bad luck drove some out,
	Others left because of drought,
Some were filled with lonely fears;
Now their silent houses shed no tears.

We seem to know our time is gone,
	As day to dusty day moves on;
And now our empty window eyes
	Stare vacantly at distant skies.

			-Eva Henderson Miller

JACK REICH, ARTIST 
from Rapid City Journal 9-27-81

[photo – 'If you have a talent…it will come out' – Jack Reich]

[illustration – A restful ranch country scene in oil by Reich]

     There could be no mistake -- it was an artist's home studio. There was the canvas 
board on the podium-like table with 24 jars of glistening oil paint tucked into a table-high 
stand made of stacked wooden pop cases -- all within easy reach.
     Brushes of all sizes and lengths were stuffed into two red two-pound coffee cans on 
the nearby bookcase. Range animal skulls were stashed on another table, ready for 
prop use.
     Outside the two large studio windows, the northwest South Dakota rolling grasslands 
stretched to a horizon thinly dotted with clumps of trees huddled around a splash of 
water -- survivors in this land, just like the people. It's a land for the strong.
     Isabel artist, Jack Reich is of this land, and proof that where physical strength fails, 
the strength of the spirit prevails.
     Reich was a breech baby, born with limited use of his arms and no grip in his hands. 
Raised on a ranch near Dupree, Reich attended school there and graduated from South 
Dakota State University in Brookings. Learning how to improvise at an early age, he 
developed his own skills as a rifleman and trapper. Additionally, he is a collector of 
stamps, coins and artifacts, an avid reader, a philosopher and an interesting 
conversationalist. He is Isabel's mayor, motel owner, married and the father of two 
daughters.
     But above all Reich is an artist. His college degree was in art. Although he was 
drawing with pencils as early as first grade, his first oil painting came after he received a 
set of oil paints at a school Christmas gift exchange when he was a high school 
freshman at Dupree. He sold his first painting for $2 two years later.
     "I painted myself through college", Reich said. "All my expenses, aside from tuition, 
fees and partial room and board came from selling paintings at $15 to $30 apiece.
     Though he paints in an unusual manner by holding his brush between his teeth -- he 
says his method is not the special part of his art.
     "Mouth painting is easy. I don't have to worry about a shaking hand or arm. It's very 
steady. The brush work isn't the difficult part of painting anyway. The work comes in 
learning techniques and design".
     Most of Reich's paintings are detailed Western scenes full of horses, cowboys and 
Indians -- the things he knows. Each painting averages about 15 days of work. "That's 
not your regular nine to five day, though," he said. "I work all day through and usually up 
to midnight when I'm painting. My wife will call me for dinner and that's all."
     Reich paints one area at a time, completes it, then moves on to another section.
     "I may erase and change my pencil drawings several times in laying out a painting, 
but once I've decided on a particular composition, I don't change it. That used to drive 
my teachers wild."
     Reich plans the design and layout for his paintings but comes up with the general 
idea and composition without even thinking about it. "The play of colors just flows. All 
college does is sharpen the ability that's already there."
     "I was born on a ranch and that's what I look like and think like. I know what a horse 
feels like, looks like and smells like. I know they have good days and bad. And that's 
what I paint."
     Reich and his art work are well known among his friends. One friend found a 
Reader's Digest article about Foot and Mouth Painters Worldwide. A local photographer 
took slides of his paintings which were sent to the association headquarters in 
Lichtenstein.
     After a year of waiting, Reich became a stipendiary (an apprentice) member of the 
Foot and Mouth Painters Worldwide last March. For him this means producing a painting 
every five or six weeks and crating it and shipping it to association headquarters. If 
judged acceptable, the painting is reproduced for a world buyer's preview catalog. He 
will be accepted as a full member if the response to his work is good and his paintings 
are considered saleable.
     The apprentice process takes from three to five years, Reich said, during which time 
the reproduced paintings come out in calendars and cards. All rights are assigned to the 
association. After the reproduction process, the paintings tour galleries around the world 
and may or may not be sold. If they aren't, the paintings eventually are returned to the 
artist.
     Dealing with an international association has its complications. Area residents are 
unable to translate the association letters written in German. Important apprentice 
program information was translated finally by a German traveler who just happened to 
stay at the Reich-owned Fay and Jay Motel. A group of traveling German doctors came 
through and translated subsequent communications. The checks for accepted paintings 
come in French francs.
     "The way an artist paints isn't important. The finished product is. Paintings should 
stand on their own merit. The grocer doesn't care how you get the money as long as you 
have it to pay the bill. It's the same way with painting -- how you get the result isn't 
important. I want my paintings to stand on their own without regard to how I do them."
     "I believe that if any person who is handicapped, severely or not, is tough enough, 
mean enough, and bull-headed enough to try and keep trying, he can succeed."

THE DUNN HOUSE 
written by Faye Longbrake

     The spring of 1978 saw my 68 year old shingles removed, my solid wooden beams 
taken down and my plaster pounded off in heaps on the upstairs hardwood floor, until 
the top floor was removed. As the top floor rooms fell so was my gracious, divided 
stairway and banister toppled. Down on the ground floor the plaster heaps were cleared 
away and then the beautiful floor and six inch high wallboards were removed. The 
wainscoating in my kitchen was torn away, and my heavy elaborate oval windowed front 
door was taken off its hinges. (People kept stopping in wanting to know if my door would 
be for sale. This door with the lovely oval window was quite special to a little boy of eight 
years who used to peek through it to watch for his grandfather to return home in the 
afternoon to play cards with him.) Finally all my interior parts were removed and it wasn't 
long until the entire frame buckled and a dozer came in the yard to remove the debris.
     Ah yes, I had come to the time of outliving my usefulness and in the name of 
progress I was asked to move on. But memories of my first owner who planned me with 
tender care in building are still vivid. Michael Dunn had me built around 1910 as his 
home in Dupree where he was co-owner of the bank in Ziebach County. His family of 
four daughters and one son were all grown by then but his five grandchildren came to 
visit him. His eldest grandson was Sydney Nordvold who, when visiting Dupree, used to 
play with the little Judson walk downtown and stop at Jimmy Crorkin's blacksmith shop 
located on the next block. He would turn the bellows for the smithy who would usually 
give him a dime, then venture a little further on to the store where he could get a whole 
bag of horehound drops for ten cents.
     Mr. Dunn sold me in 1919 when he moved to Ft. Pierre where he had other business 
interests and because his health was failing. Then Wilbur Scott became my owner for 
many years and later on the Larson family. Since then I have had several owners and 
many inhabitants. Mr. and Mrs. John Oster were my owners and occupants from 1955 
until they sold me to the Latter Day Saints Church. I still had the latticework on my front 
porch in 1978 and I was well taken care of through the years.
     Eddy Rhae Washburn is the person who disassembled the Dunn House in 1978. His 
agreement with the Latter Day Saints Church was that he could have the lumber and 
parts if he would remove the house from the acreage they now own to make way for a 
new Mormon chapel. Eddy said the boards in the house were well preserved and had no 
knotholes in them. The door mentioned in the above story was sold to Adolph Silverman 
for the price of $100.

[photo – Dunn House]

[photo – Dunn House as it is being torn down]

"THE WEST ON WINGS"  
by Mary Pidcock Maynard
     The train was a slow freight, the only train to go to the little town of LeBeau on the 
Missouri River. We traveled all day that day and all night on that awful train. About four 
in the afternoon we stopped to take water at the water tank outside of LeBeau. The town 
was made up of a post office, a general store, a hardware store, a feed store, livery 
barn, saloon, a bank and the depot. Quite a few of the people lived in tents, and were 
waiting for a party to go on to our destination, Dupree, South Dakota.
     We were camped by the Alonzo G. Davis's, bound for Dupree, and the McDaniels, 
who went to Lantry. (Minnie Geesey, a sister writes, "We were invited to a little church 
one Sunday eve and it was the first time I saw Mrs. Creamer. She played the musical 
instrument, wore a light blue silk dress and I thought she was the prettiest person I'd 
ever seen. Dr. Creamer passed the collection tray and Mrs. Harry Keller sang.") There 
weren't any houses, just a few shacks and empty box cars. We stayed in LeBeau for ten 
days and about four o'clock on May 7th, we loaded our wagons in preparation for the 
journey to our new home on the prairie. Daddy had bought a cow and a calf from Harry 
Keller, so we could have milk on the way to our homestead. He loaded one wagon, 
putting the cook stove near the rear and left room for the calf to stand. The cow was tied 
to the back of the wagon, for in that way, she would lead without any trouble. He put a 
mattress on springs for us kids to ride on. Daddy drove one wagon and Mike Line drove 
the other wagon. We got to the ferry crossing at four o'clock and drove the wagon onto 
the ferry. There were several Indian wagons and quite a few cattle on the ferry. We were 
soon across the old Missouri and headed for the wide open spaces, the great western 
prairie.
     That second day passed much like the other and at nightfall, we camped on what the 
Indians called Goose Creek, about where the town of La Plant now stands. After supper 
that night, Daddy remarked, "By this time tomorrow, we should be on our land." The next 
day, at noon, we camped on Bear Creek. We didn't linger long over our dinner but all 
were eager to get on our way.

   I REMEMBER WINTER 
written by John Dunn while a student at St. John's University in the 1950's
     Whenever someone asks me where I come from, and I say 'South Dakota', my 
questioner immediately gives me a supercilious smile and exclaims with vague 
contempt, "Oh, that's where they have all those Indians and prairies". 
     It is true that the western part of the state is, up to the Black Hills, purely prairie. It is 
equally true that South Dakota ranks third or fourth among the states in regard to Indian 
population.
     These two factors, however, are unique advantages, which, combined with the 
beautiful Black Hills, make our fair state the crown jewel of the Midwest.
     My grandparent's farm, where I spent the early years of my life, was located about 
twelve miles from the small town of Dupree. During the summer time we went to town 
once or twice a week, but during the winter there were weeks at a time when we were 
completely snowed in. And yet my fondest memories are of those winter months when 
our nearest neighbor might just as well have lived fifty miles away.
     I can still feel the warmth of the fire in the big wood range and smell the fragrant 
aroma of baking bread, as it wafted gently through the sturdy house which stood there 
alone in the bleakness and desolation of late fall on the prairies.
     And I remember the first snowfall and how beautiful it was in such a setting of 
seemingly limitless space. There were no hills or trees or buildings to modify the effect of 
the snow, and it seemed as if it were an integral part of the atmosphere, not something 
falling from the unseen clouds. Sometimes it came down in the daytime, but more often 
it fell quietly in the night, and when we awoke in the morning the entire earth was white 
with it. If the sun was shining, the snow glittered and sparkled, and we lived in a crystal 
world under a burning sky of steel-blue and fire-gold.
     I can remember how good it seemed to come stomping into the warmth and 
brightness of the kitchen and stand dripping by the fire, leaving numerous puddles of 
water on our grandmother's immaculate kitchen floor. She would scold us gently and 
mop up the melted snow.
     By the time supper was ready, it would be dark enough to light the kerosene lamps, 
and we would eat in their soft, yellow glow.
     After the supper dishes were done, we would all gather in the front room, sitting in a 
semicircle around the single large register, through which the rumbly furnace in the cellar 
sent up its friendly waves of heat. Our hired man, known simply to us kids as Old Henry, 
would frequently tell us ghost stories. If the night were wild, the wind shrieking outside 
the house on those lonely prairies was like a damned soul that wished to enter into the 
warmth and light but was eternally doomed to go racing and whirling into the darkness 
and void of the night.
     I can remember how the dim, flickering light of those old kerosene lamps would cast 
huge, shapeless shadows on the walls, and how it softened and dignified the faces of 
those whom we loved most in our little world. To us then there was no South Dakota, no 
America, no vast sphere hurtling eternally through space. There was only prairie and 
home and love. There was only the simple, priceless happiness of childhood on a farm.
     Probably the most famous (or, perhaps, infamous) feature of the prairies of South 
Dakota is their blizzards. I can remember my grandfather saying, with the glum certainty 
of the Dakota homesteader, "We'll have a blizzard before morning."
     Often we would wake up late in the night to feel the house shake, as it stood there on 
the prairie, lonely and proud, facing the onslaughts of the blizzard with the same sturdy 
resolve that had characterized its pioneer builder. The bed always felt very good to us as 
we lay there snug and safe, listening to the moan and howl of the wind and snow as it 
swept unhindered across two hundred miles of Dakota prairie.
     Thus do I remember winter on the prairies of South Dakota. Nature gave no truce and 
man asked for none. Many would say that such a life would be unbearable, living from 
year to year with only the hope that next year would be better. For you see, I lived on 
that Dakota farm in the days when dust was piled knee-high by the fences in the 
summertime and the sagebrush and the Russian thistles were the only things that 
flourished. If there were no drought, the grasshoppers would darken the noonday sun as 
their hordes descended to devour the crops and gardens.
     Maybe that is why I remember winter. It was a time of looking forward to a clean, 
green spring which never really came, to a golden autumn harvest which never actually 
materialized.
     Perhaps it was madness to live there in those dark years when nature joined forces 
with depression to crush the farmer into the earth. Yet it was the same madness that had 
carved the soul and heart of a nation out of the wind-battered, blizzard-swept prairies of 
the Midwest.
(The grandparents were John and Mary Burke and the farm the homestead in Ziebach 
County.)
(John Dunn is presently Director of English at the South Dakota School of Mines and 
Technology in Rapid City, South Dakota).

FIRST LADY DOLLS

[photo – Lucile Silverman and her First Lady Dolls]

     Careful copies of gowns worn by all the nation's first ladies from Martha Washington 
to Nancy Reagan are featured in the unusual doll collection of Mrs. Adolph Silverman of 
Dupree, South Dakota. She has shown the collection, which she has insured for 
$10,000.00, at club meetings in South Dakota, North Dakota, and Nebraska as well as at 
a Chicago, Illinois department store and traveled with the Portland, Oregon Home Show 
from coast to coast. The collection was also shown on the national television show "To 
Tell The Truth".
     Although she has collected dolls for several years, Mrs. Silverman didn't get the idea 
of dressing them to represent First Ladies until 1962, when she saw a similar display of 
dolls representing wives of South Dakota governors. The display was a project of 
Republican women of the state.
     Once she made up her mind, she decided to do the job right by copying the authentic 
originals of White House hostesses' gowns on display at the Smithsonian Institution in 
Washington, D.C. The exhibition there is made up of life-size wax figures that wear 
gowns donated by First Ladies themselves or by relatives. First Ladies in several cases 
were not president's wives but, instead, close relatives -- usually daughters, nieces, 
daughters-in-law or sisters -- who served as hostesses when wives were ill or had died. 
There are 40 dresses in the collection, since some presidents, such as Woodrow Wilson, 
had more than one First Lady.
     From the Smithsonian Mrs. Silverman obtained colored slides of the original dresses 
and also literature about them. Especially helpful was the Smithsonian-published book, " 
The Dresses of the First Ladies of the White House'', by Margaret W. Brown, which 
reproduces the gowns in color and gives background about them.
     Mrs. Silverman chose 18-inch dolls for her project and set about finding materials like 
those used in the originals. This wasn't easy. A Minneapolis fabric firm, the Amluxen 
Company, found many pieces of material for her no longer on the market and gave her 
information on cloths now called by other names. Sometimes Mrs. Silverman located 
cloth she needed right at home. She found the plaid material for the Petty Taylor 
Dandridge gown, for instance, on an old formal hanging in her own closet.
     Mrs. Silverman's painstaking gown production process consisted first of making a 
pattern for each dress in plain muslin before cutting into the often precious bits of 
material. In each instance, she insisted upon being accurate to the tiniest details of 
embroidery and beads.
     Mrs. Silverman said her favorite doll among the 40 is the one representing Harriet 
Lane Johnson, who was the niece and ward of the bachelor president, James 
Buchanan. She wears a white moire taffeta wedding gown. Julia Tyler's gown took the 
longest to make.
     Authenticity extends to hair styles as well as gowns. Here Mrs. Silverman has had the 
help of Mrs. Donald Coleman, a friend in Dupree. Guided by paintings and photographs, 
Mrs. Coleman has formed practically all of the coiffures, mostly from artificial hair pieces.
     Mrs. Silverman stores the dolls in cases in her home. She takes about two hours to 
pack them in special boxes (and another two hours to unpack them) when she makes 
speaking engagements.

MARY EULBERG
     Mary Eulberg, a 1980 Dupree High School graduate, is Ziebach Counties' first female 
certified Flight Instructor and Instrument Flight Instructor. Her interest in flying was 
encouraged by her father, who holds a Commercial Pilots License. She made her first 
solo flight in December 1979 and received her Private Pilots License in December 1980. 
Mary is a student at the University of North Dakota at Grand Forks, majoring in the field 
of Aeronautical Science.
     Pilots seem to run in the Eulberg family. Mary's aunt, Cora Eulberg Dosch, was 
piloting her own plane in 1947.

[photo – Mary Eulberg, 1980]

[photo – Cora Eulberg Dosch, 1949]

JERILYN LeBEAU
     Jerilyn LeBeau of Eagle Butte, South Dakota was crowned Miss Indian America 
XXVII at the Sheridan Wyoming Miss Indian America pageant in 1981. Her reign of one 
year included tours and speaking engagements throughout the United States.
     Jerilyn's early years were spent in Dupree where she attended the first few years of 
school.
     Her mother is the former Maida White Feather. She has a host of relatives in Dupree 
including her proud grandmother, Louise Jones. The late Jim White Feather was her 
grandfather.

[photo – Jerilyn LeBeau, Miss Indian America XXVII]