PIERRE — Historic places—one long vanished and two that have been preserved and rehabilitated—are featured in the Winter 2015 issue of “South Dakota History,” the quarterly journal of the South Dakota State Historical Society.
In “Fort George and the Union Fur Company on the Upper Missouri River,” W. Raymond Wood traces the history of a fur post established in 1842 on the Missouri River, southeast of present-day Fort Pierre. The Union Fur Company operated Fort George for just three years, but remnants of the post survived into the 1880s, and a small community on the Lower Brule Indian Reservation took its name. Wood, professor emeritus of anthropology at the University of Missouri, has spent decades as an archaeologist and historian of the central and northern Great Plains.
In “‘No finer trout-streams in the world than these’: The Making of a Recreational Fishery in the Black Hills Forest Reserve,” John R. Henris details the re-engineering of streams in the Black Hills to form a system that hatched, distributed and protected two million trout annually at its peak. At the center of this “fish culture” was Spearfish, where a federal hatchery was founded in 1899. Today, the facility is known as the D.C. Booth Historic National Fish Hatchery and Archives. Henris is assistant professor of history at the University of Arkansas at Monticello and a graduate of Black Hills State University.
Elizabeth J. Almlie, a historic preservation specialist with the South Dakota State Historical Society, presents a progress report on the rehabilitation of the Mead Building in Yankton. The three-story structure was built in 1909 as the women’s unit of the State Hospital for the Insane and sat unused for nearly three decades. Thanks to the efforts of the Yankton County Historical Society and others, the Neo-Renaissance-style structure will soon house a museum and archives.
Frances (“Peg”) Lamont of Aberdeen, a leader in historic preservation both locally and nationally, is highlighted in the “Dakota Images” biographical sketch that is a feature of each issue of “South Dakota History.”
“South Dakota History” is a benefit of membership in the South Dakota State Historical Society. For information on membership, call (605) 773-6000. Individual issues may be purchased for $10 plus tax and shipping by calling (605) 773-6009.

I knew that my Christmas this year would be a totally different experience without my own home surroundings, but the thing I dreaded most was the thought that I wouldn’t have a tree to put up. Even though I am notorious for “swearing like a sailor” when the lights don’t work, I so enjoy the tree lit up in the evening while reading or watching television. I didn’t need to worry. I came home after work one day to discover no Gay in the kitchen. Kent informed me she had been in the basement all day decorating. Kent said, “I forgot to tell her I sublet the basement to you.” Gay has a total of six trees she decorated and one with tiny wine glasses for me.
Son Cole made it home for the holidays. He always tops off the conversation with wise a _ _ remarks. Kent put on his new glasses and asked Cole if they made him look distinguished. Cole’s reply, “I was thinking more of the word ‘crusty’.” Georgia hugged Cole and said she had missed him on Facebook. Cole said one word, “Creeper.” I gave him a big hug and he commented, “That was awkward.” (Even I knew better than to kiss him on the cheek.)
The Christmas Eve attendance at the Swenson household was taken up a couple of notches from Thanksgiving—head count was closer to 55 people. Gay and Kent solved the seating dilemma by opening up garage space and setting tables in there, too. We all think that, since more babies are on the way, next year they should look into hiring a maitre d’ and waiters.
Music is always one of the best things to get me into the holiday spirit (and I’m not talking “Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer”.) I always regretted that I only made it to Midnight Mass at the Catholic Church one time years ago ‘cuz it was so late for me. Gay told me that they now had it at 10 p.m., so I set a goal to attend this year. I was faltering at Georgia and Terry’s house around nine o’clock, so Jody urged me to have coffee (our Asti Spumante days are over) and we drove around and viewed the Christmas lights. I was so pleased with myself as I settled into the pew but was soon left wondering what had happened to all the traditional music. Gay neglected to inform me that they did the music at 9:30 p.m., so I got sermon time. Karma had a laugh, on me.
New Year’s Eve loomed up quickly and I decided I would round up my gang and go out for a meal at Twin Lakes. The older we all get, the easier it is to succumb to the lure of a recliner, but, once I get out, I’m glad for a chance to socialize.
Sleep eluded me on New Year’s Day, so at 5 a.m., I drove off in the mini-van and headed for Sioux Falls. What better time to surprise Janet and Pam at breakfast at the Pancake House. Surprised, they were! We chatted with mutual friends for over two hours until the foyer was so packed with customers, I felt guilty for holding up a table.
Saturday found me once again on the road with Anastasia Beaverhausen to Aberdeen to watch her grandson play hockey, then down to Huron to watch another grandson play his game. I was glad for wood bleachers because my butt cheeks were like ice as it was. Once again the GPS failed to give us proper directions to the arena by directing us down a private driveway and through a pasture. We did squeeze in some shopping, and I was so looking for a tablecloth ‘cuz it appears there is a shortage of them in some households. (There is a story behind this if you ask me in person.)
Sunday, I decided to make my first pound cake after experiencing a delicious one that Julie Amadon had made. (I think it actually weighed five pounds—it called for three sticks of butter!) If you ever have a scavenger hunt, put a Bundt pan on your list of things to find! After three stops, I scored one at George and Julie Bebout’s house. I entered the porch and discovered a collection of metal tridents (fish spears). I asked George if he thought he was fricking Poseidon. It took a long time for Julie to open the door, and I asked her if I had interrupted something. She replied, “Breakfast.” Yet, George didn’t have a shirt on and I spied a bare leg under his blanket on the couch. Hmmm?
Gay and Kent were in the Hills all week, so just to prove I can still be rebellious, I didn’t make my bed one morning.
2016 Here We Come
Dee Baby

When teenage hormones and a failure to exercise common sense begin to bubble and boil, who knows what the future holds? My mother never knew what was going on, the superintendent didn’t know, neither did the one other staff member, Mrs. Genevieve Dent, nor the majority of the other students. I don’t recall that my fellow classmate and sister, Ramona, said anything.
High school began quietly and without fanfare the fall of 1944. America was in the third year of combat in World War II. Eligible young men were being drafted or were enlisting to join an eventual total of 12 million men and women in uniform fighting Japan and Germany on opposite sides of the globe. National loyalty was high. Newspapers reported that 16-year-old males quit high school, lying about their ages to join a branch of service. Mustached Hitler and slant-eyed Japs were equally despised and worthy of every effort to defeat them.
On Dec. 7, 1941, when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, I was 12. Nine months later, I was 13 and a whiskerless freshman in Forestburg High School. I had not yet been deemed cannon fodder by the military. In the sheltered confines of FHS, two superintendents in my first two years brought me to August of 1944. Fred Shaw, father of popular dance band director Don Shaw, lasted a few months. Too old for the game, he was a warm body in the superintendent’s chair until a car accident finished his career.  He was replaced by a college girl, who took over his two or three math classes. She might have acted as superintendent.
While it was musical chairs in the office, something else was happening in the commercial room. This occurrence began at the first of the 1944 school year, but was actually less a thing than a person. The most shivering aspect was that she was to be the commercial teacher, and I had signed up to take typing! Did wonders ever cease? There she stood in un-assumed regal splendor beside the library desktop while Mr. Shaw made first-day announcements. Had I been a callow 13 or 14-year-old freshman, I’d likely have looked once, yawned and dug out a rubber band to test for later use. However, I was a 15-year-old junior, now an upper classman, becoming a man of the world and quite aware that the female gender was less the nuisance, which it had been at other times.
What was obvious right then was that she was a dark brown-haired, distractingly pretty, five-foot, seven-inch parcel of—I think we called it—WOW! What was not obvious then was that she was daughter of the owner of the Howard Hardware Store and had two younger brothers, Elmer and Donald. What was to become obvious later was that she was a recent graduate of Sioux Falls Nettleton Business College with an emphasis in commercial subjects. What became obvious on a regular basis was that she was likeable, friendly, capable, knew her subject matter and, best of all, seemed to tolerate young hounds only six or seven years younger than her 22 years. And her name was Marian Koehn (Kane).
To be prolonged…