Pipestone NM: Administrative History

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Pipestone

Administrative History

MANAGING THE SACRED

AND THE SECULAR:

An Administrative History

Of Pipestone National

Monument

by

Hal K. Rothman

Daniel J. Holder, Research Associate

Final History

September 10, 1992

National Park Service

Midwest Region

MWR-1-0015-002

Hal K. Rothman and Associates

2809 Barrel Cactus Henderson, NV 89014

(702) 896-6475 (702) 739-1012

TABLE OF CONTENTS

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Pipestone NM: Administrative History (Table of Contents)

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Pipestone

Administrative History

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Cover

Executive Summary

Chapter I: The Coteau Setting

Chapter II: Clearing Federal Title 1858-1928

Chapter III: Founding Pipestone National Monument

Chapter IV: "This National Park Service Outpost" 1938-1956

Chapter V: MISSION 66 and the Modern Era

Chapter VI: "An Indian-Oriented Park:" Native Americans and the Monument

Chapter VII: Cultural and Natural Resources Management

Chapter VIII: The Park and Its Neighbors: The Hiawatha Club

Chapter IX: Threats to the Park

Endnotes

Bibliographic Essay

Appendix A: Important Events in the History of Pipestone National Monument

Appendix B: Custodians and Superintendents and Their Tenure

Appendix C: Visitation (1948-1991)

Please note: This report is a NPS publication, which is normally considered to

be in the public domain. However, this report may contain illustrations that are

copies of materials NOT in the public domain, for which one-time reprint

permission was obtained prior to publication. Persons wishing to use these

illustrations of non-NPS origin for any purpose beyond educational perusal must

obtain their own permissions from the owners of the original materials.

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pipe/adhi/adhit.htm

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Pipestone NM: Administrative History

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Pipestone

Administrative History

MANAGING THE SACRED

AND THE SECULAR:

An Administrative History

Of Pipestone National

Monument

by

Hal K. Rothman

Daniel J. Holder, Research Associate

Final History

September 10, 1992

National Park Service

Midwest Region

MWR-1-0015-002

Hal K. Rothman and Associates

2809 Barrel Cactus Henderson, NV 89014

(702) 896-6475 (702) 739-1012

TABLE OF CONTENTS

pipe/adhi/adhi.htm

Last Updated: 21-Aug-2004
Pipestone NM: Administrative History (Executive Summary )

http://www.nps.gov/history/history/online_books/pipe/adhi0.htm[8/30/2013 2:35:47 PM]

Pipestone

Administrative History

EXECUTIVE SUMMARY

Located in southwestern Minnesota, Pipestone National Monument is anomalous among

national park areas. Containing the famed pipestone quarries of Longfellow's "The Song of

Hiawatha," Pipestone National Monument is one of the few places in the United States that

has deep spiritual meaning to more than one culture. Native Americans revere the site for the

soft stone found there, while Euro-Americans have cast the quarries within the bounds of

their romantic consciousness of a lost natural and cultural history of the continent. Decisions

made about the administration of the quarries expand out from Pipestone in overlapping

series of concentric rings. Since the establishment of the monument, administration has

required tact, sensitivity, and creativity.

As did much other American Indian land, the pipestone quarries passed to the federal

government as a result of treaties. After 1858, the only area of Minnesota to which the

Yankton Sioux or Lakota people retained any claim was the 640-acre reservation that

included the quarries. In 1928, after more than 30 years of legal maneuvering over the nature

of that right, the Yankton received a monetary settlement. The quarry passed to the

undisputed control of the federal government.

With clear title, efforts to utilize the quarries for other purposes proceeded. In 1932, a group

of local citizens, led by a local woman named Winifred Bartlett, began to push for a national

park area. Five years later, Pipestone National Monument was established, one of the first

national monuments proclaimed by legislative action rather than executive fiat.

The National Park Service faced typical problems at Pipestone. Initially, there was no budget

for management and upkeep and only a volunteer to watch the monument. After the Second

World War, a permanent superintendent came to the monument. Despite the commitment of

personnel resources, the monument required much more before it achieved the standards the

National Park Service established for its units.

The arrival of the first full-time employee in 1948 was the beginning of a 24-year period of

growth and expansion at Pipestone. MISSION 66, the largest capital development program in

history of the park system, built the physical plant at the monument. A new visitor center was

the highlight of the program, which included housing, facilities, and a physical plant. In the

late 1960s, another development began. Directed toward creating a climate of inclusion, a

cultural center was constructed. Called the Upper Midwest American Indian Cultural Craft

Center, the structure created an environment in which American Indians could practice their

craftmaking skills and display their work.

The construction of the center was the last large capital project at Pipestone. Since the 1970s,

issues such as relations with Native Americans, cultural and natural resources management,

the annual Hiawatha Club pageant, and threat to the park have dominated planning at

Pipestone. As elsewhere in the park system, Pipestone has been hampered by the changing

emphases of park policy, usually dictated from outside the agency, as well as a growing

dearth of resources to support programs. With an important piece of the cultural heritage of

the continent and the concomitant natural resources management issues, the monument had a
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complicated and sometimes expensive mission to fulfill. With the resources at the disposal of

park administrators, attaining such goals will require foresight, planning, and careful

management.

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Pipestone NM: Administrative History (Chapter 1)

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Pipestone

Administrative History

CHAPTER I:

THE COTEAU SETTING

The roads of southwestern Minnesota wind their way through endless acres of cultivated

fields. This land, once covered with a range of native grasses, has yielded to the insistent

technology of the twentieth century. It seems tamed, a part of the ordered world Americans

have made. Yet this land has been different, less subservient, only marginally harnessed for

humanity. Its historic name, the Couteau des Prairies, the Highland of the Prairies, reflected a

different, more unruly past. Given by some unnamed "coureur de bois"—the term French

officials used for the traders who illegally went west—the name hints at the many cultures

and peoples who have interacted in this place. Today, amid the ordered fields of crops and

the grazing animals, this historic name seems anachronistic, a relic of a time gone by. Only in

a very few places does any remnant of the prehistoric and historic coteau setting persist.

Pipestone National Monument is one of the most important of those places. Its 282 acres are

mostly prairie, managed to recreate as much of an historic vista as possible. Its grasses

resemble more the tallgrass prairies of historic time than the lands around them, and its

cultural significance adds a measure of history to an environment transformed by human

action. The quarries there hold one of the largest and most important deposits of Catlinite,

the soft red stone used to make the famed calumet—peace pipe—of legend. Native

Americans from many tribes come to the monument to quarry the stone. They are mandated

by National Park Service regulations to use only historic kinds of tools and methods. The

presence of American Indians lends authenticity to the park, adding a dimension that the

mere static quarries could not alone provide.

The quarries and their prehistoric and historic context are the reason for the existence of the

monument. Before the arrival of Europeans and their descendants in what is now Minnesota,

these unique natural features had tremendous religious and symbolic importance for Native

Americans. The pipes they fashioned from the stone were integral parts of Native American

religion and custom. Across the Upper Midwest, every important ceremony involving Native

Americans utilized pipes, most made from the stone of the quarries. The area acquired

significance as well. Ritual use of the stone from the quarries made the source a place to be

revered. Through art and literature, Europeans and Americans attached their own-meaning to

the place, adding mythological significance to the activities of Native Americans. Like many

such places, the quarries at Pipestone National Monument acquired a meaning that became as

much a reflection of the values of the observer as of any historic reality.

Pipestone National Monument sits astride cultural, geographic, and topographic divisions that

have influenced the way in which the stone from its quarries has been distributed and used.

Geology and natural history created the conditions that formed the layers of the soft rock.

The location of the quarry between different types of physyiographic regions added

complexity to its prehistory and history. In this setting, natural and human factors have

combined to create an area of cultural and natural significance.

The flatiron-shaped plateau that is the Coteau des Prairies stretches across southwestern
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Minnesota into South Dakota, with the land elevated by the remains of an ancient mountain

range. At the eastern edge of the coteau, a series of broad steps descend from the plateau to

the Minnesota River Lowland, a southeastern extension of the basin formed by the Red River

of the North. As a result of almost continuous cover of glacial sediments, exposures of

bedrock are rare in the area. Extensive areas of outcrop are found in the coteau region, with

uptilted ridges of Sioux Quartzite of late Precambrian age underneath. [1]

The Precambrian period encompasses seven-eighths of the history of the earth. It spans time

from the formation of the earth nearly 4.5 billion years ago to the development of

invertebrate life, about 600 million years ago. During this time, volcanic unrest of the crust

of the earth, wind, water, and ice shaped the land. The earth developed a solid crust,

continental seas formed and evaporated, and mountain ranges rose and fell.

Continental seas invaded Minnesota during the Paleozoic era, between 600 million and 225

million years ago, and the subsequent Mesozoic era, ending 65 million years ago. The seas

— laid down what became layer upon layer of sedimentary rock, mostly sandstone, dolomite,

shale, and limestone. Near the end of this era, around 100 million years ago, warm

Cretaceous seas were an integral component of a tropical environment in Minnesota. At the

beginning of the Cenozoic era, about 65 million years ago, mammals first appeared. Some

may have inhabited Minnesota. In the most recent increment of geologic time, the Quaternary

Period, glaciers transformed the landscape of Minnesota, leaving the contours recognizable

today. The massive Laurentide Ice Sheet, centered on Hudson Bay, covered the state four

times. The last great expansion of glacial ice, the Wisconsin glaciation, sculpted the many

lakes of the state. [2]

The many periods of glaciation shaped the topography of the state, leaving rolling hills,

contours, and the distinctive prairies of southwestern Minnesota. Even the distribution of rock

and the depth of soil were influenced by glaciation. When the last glacier to cover the

Pipestone area, the Des Moines lobe, pushed southward about 14,000 years ago, it scraped off

great quantities of rock and soil. Some of these large boulders were left standing on the

glacial plains when the glacier retreated. One example, the Three Maidens at Pipestone

National Monument, is typical. Once it was a large glacial boulder, more than fifty feet in

diameter. At some point, it fractured along natural seams or joints. The three largest pieces

are each about twenty feet long and twelve feet high. They contrast with the landscape

around them. [3]

The Des Moines Lobe, fed by the Laurentide Ice sheet in Canada, had other consequences.

The surface deposits it left were loess, the fine textured silt deposited by wind during the final

period of glaciation and lying over clay-rich till of pre-Wisconsin, or Kansan, age. The

resulting prairie soils became rich and deep, for they developed on these thick deposits of

glacial till. [4]

The vistas of southwestern Minnesota and the Pipestone National Monument area also

resulted from the glacial process. The advance and retreat of glaciers defined the modern

topography of the coteau region. Throughout the area, more than 700 feet of glacial drift, the

loose debris left by advancing and receding glaciers, covers the bedrock. The Sioux Quartzite

underneath is highly resistant to erosion, leaving higher elevations and relatively consistent

topography in the Coteau des Prairies region. The coteau itself towers 500 to 800 feet above

the surrounding plain of till. Its quartzite formation is nearly horizontal, accounting for the

plateau-like characteristics of the region. Many exposed areas of Sioux Quartzite bear the

marks of glacial abrasion, preserved because the rock is so resistant to weathering. [5]

As a result, the southwest corner of Minnesota consists of an elevated, lake-free, gently

rolling landscape, with a surface composed of older drift material that is covered by wind-
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blown silt. The Big Sioux River carries water in a well-developed drainage system, with

channels formed by glacial process. The occasional outcropping of Sioux quartzite is

testimony to the hard rock lying beneath the surface of the coteau region. [6]

The defining feature of the region is the presence of this hard stone. A Precambrian

sandstone, Sioux Quartzite is one of the hardest of the common rocks. It is at or near the

surface south and west of Pipestone National Monument. Extensive exposures are found in

the vicinities of Pipestone, Jasper, and Luverne. A large area along the southwest border of

the state, from west of Lake Benton southward, also shows significant deposits. Sioux

Quartzite is classified as a metamorphic rock formed from sandstone, with silicon dioxide as

a cement, and recrystallized as a result of heat, pressure, and chemical action. [7]

The stone was formed early in geologic time. About 1,600 million years ago, erosion began

to wear down the Penokean Mountains in the Lake Superior region. The weathering of the

gneiss-granite terrace to the south was also under way. This erosion produced quartz sand,

which eventually formed into a 1,500-meter-thick layer of Sioux Quartzite in southwest

Minnesota. [8]

Sioux Quartzite is usually pinkish, but can vary from almost white to a reddish-purple color.

Much of it is probably about one and one half billion years old. Geologists believe it was

formed in shallow water, possibly on the edge of a shallow sea. The presence of the quartzite

around Pipestone National Monument indicates the area was quiet and stable during the

Precambrian period. [9]

The unique natural feature of the monument is the pipestone for which it is named. Pipestone

is an easily carved, clay-rich rock layer found in the Sioux Quartzite. A red mudstone, it is

colored by disseminated hematite. It is a naturally hardened clay, composed largely of

aluminum silicate and iron impurities. Generally pipestone is found in shale-like layers

sixteen to twenty inches thick that are sandwiched between massive layers of Sioux

Quartzite. [10]

Geologists believe that more than one billion years ago, pipestone was a clay material and

quartzite was sand that was deposited at the bottom of a sea. Other sediments buried these

beds deep below the surface of the earth, where heat, pressure, and chemical action and

reaction transformed the sand into quartzite and the clay into pipestone. Later, pressures

beneath the surface caused the beds to fold and uplift. Subsequent erosion wore away

underlying beds, until in some areas the pipestone was exposed. [11]

The region in which this stone predominates lies in the southwestern corner of the state of

Minnesota. While Minnesota straddles the transition zone between the eastern woodlands and

western prairies of North America, southwestern Minnesota is prairie. The major portion of

the region, north of Pipestone County, consisted of slightly contoured or entirely flat sheets

of glacial till, ascending with a very gentle slope from east to west and enclosing shallow

ponds and lakes. Tallgrass prairie covered the southwestern part of the state, where the

common grasses were big bluestem, little bluestem, Indian grass, prairie clover, goldenrod,

and pasque flower. [12]

Pipestone County, in which the monument and the town of Pipestone are located, is different

from the rest of the area. It lies on a dividing line. The till of the Bemis Moraine, material

deposited at the edge of the Des Moines Lobe, separates it from the surrounding area. The

crest of the Coteau des Prairies crosses the northeastern corner of Pipestone County,

producing a rough, irregular topography with elevations reaching 1,900 feet. Hills rise

abruptly, 100 to 150 feet above the valleys, and are often very stony. The coteau crest forms

a divide between the Mississippi and Missouri rivers. Along with Flandreau Creek and Rock
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River, which flow to the southwest, Pipestone and Split creeks drain the western half of the

county. [13]

Most of the upland surfaces in Pipestone County remain covered with glacial sediment

deposited by several different drift sheets. The sediment varies greatly in thickness. A line

drawn diagonally from the northwestern corner of the county to its southeastern corner

roughly forms the boundary between the thick and thin deposits. Drifts reaching 700 feet in

depth are found northeast of this line. Southwest of the line, such drifts are thin or entirely

absent. [14]

This drift covers the Sioux Quartzite. The quartzite forms a low, west-facing escarpment

north of the city of Pipestone, over which Pipestone Creek leaps in a small cataract. At this

location, the stone for which the monument is named is found near the surface. Easy access

to this stone gave the area a practical and ceremonial significance.

Human beings utilized the soft pipestone they found on the prairies of what became

southwestern Minnesota. Archeological surveys reveal that beginning about 1000 B. C. and

ending around A. D. 700, artifacts made from pipestone found in the quarries of southwestern

Minnesota were traded as far east as modern Ohio, as far south as the Kansas River, and as

far west as north central South Dakota. Studies in the Ohio area suggest evidence of the

greatest concentration of the stone, with a number of sites clustered along the Oletangy River.

During this time, few Indians lived on the Great Plains, offering an explanation for the scant

presence of local pipestone in the region. Until after the arrival of Europeans in the New

World, Native American permanent presence was limited to a few scattered agricultural

villages, such as those of the Mandan, Pawnee, Caddoe, and Wichita, in the various river

drainages of the plains. [15]

More intensive quarrying began around A. D. 700 and certainly before 1200. There appears

to have been easy access to the sacred stone for many different groups. As a result, the pipes

were traded or carried widely across the North American continent. Examples of stone from

what is now Pipestone National Monument have been found in Anasazi and Hohokam sites

in the Southwest, in villages located along the Arkansas River, up and down the Missouri

River, throughout western Iowa, and as far east as the Ohio River area. The extent of the

distribution suggests that more than one group of Native Americans traded raw quarried

pipestone or artifacts made from it.

The horse revolutionized the lifestyles of the Native American tribes that surrounded the

Great Plains. Introduced by A. D. 1500, horses spread widely as a result of Spanish presence,

infiltrating the plains from all directions. Through trade and theft, Indians acquired horses,

also utilizing the feral animals that roamed the plains. Horse culture gave Indians a measure

of mobility that they previously lacked and allowed the transformation of the economy of

some tribes from agriculture to hunting.

A number of Siouian-speaking peoples were among the Indians who used the horse to make

the plains their home. Before the horse, few Native Americans lived on the prairies. Most of

these people lived in river drainages. But the mobility that horses provided brought tribes

from the surrounding area on to the plains. By the early 1600s, Otoes, Omahas, Iowas, and

other groups were among them. These Indians quarried pipestone material. Valued for ritual

and religious purposes, the stone was an integral part of Native American ceremonial

practice.

Before the coming of the Sioux at the beginning of the eighteenth century, Minnesota

pipestone was common in southern Arizona, along the Ohio River in northern Kentucky, and

along the upper Missouri River. It had become a trade item among the Indians who lived in
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the Midwest or traveled across it.

Sioux expansion westward from the Great Lakes, beginning in the mid-seventeenth century

and continuing in the eighteenth century, had an impact on the distribution of pipestone. One

indirect result of the Iroquois-Algonquin wars, which pushed Algonquin people from the

East Coast to the Great Lakes region, was the movement of the Sioux peoples into Minnesota

and further on to the plains. They were crowded by newcomers from the east and faced

greater competition for the economic resources of the Great Lakes. Their motivation was

economic in character: they valued the abundant beaver for trade purposes and the American

Bison as a ready food supply. The increase in Indian refugees made westward movement the

best alternative for some branches of the Sioux. With armed Ojibways and Crees to their east

and north and lacking both firearms and the horse, the Sioux pushed westward towards the

Missouri River. [16]

This squeezed the Oto, Omaha, Iowa, and other plains peoples who faced the aggressive

expansionist Sioux. The various branches of the Sioux found the beaver trade lucrative. With

the acquisition of firearms from the French, they became a formidable opponent for other

Native Americans. By the late seventeenth or early eighteenth century, Sioux peoples had

control of the area east of the Missouri River. While they acquired their first horses as early

as 1707, it took longer to integrate the animals into their way of life. By the 1750s, the horse

had become an important part of Sioux culture, setting the stage for later expansions

westward. [17] The Oglala branch migrated westward, while the Yankton Sioux established

control of the coteau quarries from which the pipestone came.

The western Sioux, of which the Yankton were one branch, developed an economy that

existed in uneasy balance with the limits of their physical environment. As long as they could

control access to the natural resources of what they considered their domain, life was

plentiful. During the summer, they followed the buffalo and in the winters they trapped

beaver. In the spring, they traveled to trade fairs. The geographic location of different Sioux

groups was reflected in the nature of their economy. Groups adapted to the available

resources. The Yanktons in what is now Minnesota valued beaver ahead of buffalo, while the

more western branches became buffalo hunters to the near exclusion of beaver trapping.

Trade fairs allowed the Sioux to function as middlemen between western non-Sioux tribes

and eastern Santee Sioux, who had trade ties to the French to their north and east.

Throughout most of the eighteenth century, the fairs worked successfully for the Yankton and

other branches of the western Sioux. But by the early nineteenth century, the middleman role

of the western Sioux began to collapse as French, Spanish, and later American traders came

up the Missouri River and circumvented the Sioux network.

The trade fairs provide the best explanation for the unwillingness of the Yankton to allow

others to quarry. The western Sioux sought to reduce some of the surrounding groups of

Native Americans to serf-like status. As a result of the increase in Sioux population and the

suffering and depopulation of peoples such as the Mandan from smallpox and other diseases

in the nineteenth century, the Sioux were ascendant. They exerted economic control over

such groups as the Arikara before 1800. As Sioux hegemony began to break down on the

eastern plains in response to the influx of trade goods that followed Capts. Meriwether Lewis

and William Clark, the Yankton sought to retain what they could of the old order.

Domination of access to the quarries at Pipestone assured that a valuable trade resource that

American, French, and Spanish traders did not have remained exclusively theirs. [18]

But the potential for economic reward that brought the Sioux to the eastern plains also

brought their successors—European-Americans. The Sioux came for what they could derive

from westward expansion. Whites followed largely for the same reason. Late in the
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eighteenth century, French and Spanish traders moved up the Missouri River. The goods they

brought to trade to villagers competed with the Sioux trade fairs, a threat to the Sioux

economy. The traders had a different interpretation of the status quo. They saw the Sioux

drawing off trade to Canada that should have come down the Missouri River. An economic

war had begun.

Another consequence of the appearance of the traders affected the balance of power in the

region. Epidemic diseases such as smallpox traveled in close concert with the traders,

wreaking havoc on the settled villages of people such as the Hidatsas, Arikaras, and

Mandans. In 1795, the Arikaras were reduced from 32 villages to two, causing immeasurable

social and economic disruption along with the obvious cultural and demographic problems.

The Sioux were largely unaffected; their advance to the south and west of the Missouri River

put them out of reach of the primary path of the epidemics. Their mobile way of life gave

them less contact with whites and fewer opportunities to contract disease. It also meant that

they did not add the degree of risk that contact with refuse, fouled water, and other conditions

associated with village life created. As a result, the Sioux were the only Native American

group on the high plains that apparently increased in population over the course of the

nineteenth century. The people who had held Sioux expansion in check were decimated, and

the Sioux extended the area of their hegemony across the northern plains. [19]

While the Sioux were successful in keeping control over their neighbors, white encroachment

on the plains caused larger long-term problems. White hunters eliminated the bison south of

the Omaha villages before 1820, and by the 1840s, an increasing Native American population

hunted far fewer animals. Maintaining economic control of the plains required greater Sioux

vigilance, expanded hunting grounds, and gradually an increased recognition of the need to

control other material commodities. [20]

The Yankton Sioux, firmly in control of southwestern Minnesota, dominated the pipestone

quarries. Trade associated with the stone was an important component of the Yankton

economy. The quarries had an added advantage. They were located far from the rivers that

served as the course of white entry to the plains. As a result, throughout the increasing

turmoil in the Native American world of the plains during the first half of the nineteenth

century, the Yankton maintained uncontested control of this valuable spiritual, cultural, and

economic resource.

19White, "Winning of the West," 325-26; Alfred Crosby, The Columbian Exchange: The

Biological and Cultural Consequences of 1492 (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1972).

Whites were aware of pipestone long before they found the source of the stone. French

traders reported seeing pipes and other artifacts made from the stone as early as the middle of

the seventeenth century. In the 1660s, Miami and Mascouten refugees near Green Bay

offered French trader Nicolas Perrot a red stone calumet as part of a welcoming ceremony; in

1683, Father Louis Hennepin wrote of the importance of the pipe to the Sioux who captured

him. [21] But to these early trappers and priests, the source of the material was a mystery

barely worth the effort to consider, much less solve. To whites, the source of the stone was an

economic question of minimal importance.

By the beginning of the eighteenth century, there were occasional reports of a location from

which the stone originated. In 1700, Pierre Charles Le Sueur, a French trader who defied

French trading regulations and traveled deep into areas Europeans had not explored,

identified the "Hinhanetons" of the "village of the red-stone quarry." Most probably, he

reached the vicinity of what today is the monument and found newly arrived Yankton Sioux.

Le Sueur's report was the first evidence that anyone lived by the quarries. [22]
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It was also evidence of a changing world around the quarries. Early in the eighteenth century,

French trading posts were built within 125 miles of the quarries. Traders may have seen the

source of the stone. Some observers at the time remarked about such visits, but if they did,

they left little documentation to substantiate their presence. Agents in the employ of the

British frequently mentioned the calumet, the famed long-stemmed pipe made from

pipestone, but few left any record of the quarries themselves. As much as one hundred years

passed with little change in the situation. Traders had no reason to search for the source of

the stone. The quarries were of such little significance that when whites began to visit the

area more frequently after 1800, the quarries appeared as mere mentions in official French

reports. [23] No other record of such visits was made, nor was the location of the quarries

given any special attention.

By 1830, the coteau world had begun to change. More and more whites came to the region in

search of economic gain. As the United States expanded, exploring and assessing the land

and its resources become an important activity. Some, such as Capts. Meriwether Lewis and

William Clark, were sent by the government. Others acted in an unofficial capacity. Among

them was Philander Prescott, an explorer and frontiersman who left the first written account

of a visit to the quarries at Pipestone. [24]

Prescott, who visited the quarry in 1831 or 1832, found a 100-yard-long quarry, ten feet deep

at its south end, with a layer of pipestone one foot thick. Prescott and his party blasted the

quartzite layer above the pipestone, collecting enough stone to make about twenty pipes. For

the whites, this was a laborious task; they commented that Native Americans seemed to use

only hoes and axes—along with a six-pound cannonball that fractured unearthed deposits of

the stone. [25]

Although Prescott and his party stayed only briefly, they were the first of many traders,

explorers, and interested observers to come to the site. The number of whites who visited

during the 1830s increased, with shorter and shorter time between visits. Some even stayed to

quarry the stone for themselves. Joseph LaFramboise, a mixed-blood trader with the

American Fur Company, may have done so in 1835. Even the construction of Fort Snelling,

the northernmost fort in the chain called the permanent Indian frontier, could not prevent

whites from spilling over into Indian land. [26] By the end of the decade, the steady stream

of white visitors had begun to bring the quarry to the attention of the non-Native American

world.

But the real popularizer of the quarry first visited in September 1836. George Catlin, on his

way to fame although not fortune as an artist and ethnographer, was stopped at Traverse des

Sioux, near modern St. Peter, Minnesota, by a band of Native Americans. He thought they

sought to stop him from "trespass(ing) on their dearest privilege—their religion." The Sioux

thought Catlin and his party were government explorers, sent to assess the material worth of

the quarries as a prelude to seizure. Catlin and his companion explained otherwise and were

allowed to continue on their journey. What he found when the party reached the quarries

astonished and impressed him. [27]

Catlin was captivated by the quarries. The people, the stories associated with the pipes made

from the stone, and combination of sentience, spirituality, and scenery mirrored Catlin's

views of Native Americans. While there, he painted a panoramic view of the quarries that

reflected his sensibilities and experiences among Native Americans. Far more sympathetic

than most observers of his time, Catlin saw an image of noble savagery in the use of the

quarries and the importance of ceremonies involving pipestone. The quarries and their

environs confirmed what his experience taught him about the aboriginal inhabitants of the

American West.
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Even more important for the image of the quarries was the display of his paintings and a

series of lectures that he gave throughout the eastern United States. Beginning in the winter

of 1836-1837, Catlin prepared his work for public view. On September 25, 1837, his "Indian

Gallery" opened at Clinton Hall in New York. It was a rousing success. Catlin tried to sell his

portraits to the federal government but was repeatedly rebuffed. In 1839, he took his

collection to England, where the popularity of Indian themes and issues far exceeded the

level west of the Atlantic Ocean. There Catlin again showed his work to the public and

prepared his book, North American Indians: Being Letters and Notes on Their Manners,

Customs, and Conditions Written During Eight Years' Travel Amongst the Wildest Tribes of

Indians in North America, 1832-1839, for publication. While much of Catlin's art had as

much ethnographic as artistic value, his prose struck a chord with audiences on both sides of

the Atlantic Ocean. [28]

The quarries at Pipestone had very quickly developed iconographic significance to the people

of the United States and Europe. The process of industrialization had begun, and many

thought nostalgically about a simpler past. A subsurface tension existed in industrializing

societies, for the urbanization and dislocation that occurred as factories and cities grew and

spread caused widespread concern. One remedy was a longing for the idealized past, a more

natural place devoid of the negative side of progress. [29]

Native Americans figured greatly in this nostalgic but necessary attempt to understand

widespread social change. Books and art with Native American themes expressed many of

these sentiments. Authors such as James Fennimore Cooper in the 1820s glorified Native

Americans and bemoaned their passing. [30] Catlin's work, although far closer to reflecting

the nature of Indian life, showed similar sympathy and greater understanding of the ways of

Native Americans. His work became part of the popular culture of the time. The quarries

figured importantly in this process, for major authors began to use them in a symbolic

manner.

The most prominent of these was Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, whose epic poem, The Song

of Hiawatha, first published in 1855, offered a romanticized view of Native American life

with the quarries at its center. Building on Catlin's work, Longfellow created a legend as well

as an epic. After an introduction, the poem opened "on the great Red Pipe-stone Quarry,"

where Gitche Manito smoked the calumet as sign to all nations. This deity offered

compassion and wisdom, embodied in the location and the sacred pipe, to solve the quarrels

of his children. [31] In Longfellow, the quarries acquired a cultural meaning that equalled

even the reverence American Indians felt for the place and its products. In the Romantic

cosmology of the middle of the nineteenth century, the Pipestone quarries came to represent

the best of human endeavor.

Despite the mythological Native American world that Longfellow's poetry created, the

quarries remained a real place. Whites had continued to explore the region since Catlin's visit.

One group, an expedition hired by the U.S. Army Corps of Topographical Engineers and led

by Joseph Nicollet, a French scientist, and John Charles Fremont, headed for fame as an

explorer and adventurer, arrived in 1838. Drenched by a sudden thunderstorm, the expedition

entered the Pipestone Valley to find Native Americans quarrying. Six members of the party

carved their initials in a piece of quartzite near Leaping Rock. Commissioned to survey and

map western Minnesota, the Nicollet expedition located the pipestone quarries on survey

maps. [32]

For Native Americans, the Nicollet expedition was the beginning of the end. Between the

popularization that followed Catlin's trip east and overseas and the location of the quarry on

maps of the region, the Indian presence at the quarries faced genuine threats. The Coteau des

Prairies began to fill with Anglo-American settlers. After 1840, the American government
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compelled Indians to sign treaties relinquishing their lands, usually in exchange for other land

farther west and sometimes substantial annuities. The Sisseton and Wahpeton Sioux left after

signing the Treaty of Traverse des Sioux in 1851; the Yanktons followed seven years later,

after a number of Yankton chiefs went to Washington, where they insisted on their right to

quarry pipestone. When that right was recognized, a treaty was concluded in April 1858. [33]

With that treaty, Yankton control over southwestern Minnesota ended—except for the

approximately 650 acres that became the reserved area at Pipestone. The disposition of that

area in law was theoretically complete; working out an accommodation was a more

complicated process.

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Pipestone

Administrative History

CHAPTER II:

CLEARING FEDERAL TITLE 1858-1928

Following the treaty of 1858, in which the Yankton Sioux relinquished their land but retained

"free and unrestricted use" of the quarry, federal officials began a long and complicated

process in which they tried to clear title to the quarries and their surroundings. To federal

officials of the time, this was a logical progression of events that would vest the government

with title to this land until its disposition could be decided. Efforts to establish federal control

faced the range of problems of settlement during late nineteenth-century America: the often

flimsy nature of the treaties made with native peoples, the aggressive pro-settlement views of

Congress and the American public, and the growing development of a federal system of

protection for Indians. As a result, establishing an exclusive federal right to the area, a

precursor to the establishment of any permanent federal institution, did not occur until the

last Native American claim was extinguished in 1928.

The spread of Euro-American culture to the Upper Midwest had followed the time-honored

practices of the eastern half of the nation. The first inkling American Indians in what is now

Minnesota had of impending change in their world occurred in the late seventeenth century

as Indian refugees from the Algonquin-Iroquois Wars began to spread west. By the end of

the seventeenth century, fundamental changes in the distribution and location of Native

American peoples were well under way. Trappers and traders entered this disrupted world

with material goods to offer, initiating a complicated pattern of misunderstood agreements

that served to establish a loose framework governing cross-cultural contact. Neither

Europeans nor Native Americans were strong enough to do without the other in this liminal

world. [1]

By 1815, a new order had been reconstructed on the northern plains. The Lakota or Sioux

people established themselves as the dominant power in the area around the pipestone

quarries, and they resisted encroachment by other Indians and incoming Euro-Americans

with equal zeal. Yet a process of transformation had begun, and by the middle of the

nineteenth century, a long era of Native American dominance was coming to an end. [2]

By the end of the 1850s, compelled and voluntary treaties had removed Native Americans

from most of Minnesota. Between the Louisiana Purchase in 1803 and the middle of the

century, a number of agreements between the eastern Sioux, by then firmly ensconced in

Minnesota Territory, and the U.S. government affected the autonomy of Native Americans.

In most of these treaties, native peoples agreed to peace, friendship, and the supremacy of the

federal government. In the summer of 1851, Native Americans were persuaded to relinquish

their lands in southwestern Minnesota. In treaties signed at Mendota and Traverse des Sioux,

the Mdewakantons, Wahpekutes, Sisseton, and Wahpeton bands of the Sioux surrendered

their claims to all of Minnesota except a twenty-mile-wide reserve along the Upper

Minnesota River for about three million dollars in money and benefits. These bands of Sioux

failed to claim the pipestone quarries in either treaty. [3]

The Yankton Sioux took a different view of the sale, and conflict resulted. Yankton people,
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who had almost complete control of the pipestone quarries, regarded the land that the other

Sioux sold as their own. Each year, as the other bands received their annuities, the Yankton

came to collect what they considered their due for land wrongfully sold. On some occasions,

the Yankton used force to get what they felt they deserved. By the middle of the 1850s,

Charles E. Flandreau, the agent for the Sisseton, complained about the actions of the

Yankton. Federal officials took notice, and the process of negotiating with the Yankton

began. [4]

As it did with many other Native American people, the settlement entailed a trip to

Washington, D. C., for Yankton leaders. Federal officials envisioned a cession of Yankton

lands and the creation of a reservation for them farther to the west. The negotiations were

long and complicated, and the Yankton resisted any settlement that did not include the right

to use the quarries. Even the offer of a 400,000-acre reservation in south central South

Dakota did not interest them until Chief Struck-by-the-Ree secured federal acknowledgement

of the right of the tribe to the pipestone quarries. In the spring of 1858, with their rights

secured by provisions in the treaty, the Yankton accepted its terms and went to their new

home near Fort Randall in the Dakota Territory, about 150 miles from the quarries. [5]

One of the terms of the treaty of 1858 required that the federal government perform a survey

to determine the boundaries of the Pipestone reserved area. In 1859, General Land Office

surveyors used the rock on which Joseph Nicollet had written his name as the center and

marked out the one-square-mile reserve. [6] With that formal designation, the area passed

from Native American hands to an entirely new kind of administration.

At the beginning of the Civil War, the newly established state of Minnesota was far from the

consciousness of the divided nation. To the south, "Bleeding Kansas," itself a territory until

January 1861, had captured the imagination of the nation. In an era when the question of

preservation of the union and the efficacy of slavery as an institution dominated the national

scene, federal efforts in the newly secured parts of Minnesota were at best haphazard. Despite

the promises made in 1858 to the Yankton about the sanctity of their quarries, the federal

government failed to uphold its part of the agreement. Encroachment on the newly designated

reserved area became common.

The spread of Euro-Americans into what is now southwestern Minnesota served as the

catalyst for wholesale change. During the 1850s, a trickle of adventurers came to the area, but

only after the treaty of 1858 did any kind of permanent settlement begin. Before 1858, most

Anglo visitors were traders or explorer/scientists, and the pattern continued for the next

decade. After the treaty, the American government sent official representatives. A military

detail of 150 men in search of a band of Indians camped within a mile of the quarries in

1862. Commercial interests were not far behind. The celebrated Moscow Expedition, headed

by nascent entrepreneur James Boyd Hubbell, held a rendezvous there. Within a year,

Hubbell started his own company, Hubbell and Hawley, quarried large quantities of

pipestone, and had it fashioned into pipes that he planned to sell to the military for use in

trade. Although the military contract fell through, Hubbell recouped his investment by trading

the pipes for buffalo robes with Native Americans along the Missouri River. [7]

Hubbell's activity typified the actions of the first Anglo-Americans to come to the area

surrounding the pipestone quarries. Characteristic of this time, such actions revealed a

mindset as common on the peripheries as in the center of American society. The natural

world was a bounty to be harvested by the aggressive, in most cases as quickly as possible so

as not to share it with anyone else. Such an attitude was far from what George Catlin and

others like him envisioned when they began to popularize the quarries, and even farther from

the expectation of the Yankton Sioux when they agreed to cede their land. Administration of

the quarry became a point of contention almost from the moment of the Yankton cession.
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The completion of a public lands survey of the Pipestone area in 1870 inaugurated a new era

in settlement. By September of that year, the public domain in the area could be claimed by

homesteaders. The final plat maps failed to show the boundaries of the reserved area, leading

to the filing of homestead claims within the one-square mile tract. The earliest of these

occurred in June and July of 1871, and more followed. Some of these claims were later

canceled, but one within the reserved area, held by August Clausen, was perfected. Despite a

resurvey in 1872 that clearly outlined the border, two currents in American society had

become proximate. [8] Settlers who envisioned the West as an open area devoid of other

humans came into contact with a federal government that at least acknowledged its

obligations to the native peoples of the area. Some sort of conflict between these contrasting

and mutually exclusive world views became likely.

The increase of the pace of settlement in the middle of the 1870s made it even more likely.

By that time, railroads and the other accouterments of industrial society reached past the

Mississippi River, and smaller western communities could hook into this lifeline and envision

an economic future. Near the quarries, the town of "Pipestone City" was founded in 1876,

and within two years it had become a small but growing trading center. [9]

The influx of newcomers brandishing a new value system set the stage for conflict with

Yanktons who sought to use the quarry. Since 1858, the Yankton had been left alone to

quarry their sacred stone. The lack of Euro-Americans nearby assured that the Yanktons

could proceed unhindered. But the creation of the town and its subsequent growth altered

conditions for the Indians. As early as 1876, tension over Yankton use of the quarry surfaced.

White settlers and some of the Yankton argued the all-important question in the history of

the American West: whose land was whose? [10]

There were a number of related points of contention that had to be addressed. White settlers

attempted to persuade the Yankton that their reserved area was much smaller than the Indians

expected, and leaders of the tribe contacted John G. Gasmann, their agent, to assess their

situation. Gasmann took the Yanktons' side, pressing the commissioner of Indian affairs for

some action on their behalf. [11]

This complaint triggered federal involvement. Although the process began slowly, the Bureau

of Indian Affairs took notice of activities in its domain. Gasmann's successor, John W.

Douglas, kept the issue alive, and by the end of the 1870s the question of the patent issued to

August Clausen and later sold to H. M. Carpenter had become the focus of the inquiry. The

commissioner of the General Land Office made serious efforts to revoke the patent granted

for land within reserved boundaries. Although the case went to court and the patent was

upheld, legal and practical resolutions were distinctly different kinds of reality. [12]

In 1880, the issue took on a new tone. A group of Yankton who returned from the quarry

reported that whites were quarrying building stone, presumably quartzite, within the

boundaries of the reservation. Demand for the stone was great, for a mini-building boom was

under way in the Pipestone area. Although the activity was just inside the southern boundary

line of the reserved area, it offered a serious challenge to the integrity of the quarries that had

potential ramifications. Others in the community planned to reactivate their extinguished

claims if Carpenter's challenge succeeded. [13]

The situation worsened during the following three years. Carpenter won his court case, which

was then appealed and sat on the U. S. Supreme Court docket until 1884. A newcomer, C. C.

Goodnow, an agent for Carpenter, threatened Indians who came to the quarries and

compelled them to leave. By 1883, Goodnow had become mayor of the town of Pipestone.

He also built a substantial, two-story house within the boundaries of the reserved area. Nor

was he alone. Other homes, including one Goodnow built for his mother, were also
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constructed. Although the Yankton made repeated inquiries and complaints, federal officials

were far away. It seemed that local initiative would erode the Native American claim until the

quarries and their environs would be inhabited and the Indian claim ignored or forgotten.

[14]

An unusual triumvirate came together to try to stop the gradual disenfranchisement. Struckby-the-Ree, who referred to himself as Head Chief of the Yanktons, the new Yankton agent,

Maj. William M. Ridpath, and D. E. Sweet, a resident of Pipestone who was appalled by the

conduct of his peers, all set out to stop the land grab. Ridpath visited the reserved area in

November 1883 and found obstinate, intractable settlers, some of whom did not care that they

had been denied the right to file on the land because it was reserved. Ridpath was outraged,

for he recognized that the settlers were not ignorant. Instead they chose to defy the law. Their

conduct was "contemptible," Ridpath remarked. "I will take pleasure in removing [the

settlers] and tearing down their improvements if you so direct," he wrote the commissioner of

the General Land Office. [15]

The settlers' disregard for the rights of Indians was a common occurrence at this time. Across

the West, the process of removing Native Americans from lands granted them by treaty

continued unabated. From Kansas to the west coast, native peoples were moved farther and

farther from their home areas onto smaller and smaller tracts of less productive land. Even

the meager lands left them were not inviolable. By the middle of the 1880s, legislation to

allot tribal lands to individual Indians to create more land for settlers was considered. This

movement culminated in the Dawes Act of 1887, which-allowed individual Indians fixed

amounts of land and offered the leftover parts of reservations for sale. [16] In the context of

their time, the Yankton seemed to have no chance of recovering their expropriated property.

The legacy of the previous secretary of the interior, Colorado Senator Henry Teller, further

limited the chances that the Yankton could resist encroachment. The policies of Teller's

department reflected his personal beliefs: development and growth were the greatest of

examples of human achievement, and clearing the land of native peoples was essential to

progress. His successor, L. Q. C. Lamar, shared a less virulent vision of a West dominated by

yeoman farmers and ranchers. Western lands, he asserted in 1886, "will thrive and grow

under the management of a hardy and industrious population." [17] In the view of the time,

Indians were neither hardy nor industrious. Little support for the Yankton position existed at

the highest levels of the Department of the Interior, and Ridpath's desire to throw the settlers

out was denied. [18]

Not surprisingly, local sentiment generally favored the settlers. Most westerners saw the

world they had entered as barren of prior claim, and the simple matter of a mistaken federal

promise could be easily overlooked. "Use it or lose it" was the dominant ethos, and the

intermittent character of Indian use and the fact that there was no agricultural work on the

reserved area offered the settlers support for their preconceived ideas. As long as Teller

remained influential, there was little chance of anything impeding the acquisitive.

The election of Grover Cleveland in 1884 changed the tone of federal administration,

although it did not eliminate the obstacles that the Yankton faced. Department of the Interior

policy became more sympathetic to Native Americans and the Yankton received support for

their position from the Supreme Court decision in the Carpenter case, which voided the

Claussen patent, but enforcing the law depended on state and local officials. The mayor of

Pipestone was a squatter on the land in question, and the U.S. Attorney for Minnesota, D. B.

Searle, did his best to avoid addressing the situation. Yet as the complaints mounted and

more settlers moved onto the reserved area, something had to be done. [19]

Maj. J. F. Kinney, Ridpath's successor as Yankton agent, became the catalyst for resolution.
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During a trip to Washington, D. C., he convinced the secretary of the interior and the

commissioner of Indian affairs that the rights of the Yankton had to be protected. Kinney

wanted a squad of soldiers to evict the squatters. In March 1887, the order was issued, and a

conflict between settlers and the American military seemed imminent. [20]

The concept of the use of military force against settlers in support of Indian claims was quite

unusual. By the late 1880s, religious reformers had gained the upper hand in influencing

policy directed at Native Americans, and their approach was far more sympathetic to Indians

than that of earlier times. The prime thrust of their effort was to assimilate Indians into

American society, for there was significant worry about the future of Native Americans.

Assimilation required that Native Americans have land and tools to make them farmers, for

the thinking of the time suggested that by imitating the ways of white America, Indians

would learn to be "civilized." With the Indian wars almost completed and little military

resistance left, the War Department concentrated its efforts on the enforcement of treaty

requirements. [21]

A confrontation was imminent. On October 11, 1887, a detachment of ten soldiers led by

Capt. J. W. Bean and accompanied by Agent Kinney arrived in Pipestone. The settlers were

surprised to see the soldiers, and despite some grumbling, agreed to remove their property

from the reserved area. Even Goodnow, the most intransigent of the squatters, agreed to leave

when faced with federal troops. [22]

The situation at Pipestone was ironic. Soldiers there removed settlers from land, while

elsewhere in the West, the opposite was far more characteristic. The appearance of the U.S.

Cavalry melted local resistance and reminded settlers that they too were bound by the laws

and treaties of the United States. As it did at many other places beyond the control of the

institutions of American society, that reality came as something of a surprise to Pipestone

residents.

The resolution of this conflict left no doubt about control of the reserved area at Pipestone.

The actions of the military established federal control of the quarries and clearly revealed the

limits of local power. Future decisions about the quarries and their disposition would be

made through the auspices of the U.S. government and its agencies. The quarries, and by

inference all of southwestern Minnesota, had ceased to be open country, available to all

comers. The rules set up by the government would hold there as well as they did in

Philadelphia or New York City.

Other obstacles to federal title existed. In 1884, the Burlington, Cedar Rapids, & Northern

Railroad completed construction of a stretch of track that crossed the Pipestone reservation.

The railroad claimed the right-of-way areas that western railroads had come to expect as

federal subsidy for their development efforts. It was a routine matter. But because of the

terms of the treaty from 1858, the right-of-way could not simply be granted to the railroad.

Four years later, railway officials were informed that they needed an act of Congress to

secure title. While this too seemed a perfunctory step, it became a source of controversy. [23]

If there was to be a typical, late-nineteenth century land grab, the people of the town of

Pipestone wanted a chance to secure the lands from which they had been evicted. After the

first bill that the railroad supported failed, a Minnesota congressman introduced another

measure that created a board of appraisers to evaluate the lands on the reservation, establish

priority for the evicted settlers to acquire the land if the Indians chose to sell, and allow the

sale of any portion of the reservation if the majority of adult male Yanktons agreed to it.

The passage of this bill in March 1889 inaugurated a new era at Pipestone. It demonstrated

the change in authority and responsibility for the lands, while simultaneously showing that
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Indian land was not inviolable. The board of appraisers met and determined that $1,740 was

appropriate compensation for the right-of-way. After negotiations, the Yanktons agreed to

accept that sum as compensation for the use of their land but they refused to sell any of the

reserved area. A measure of order entered Indian-white relations at Pipestone, furthering

accentuating the level of federal control. [24]

The eviction of the homesteaders served notice that the people of Pipestone would have to

look elsewhere for more land. But the reserved area presented other potential advantages. As

the community grew, it sought a broader economic base. Agriculture and small commercial

entities made up the largest part of the local and regional economy, and enterprising citizens

sought to attract new businesses. As elsewhere in the West, local boosterism played an

important role in promoting economic growth. But the real future of the town of Pipestone

lay in transforming the federal presence into an economic advantage.

There were evident limits to the prospects of growth associated with the Pipestone

reservation. Townspeople recognized that any federal project there would have to benefit

Native Americans. Locals wanted the opportunity to bid for contracts and jobs at whatever

kind of facility emerged. In this, the people of Pipestone were prescient. They recognized

what much of the West spent the following century denying: the western environment was

not sufficient to supply the demands of an industrial society with an exploding population.

Federal programs and employment, soon to become the backbone of the western economy,

made an early appearance at Pipestone.

A typical local effort to acquire a federal institution culminated in the creation of the

Pipestone Indian School. In January 1890, the first inkling of the idea appeared in an editorial

in the Pipestone County Star. This probably followed widespread discussion in the

community. By March, the idea acquired a wide local following. The town began lobbying

efforts as well. Locals sent pieces of pipestone from the quarry to congressmen as a means of

currying favor, followed by memorials supporting the idea in March and April of 1890. The

people of the town moved into action in an attempt to assure rapid success. [25]

The people of Pipestone developed new strategies as a result of the eviction of their peers a

few years earlier. They sought to use the system to support their objectives, rather than defy it

and risk further sanction. They also learned that the Native American perspective was useful.

A number of petitions supporting the school circulated among area Indians. Many signed the

petitions, perceiving some kind of advantage in the school. Conspicuously absent were the

Yankton, who lived more than 150 miles away and apparently were not consulted. [26] But

the presence of Native American signatures enhanced the credibility of the proposal,

suggesting that the people of Pipestone and their neighbors had found a common ground

acceptable to most.

With the groundwork completed, the legislative process proceeded smoothly. The idea

seemed to reflect a consensus of the people of Pipestone and its environs, both Native

American and Anglo. A bill to establish the Pipestone Indian School passed the U.S. House

of Representatives in September 1890 and the U.S. Senate followed early in February 1892.

On February 16, 1892, much to the pleasure of the people of Pipestone, President Benjamin

Harrison signed the measure into law. Plans to select a site and construct a building followed.

[27]

But when they found out about the proposal for the school, the Yankton sought to stop its

construction. The tribe entered a protest with its agent, E. W. Foster. They claimed the right

to take allotments at the Pipestone reservation under the terms of the Dawes Act. The

reserved area was theirs, Yankton leaders insisted, and to demonstrate that the signatures of

other Indians signatures were irrelevant, Yankton leaders collected 167 names on a petition of
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their own that opposed the bill.

The situation had become a legal dispute, and the secretary of the interior turned to the

Justice Department for a ruling. Following the precedent established while Henry Teller was

secretary of the interior in the early 1880s, the U.S. attorney general opined that Yanktons

had only the right to quarry at Pipestone and that the establishment of the school would not

interfere with that right. Nonetheless, negotiations to purchase "surplus" lands began with the

Yankton. Despite the attorney general's opinion, federal officials sought to maintain some

semblance of peaceful coexistence by acceding to the Yankton perspective. [28]

This response also played into the hands of those who sought to acquire Native American

land. Allotment rarely worked in the Indians' favor, and "negotiation" was often a code word

for "swindle." Some federal legislation encouraged speculators and others who sought to grab

land. The Indian Appropriation Act of July 13, 1892, allowed the government to seek to

purchase land deemed surplus to Native Americans. But the concept of surplus land required

two steps unfamiliar to northern plains peoples: individual ownership of land and agriculture

as a basis for economy. Nomadic pastoral people rarely had surplus land; instead they had

land they claimed that they planned to use at another time. [29] This cross-cultural

misunderstanding placed Native Americans at a severe disadvantage.

By the 1890s, most Native American peoples were experienced negotiators. Many

government officials evinced far greater sympathy for the Native American position as well,

for Indians had ceased to be any threat to the nation and were increasingly portrayed as a

romanticized anachronism in American society. Yet federal policy dictated that assimilation

was the objective of interaction with native peoples, and while government officials and

negotiators might be sympathetic, their objectives were generally different from those of

tribes and their leaders. The Yankton negotiations were typical of this trend, except that the

Indians were extremely sophisticated. [30]

When the talks concluded in 1893, the agreement reached was unusual. The U.S. government

was allowed to contest the Yankton claim by taking the case to the Supreme Court within one

year of ratification of the agreement by Congress. If the government failed to do so, title to

the tract reverted to the Yankton. It was a gamble for the Indians, an all-or-nothing attempt

to resolve the status of what they considered their land. The U.S. attorney general found the

agreement specious, and in 1894 advised the Department of the Interior that this scenario was

"impractical."

The attorney general correctly assessed the situation, but that did not help the government

and its case. Department of the Interior officials thought the Supreme Court an inappropriate

venue and sought a legislative solution from Congress, but achieved little success. The issue

did not reach the U.S. Supreme Court. In August 1895, a year and one day after ratification

of the agreement, Yankton leaders requested proof of their ownership of the land under the

terms of the agreement. Federal officials did not reply. [31]

The matter seemed unresolvable. The Yankton asserted their claim, and the federal

government refused to recognize it. In 1896, at a tribal meeting, Yankton leaders again

requested that their claim be given consideration, but were ignored. In January 1897, they

petitioned for legal title to the tract as well as for compensation for damages that resulted

from unauthorized use. [32] With the support of Sen. Richard Pettigrew of South Dakota, a

bill that included a measure authorizing negotiations with the Yankton about Pipestone

passed Congress in 1897. [33]

A subtle shift in the Yankton position help create a context for negotiations. Until the tribal

meeting of January 1897, the Yankton wanted the land back with clear title. In that meeting,
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their perspective changed to include seeking damages for alienated land. The new view was

much more in line with the practices toward Native Americans in this era. It allowed payment

for taking the land. Whether the Yankton recognized that they would never really regain the

land and sought to make the most of the situation or their perspective changed to make such

a solution more acceptable remained unclear. Nonetheless, the flexibility in the Yankton

position propelled a move toward settlement.

Negotiations for the sale of the tract by the Yankton Sioux to the government began in 1899.

The talks became a complex and protracted process that took considerable time. An impasse

over dollar value delayed agreement until October of 1899. The Yanktons wanted $1,000,000

for the reservation, a sum federal inspector James McLaughlin, who represented the U.S.

government, found extravagant. McLaughlin had more than twenty years experience in the

Indian Service and spoke Sioux, and he was an able negotiator. The Yanktons dropped their

offer to $100,000, but McLaughlin still regarded it as too much. His top offer was $75,000.

After an aggravating sequence of events that returned the price to the $1,000,000 figure,

McLaughlin changed his tactics and began to negotiate with individuals. The Yankton were

both allottees and U.S. citizens. McLaughlin and the tribal council drew up a committee,

made up mostly of younger, mixed-bloods, to negotiate. In October 1899, the committee

presented its proposal to the tribe. A small majority of the Yankton agreed to accept a total

of $100,000—$75,000 in cash and the rest in cattle—for the property. [34]

These tactics were common at the time. Assimilation remained the focus of Native American

policy, and mixed-bloods and others with ties to the Anglo world were often tools of

disenfranchisement. Farther to the south in Kansas, mixed-blood Charles Curtis participated

in a similar allotment of Indian lands in Topeka. Curtis was rewarded with a personal

fortune, a U.S. Senate seat, and later, the vice presidency of the nation. [35]

But despite the advantages of the agreement, Congress refused to ratify it. The Senate Indian

Affairs committee reported unfavorably on the bill. Some senators regarded the 1858 treaty

as an easement for the property, not as title. In addition, they averred, the 1893 agreement

contained impossible conditions and so could not be binding. Despite the efforts of U.S. Sen.

Robert J. Gamble of South Dakota, the bill died on the floor. Similar scenarios followed in

1906 and 1910. Again Gamble promoted measures, but they failed or expired for lack of

action at the end of the sessions. An unsatisfactory and seemingly permanent impasse had

been reached. [36]

But the Pipestone case would not go away. The Yankton persisted, and some kind of

resolution was imperative. In 1910, an amendment to the Indian Appropriations Act offered

new opportunities for solution. It transferred the jurisdiction of the case to the U.S. Indian

Court of Claims, and after delays that resulted from a lack of money appropriated for an

attorney and an intratribal squabble, a petition was filed in November 1911. In 1917, the

Indian Court of Claims determined that it lacked jurisdiction over the matter. In 1920, after

the Yankton pressed the issue, Congress passed a bill giving the ICC jurisdiction over the

dispute at Pipestone. [37]

This dilatory process had a complicated impact on the Yankton view of its sovereignty. In

the 1890s, the Yankton allowed that they would accept damages in addition to title to the

tract, but the subsequent two decades of often spurious and specious maneuvering obscured

the question of ownership and transformed the issue into a contest about sums of money.

Mixed-blood and younger leaders were less worried about quarry rights than their elders, but

the sense of the importance of the quarries remained strong. Cultural perceptions of Native

Americans changed for the worse between 1900 and 1920 as true assimilation was replaced

by an attitude that relegated Native Americans to the bottom echelon of American society.

This change reflected larger changes in American society, but nonetheless compromised the
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position of the Yankton and eroded their appreciation for their spirituality. By the 1920s, the

Bureau of Indian Affairs had been reasonably successful in limiting the transmission of

Native American culture and language to young people. Most talented young Indians were

educated at boarding schools such as the Pipestone Indian School, where Christianity and the

values of Anglo-American society figured prominently. The Yankton were further limited by

the distance between their reservation and Pipestone. As late as 1890, annual treks to the

quarries were common, but as the older generation died off, fewer younger Yankton

continued traditional practices. By the middle of the decade, Yanktons were infrequent

visitors. The last known group of Yankton quarriers arrived at Pipestone came in 1899, and

the final visit by any at all followed in 1911. [38] By the 1920s, the people who led the

Yankton had few ties to older ways of living. A monetary settlement that might have seemed

preposterous in 1899 had real viability by 1920.

Throughout the 1920s, the case unfolded in front of the Indian Claims Commission. Again

the emphasis on monetary compensation remained stronger than the importance of

spirituality, but whether this resulted from the feeling that tangible claims were the only thing

an American court respected remained unclear. When the court reached its decision in 1925,

the Yankton were displeased. Yankton rights were only an easement, the decision averred,

and the claim to ownership lacked merit. [39]

Unwilling to accept the decision, the Yankton devised a new strategy. Their attorneys

petitioned for a writ of a certiorari from the U.S. Supreme Court. The court heard the case in

November 1926 and reversed the decision of the claims court, deciding that the Indians held

the land in fee and were entitled to compensation. It ordered the Indian Claims Court to

determine the value of the tract. A series of hearings in 1927 determined that the land had a

value of $200,000 in 1891 and the Indians were entitled to an additional $36,000 for use

between 1891 and 1899. Despite the finding, the Indian Claims Commission set the value of

the Pipestone reservation at $100,000 plus interest accrued from 1891. The total sum

delivered to the Yankton was $338,558.90. After legal fees, the Yankton allotted almost

$300,000 among themselves, leaving each with the sum of $151.99. A fifteen-dollar surplus

was placed in the tribal treasury. [40]

The settlement itself was an anticlimax. After nearly thirty years of legal maneuvering, the

Yankton received a pittance for an important part of their cultural heritage. Even more telling

was the demoralizing reality that in the 1928 agreement, the Yankton ceded their right to

quarry at Pipestone. After 1928, those who wanted to dig the sacred stone had to request the

permission of the superintendent of the Pipestone Indian School. Nor could the Yankton

prevent other Indians from quarrying. A 225-year hegemony over the quarry had come to an

end. After 1928, the quarries at Pipestone belonged to the federal government and its

agencies, who would ever after determine the most appropriate use for the tract. One of the

options available was the creation of a national park area.

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Pipestone

Administrative History

CHAPTER III:

FOUNDING PIPESTONE NATIONAL MONUMENT

The establishment of Pipestone National Monument was a direct result of the settlement of

the court case with the Yankton. The Indian School had been a prize catch in the late

nineteenth century, but the people of the twentieth century demanded different kinds of

federal support. Minnesota's singular lack of national park areas, the cultural significance of

the quarries, active local support, and the depressed economic climate of the 1930s, in which

the federal government rescued local economies, made the location of a national park area at

Pipestone desirable. Local leaders and the Minnesota congressional delegation pursued this

opportunity. This confluence of factors led to serious efforts to create a national park area at

Pipestone that came to fruition in 1937.

The idea of a national park area at Pipestone had a long history. Early efforts at creating a

park began as the town of Pipestone sought to find a federally funded anchor for the local

economy. Along with the attempts to secure an Indian school for the town came suggestions

of a national park. In 1890, some of the many petitions that circulated in favor of the school

also referred to the establishment of a "national park or reserve." [1]

This scattershot approach to acquiring federal support did not reflect the realities of the time.

National parks were few and far between in 1890; only Yellowstone and Mackinac Island in

Michigan had long-standing national park status at the time, while Yosemite, Sequoia and

General Grant national parks were created that year. Among historic and prehistoric places,

only Casa Grande ruins in Arizona had been authorized to be reserved. In 1890, while there

was a piece of legislation on the books for that purpose, no authorization for administration

had yet been approved. More than two years later, President Benjamin Harrison finally

authorized more than paper protection for Casa Grande. [2]

National parks were a different kind of prize in the late nineteenth century. They had little

perceived economic value, for tourism and travel had not yet become important regional

industries. No federal bureau existed to manage national parks, and in 1890, military

protection remained the sole means of guarding the existing ones. Parks were perceived as

large and spectacular natural areas, and no other category of reserved areas for cultural

treasures existed. [3]

With this set of limitations, the proclamation of the quarry area as a national park was

unlikely. Pipestone was too different from existing national parks. Its features were primarily

cultural, not natural or scenic, and it was diminutive in contrast to Yellowstone or Yosemite.

Despite the fact that in the process of negotiating the settlement of Yankton land claims

during the 1890s, an agreement was reached to maintain the quarry as a national park, the

idea was too much of an anomaly for serious consideration. In 1895, a bill put forward for

that purpose expired in the Public Lands Committee of the House of Representatives. In

1899, James McLaughlin, an inspector for the Bureau of Indian Affairs, negotiated an

agreement with the Yankton that included the maintenance of the quarries as a national park

or reservation. John Wesley Powell, the powerful head of the Bureau of American
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Ethnology, offered support, but Congress declined to ratify the agreement. [4] Pipestone

remained in limbo. Although real definition of the national park category had not yet

occurred, the general conception of a national park seemed to preclude the inclusion of

Pipestone.

Between 1900 and the early 1920s, the title dispute with the Yankton dominated local affairs.

Despite efforts to utilize the quarry in a number of ways, the lack of resolution of the status

of the land hindered the chances of any kind of permanent park. In one of many such

examples that occurred, in 1916 plans for a recreational park for the local community were

drawn up by a local architecture and engineering aficionado. But because of the dispute over

title to the land, the project never went beyond planning. [5]

As the title case moved through the court and claim process, other park efforts followed. In

1919, the Pipestone Businessman's Association received permission from the superintendent

of the Indian school to develop a portion of one of the lakes on the reservation into a

swimming area. Local funds supported the construction of a bathhouse and modification of

the shoreline to create a beach. With a small recreational facility already built, the leadership

of the business community sought to acquire a 14-acre portion of the reserved area.

Commissioner of Indian Affairs Charles H. Burke informed them that until the dispute was

settled, no permanent decisions could be made. Again the lack of clear title thwarted local

efforts. [6]

But the direction of such local efforts was far different from the plans to preserve the quarry

as an important part of the cultural heritage of Native Americans. Local proposals focused on

a recreational park, seeking the use of lands with spiritual significance for more mundane,

albeit important purposes. Faced with the growing power of local entities in relationship to

the federal government, the quarries became vulnerable to expropriation. In this respect, the

dilatory process of deciding who owned the quarries helped protect the area from uses that

would have negated or eliminated the cultural features of national significance.

The desire to develop the quarry area was not confined to local people. By the early 1920s,

much of the open land in the United States had been appropriated, and a nascent state park

movement developed. Midwestern states such as Iowa, Indiana, and Minnesota were in the

forefront. Minnesota established two state parks in the 1890s. By 1920, Iowa had emerged as

a hot bed of conservation sentiment. In January 1921, 200 people met in Des Moines at the

first of a series of annual meetings of an organization called the National Conference on State

Parks. The idea spread. Within two years, officials in state government in Minnesota provided

the impetus for a state park system. In 1923, State Auditor Raymond F. Chase offered a long

list of potential state park areas in his biennial report to the Minnesota legislature. Pipestone

was prominent on the list. [7]

The momentum generated at the state level encouraged local people to continue their efforts.

The Pipestone Kiwanis Club encouraged the state highway department to conduct a survey,

and a directive from the governor's office set the process in motion. W. E. Stoopes, an

assistant state engineer, executed the survey, finding among other things that the bathhouse

erected was not part of the 14 acres previously requested. Stoopes recommended that a 22- to

24-acre area around the Winnewissa Falls be made into a state park. The area, he determined,

had "no value . . . except for park purposes." ["8] Despite acknowledgment of the cultural

importance of the area, the proposal presented a strictly recreational park.

The Pipestone community wholeheartedly supported the idea. In September 1924, as Stoopes'

report circulated in the statehouse, the American Legion post in Pipestone organized a

volunteer work force to help maintain the area. They cut weeds around Winnewissa Falls,

hauled loose rock to the foot of the first small lake below the falls, scraped the lakebed, and
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built a small dam. This raised the level of the lake, making it more attractive as a site for

swimming. [9]

The problem of clear title continued to limit the prospects for a permanent park. Despite a

groundswell of support for the park both in St. Paul and Pipestone, the effort remained an

exercise in futility. A Pipestone Park Committee was formed in the town. Minnesota state

representative H. J. Farmer of Pipestone introduced a bill in the legislature to create

Pipestone State Park. After its passage in March 1925, the governor signed the bill into law.

But there were stipulations. The bill was contingent on the transfer of the land from federal

authorities to the state, and again the commissioner of Indian affairs pointed out that the

government could not release land to which it did not have clear title. Despite passage of the

state bill, the process was stymied. [10] Without clear title, the land remained under the

control of the Bureau of Indian Affairs.

Although the state park never became more than a paper document, the momentum generated

had positive effects on the quarry area. Besides the drive to make the area more suitable for

recreation, a significant amount of energy went into demonstrating that the quarry had

historical significance. In an effort to show the importance of the area, efforts began to

acknowledge the nineteenth-century explorers who visited Pipestone. In September 1925,

these came to fruition when members of the local chapter of the Daughters of the American

Revolution (DAR) placed a bronze commemorative plaque on the stone carrying the

inscriptions of Joseph Nicollet and his party." [11]

The end of the court case in 1928 created new opportunities. With title cleared, the primary

obstacle to some sort of permanent resolution disappeared. Yet other issues remained. By the

late 1920s, a decision about the relative merits of the recreational and cultural attributes of

the Pipestone quarries and their environs had to be made. The state park remained a paper

entity, requiring only the transfer of the land from the federal government to become real.

But other groups had a broader scope in mind. U.S. Rep. Frank Claque of Minnesota, a

primary supporter of earlier park efforts, again became interested in the quarries. The local

DAR passed a resolution that favored the establishment of a national park or monument. A

groundswell for some kind of permanent park area developed.

One woman played an instrumental role in the process of creating Pipestone National

Monument. Lean and long-faced, with a look of determination in her eyes, Winifred Bartlett

had been born on a farm a few miles north of the quarries. She graduated from Pipestone

High School in 1903, trained as a teacher, and taught for a number of years. After changing

careers, she worked for law firms and eventually for the U.S. Attorney's office in Sioux Falls,

South Dakota. As court reporter for the Yankton case in the 1920s, Bartlett heard heard all

the testimony. This experience heightened an already strong interest in cultural affairs in

general and in particular, the Pipestone quarries. [12]

Prior to the 1930s, Bartlett had been active in a range of local issues. She developed a

reputation as a local organizer and an advocate of preservation. She played in a role in the

petition that the DAR developed to support a national park project. [13]

The founding of the Pipestone National Park Association, which later became known as the

Pipestone Indian Shrine Association, revealed her extraordinary organizing ability. On a cold

night in January 1932, a group of approximately 35 people met in the Calumet Hotel in

downtown Pipestone. Representing nearly every local community organization and

association, they sought to create a new entity to preserve the quarries in some kind of

national park area. The new association formed an executive committee, which included

Bartlett, Edward A. Trebon, Tad A. Bailey, Rev. Joseph Mangan, and Ruth Morgan. In a

February 11, 1932, meeting, the executive committee agreed to seek the support of the only
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local federal employee of any significance, James W. Balmer, the superintendent of the

Pipestone Indian School. Balmer understood how the federal government worked, and during

a trip to Washington, D. C., he sounded out Bureau of Indian Affairs officials as well as

others in the Department of the Interior. When he returned, the process of evaluating the

quarries for park status had begun. [14]

Balmer persuaded the members of the association that although a Bureau of Indian Affairs

representative would come to visit, that agency was not the best one to fulfill their wishes.

Aware of the activities of another bureau in the Department of the Interior, Balmer believed

the National Park Service was best suited to administer a park at Pipestone. But the Bureau

of Indian Affairs remained in control of the quarries, and its officials had to assess the

situation at Pipestone. In April 1932, Charles Berry, a BIA field representative, visited the

area and answered questions. He and Balmer filed a report with the commissioner of Indian

affairs that supported making the quarries into something they called a "National Indian

Shrine." Despite this stance, Berry reiterated Balmer's contention that the BIA was the wrong

agency for such action. Following this lead, members of the association sought out the

National Park Service with a plan to highlight the historical and cultural significance of the

area. [15]

Since its founding in 1916, the Park Service had become one of the most important agencies

in the Department of the Interior. Prescient leadership by former borax tycoon Stephen T.

Mather and his alter ego Horace M. Albright, success in acquisitions in the East, widespread

congressional support, and a singular flair gave the agency a distinct identity. Between 1916

and the end of the 1920s, Mather and Albright added seven major national parks—including

the Grand Canyon, Bryce Canyon, Zion, and Carlsbad Caverns—to the system, developed an

integrated system of rail service, planned a park-to-park highway that would link all the

major national parks, and built a strong base with the public. The Park Service even played

an important role in supporting the state parks movement, offering the resources of the

agency as a clearinghouse for information. It also stood in the forefront of the Department of

Agriculture. Despite the terrible economic depression of the early 1930s, NPS officials

sought to expand their domain. [16]

The Hoover administration was cooperative. President Herbert C. Hoover himself had strong

conservation credentials, and he recognized that he was likely to lose the election of 1932.

The economic climate of the early 1930s and Hoover's inability to grasp the need for a

massive and comprehensive federal response made the chances of re-election remote. Even

Albright, a lifelong Republican who succeeded Mather as director, recognized and accepted

that Hoover's presidency was doomed. [17] But the loss had some advantages for the Park

Service. After Hoover became a "lame duck" president in November 1932, he sought to

prepare a conservation gift to the nation.

The Antiquities Act of 1906 gave him the power he needed. With it, the president could

proclaim as a national monument any parcel of the public domain with prehistoric, historic,

or scientific importance. After 1907, when Congress abrogated the president's power to

reserve national forests in the West with just an executive proclamation, the Antiquities Act

became the most important piece of legislation available to preserve the public domain. The

law gave the president vast leeway, and Theodore Roosevelt consecrated the idea of lame

duck proclamations when he reserved more than 600,000 acres of the Olympic Peninsula in

his last 48 hours in office in 1909. The Antiquities Act gave Hoover a powerful tool, and

precedent for any use he might care to make of it existed. [18]

In Secretary of the Interior Dr. Ray Lyman Wilbur's department, E. K. Burlew was the most

important staff member. He served as executive assistant to Wilbur, acting as a both a

conduit and buffer between the secretary and the heads of the various agencies. One of the
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most trusted men in the Hoover administration and one of the few high-level appointees that

Franklin D. Roosevelt's secretary of the interior, the curmudgeonly Harold L. Ickes, chose to

retain, Burlew served as the eyes and ears of the department. During the summer of 1932, he

embarked on a tour of potential park areas that included Pipestone. While impressed with

many areas, Burlew was not enthusiastic about the inclusion of Pipestone in the park system.

He saw the quarries as an interesting natural place, but failed to recognize the nature of their

historic value. [19]

Burlew's perspective was not unusual for the time. His views were similar to those of the

people who sought to highlight the cultural importance of the quarries by commemorating the

Nicollet marker. In the 1930s, heritage usually meant the history of European transplants to

the New World and what was perceived as their advancement towards modern civilization.

Few places commemorated American Indian life or culture, and those that did generally

portrayed conflict between Indians and whites. Most often in popular culture, Indians were

portrayed as savages devoid of the attributes of civilized people. Relativism had not yet

become a mode of thinking in American society, and only a few of the elite and the educated

genuinely appreciated other, non-European cultures.

Hoover's conservation gift to the nation materialized. Between December 1932 and

Roosevelt's inauguration in March 1933, he proclaimed five new national monuments, Black

Canyon of the Gunnison in Colorado, the second Grand Canyon National Monument, north

of the park boundaries of that time, Death Valley, White Sands, and Saguaro. [20] Pipestone

was not among them.

Pipestone's absence resulted from two reasons, one legal, the other cultural. The reservation

was not in the public domain, rendering the Antiquities Act ineffectual and requiring an act

of Congress to allow the establishment of a monument. As a lame duck, Hoover had little

clout. Congress had grown noticeably hostile as Hoover's administration failed to respond to

the chaos in the nation, and it had little reason to give him what he wanted. In addition, the

features at Pipestone differed from those of most of the other candidates for national

monument status. Since Albright sought to develop the representative area parks, the

emphasis had shifted to typical areas of unusual flora. Albright recognized that to grow was

to remain healthy, and that the store of spectacular mountain tops available for national parks

had diminished. He promoted new kinds of parks, including the representative area national

monuments. When Hoover's conservation gift became reality, the "lame duck" national

monuments were all natural areas. Agency and departmental policy as well as legal standing

made Pipestone an unlikely candidate in this climate. [21]

A different administration meant new and better realities for national park area acquisition.

Franklin D. Roosevelt's actions as president transformed the nation and not incidentally the

National Park Service and the park system. The New Deal provided capital and labor for

nearly every project that the Park Service had planned throughout its 17-year history, as well

as for thousands of others about which officials could only dream. In August 1933, the

reorganization of the federal bureaucracy by Executive Order 6166 catapulted the Park

Service to a place of prominence among federal agencies. As it acquired the park-like

holdings of the War Department and the Forest Service, the NPS became a broader-based,

more powerful agency with genuine resources at its disposal. During the 1930s, capital

development programs were carried out in nearly every park area with potential for visitation.

The constituency for the parks grew despite dismal economic times, as many saw the parks as

an avenue to their personal economic future as well as places to visit to affirm their heritage.

In its rivalries with other agencies, particularly the Forest Service, the Park Service emerged

triumphant, with a clear mandate for its mission and more resources to support development

than ever before. [22]
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With the enormous benefits of federal development programs for depressed local, state, and

regional economies, a national park became a coveted prize. During the New Deal, national

park areas were prime candidates for federal expenditures. After many years of statehood,

Minnesota still lacked a national park area of any kind, something to serve both as a status

symbol and a potential windfall in government spending in the state. Local support for a park

area was strong, and the lack of large public domain natural areas in Minnesota made

Pipestone a good candidate for park status. But questions about its importance remained.

There was some opposition in the agency to pursuing Pipestone as a park area. During the

New Deal, the best additions to the system were places where a development program could

be easily implemented. Pipestone had some potential, but relatively little in comparison to

larger parks. Park Service leaders who were closely tied to New Deal development money

recognized the limits of Pipestone. Native Minnesotan Conrad L. Wirth headed the Civilian

Conservation Corps programs of the agency. He used Burlew's opposition to voice his own

misgivings. Wirth thought Pipestone a poor candidate for his support because he concentrated

his development efforts on large, natural parks where he could put thousands of people to

work. Harold C. Bryant, who led the educational division of the agency, sided with Wirth and

Burlew. [23] Others recognized greater long-term potential.

After the change in agency policy in the early 1930s, "aggregate value" park areas—parks

with a combination of values that together equalled national significance—became more

common. Pipestone had potential in this regard; Burlew was not sure that the quarries alone

were significant enough for inclusion in the park system, but a larger part of the reserved

area might have natural and scientific importance as well as historical value. The input of

Victor E. Shelford, a famous ecologist at the University of Illinois in Urbana who reported on

the importance of the surrounding area, gave NPS officials a strong argument for a park area

including a number of different categories of significance. [24]

The land remained under Bureau of Indian Affairs administration, rendering much of the

debate over values irrelevant. More important was American Indian sentiment about a public

park at Pipestone. Across the northern plains, Native Americans expressed their support for

the park. Sioux tribes in South Dakota, including some individual Yankton, and Ojibway in

Minnesota were particularly prominent, although the absence of support of the Yankton

Tribal Council was conspicuous. The council filed a complaint with Indian affairs, protesting

the potential opening of the quarries to all tribes and requesting monetary compensation.

Commissioner of Indian Affairs John Collier, noted for his liberal sentiments, rejected the

request. [25]

BIA officials were sympathetic to both the needs of Native Americans and the idea of some

permanent resolution of the situation. With prodding from the ever-intrepid Winifred Bartlett,

who used her own money to travel to Washington, D. C., to lobby for the park, the Park

Service was secured a commitment from BIA that land not essential to the Indian School

could be made available for permanent park purposes. [26] Increasingly, the combination of

local support, acquiescence of the federal agency responsible for the land, and lack of

concerted opposition from Native Americans made a park area possible. The last ingredient

necessary was legislative support from the congressional delegation of the State of

Minnesota.

Minnesota's elected officials were willing to oblige. With Bureau of Indian Affairs

concurrence and encouragement of the Pipestone National Park Association, U.S. Sen.

Henrik Shipstead, a Republican from Minnesota, offered a bill for the establishment of a

national monument, the first of many such efforts, in May 1934. The 160-acre proposal

doubled the size of the area acceptable to the Bureau of Indian Affairs. Nor were the

boundaries of the park within the reserved area made clear. The confusion surrounding these
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two issues stalled the bill, and it died in committee. [27]

Despite the failure of the first attempt, momentum in support of the park remained strong. No

one expressed opposition to the idea of the park, but only to the provisions of the bill

Shipstead offered. In 1935, Shipstead introduced another measure. This one included 110

acres, much closer to the roughly eighty acres to which the Bureau of Indian Affairs

previously agreed. The Park Service recognized that it could capitalize on the momentum and

began a series of studies. J. W. Balmer of the Indian School prepared a report on the

boundaries of the proposed park, Neal A. Butterfield, an NPS landscape architect, evaluated

the area, and in August 1935 assistant regional historian of the State Park Division Region VI

office Edward A. Hummel reviewed the features of the area. In order to include most of the

quarries and the rocks called the Three Maidens, Hummel and Butterfield advocated a larger

area than Shipstead included in the second bill. [28]

Despite such support, Shipstead's second bill failed to create the park. The Senate public

lands committee reported favorably on the bill without incorporating any of the amendments

recommended by Hummel or Butterfield. On June 18, 1936, the Senate passed the bill that

the public lands committee endorsed. This posed the classic dilemma for the Park Service.

The opportunity to acquire a new park was available, but the area in question was not all the

agency needed to fulfill its mission. In the history of the agency, the Park Service had

become accustomed to such situations. Agency officials learned to keep expansion plans

handy. But at Pipestone, such an eventuality did not materialize. Although the Senate passed

the bill, the U.S. House of Representatives failed to act on it. The proposal for Pipestone

National Monument died with the end of the 1936 congressional session. [29]

All the necessary ingredients for the creation of the park remained in place. The Bureau of

Indian Affairs was willing to give up the land, the Park Service supported the idea, and local

support, led by Winifred Bartlett, remained strong. Both Minnesota senators introduced a new

bill in January 1937. A Park Service boundary study incorporated the comments of Hummel

and Butterfield into the proposal, and when the Senate committee reviewed the information,

it concurred with the boundaries proposed by the Park Service. On August 6, the U.S. Senate

passed the bill; fifteen days later, the House of Representatives followed. On August 26,

1937, Franklin D. Roosevelt signed the bill, and Pipestone National Monument came into

existence.

At the time, this legislative process was uncommon. Most of the first generation of national

monuments was selected from the public domain. Before the 1930s, if an area was not in the

public domain or given to the government by private owners, it simply was not considered for

monument status. By the 1930s, the selection process had become more discriminating. Later

national monuments were chosen for reasons other than mere availability. During the 1930s,

the historic message each contained became an important consideration. The establishment of

Homestead National Monument, near Beatrice, Nebraska, illustrated the change. The first

tract perfected under the Homestead Act of 1862, it was also established by congressional

legislation. Homestead was selected because of what it symbolized to Americans, not as a

result of any threat to its integrity. [30]

The precedent held at Pipestone. Although it did not share the iconographic meaning of

Homestead to Americans struggling with the greatest economic catastrophe in their history,

Pipestone had considerable significance to a smaller segment of the public. Melding that

meaning with the process used to proclaim other areas outside the public domain created a

kind of opportunity that the beginning of the Second World War would terminate. Legislative

establishment of national monuments became standard in the aftermath of the Jackson Hole

National Monument controversy of the 1940s, but in the 1930s, it remained atypical. The

establishment of Pipestone was an early example of what became characteristic of the
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process. [31]

The establishment of Pipestone National Monument by legislation rather than proclamation

was not the only way in which the monument was anomalous. In many ways, Pipestone was

unique among park areas. Because of a clause allowing Native Americans to again quarry

within park boundaries, the monument had a kind of obligation that other park areas did not

share. It had a de facto responsibility for the protection and maintenance of historic Native

American life. A park reflecting cultural as well as historic themes, it presented a skewed

vision of Indian experience. The monument was not surrounded by Native American lands as

at park areas such as Navajo National Monument, nor did native people have responsibility

for services as they did at places such as Canyon de Chelly. But at both of those parks, the

monument and artifacts related protected not locations to modern or historic Native American

life, but prehistory. At the inception of Pipestone National Monument, living Native

Americans were part of the reason for creating the park, their "historic" activities part of the

milieu. One of the most important features the new park contained were Native Americans

working the quarries in the old ways.

Yet this presented a tremendous administrative responsibility. Managing the quarries and the

people that used them along with the guaranteed flow of visitors, the natural resources of the

monument, and relations with the town of Pipestone required skill and dexterity. Without

cooperative agreements, resources, and full-time personnel, Pipestone, its supporters in town,

and its volunteer staff shouldered a tremendous burden. They faced a complex situation

without the tools and experience to properly address it.

Pipestone was also different from other park areas proclaimed and developed in its era.

Executive Order 6166, Franklin D. Roosevelt's proclamation that reorganized government

bureaucracy in 1933, gave the NPS control of the places representing American history that

the federal system administered. Battlefields and other historic military areas were the focus

of development during the first few years of the New Deal. Other parks established in the

same era included natural areas such as the Everglades National Park in Florida and Capitol

Reef National Monument in Utah, historical parks such as Homestead National Monument,

and built parks such as the Jefferson National Expansion Memorial in downtown St. Louis.

Pipestone did not fit well into this company. [32] Most other similar areas had been

proclaimed a generation before. With the added dimension of the management of continued

quarrying, Pipestone had all the appearances of a complicated situation.

In addition, Pipestone faced problems typical of the national monument category. It was

established without an operations budget, putting any development plans aside until

appropriations could be arranged. The monument lacked a full-time permanent custodian, the

designation at the time for people who administered national monuments, leaving it in the

hands of interested and zealous volunteers who were not always aware of Park Service rules

and standards. Pipestone was in the national monument category, still something of a liability

at the end of the 1930s; although New Deal money was spread evenly throughout the system,

the standard NPS allocation still funded national park programs more comprehensively than

those at national monuments. The regionalization of the Park Service, which began in 1937,

also put the monument at a disadvantage. Located in Region II, the Midwest Region which

had its offices in Omaha, it was far from most of the other parks that addressed Native

American or prehistoric themes. This made the development of the monument a difficult

process. At its inception, implementing typical NPS programs at Pipestone remained a longterm objective.

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Pipestone

Administrative History

CHAPTER IV:

"THIS NATIONAL PARK SERVICE OUTPOST": 1938-

1956

After its establishment, Pipestone National Monument faced the typical problems of a new

park area. There were few permanent structures within the boundaries of the monument and

almost no amenities for visitors. The only improvements that existed were small picnic tables

and a shelter built by the Indian Civilian Conservation Corps earlier in the 1930s. The bill

establishing the monument did not appropriate funds for its administration, and there were no

provisions for permanent or temporary staff. As in the case of many other national

monuments established more than twenty years before, a volunteer custodian needed to be

found. At the inception, Pipestone lacked the most basic features of Park Service

management.

In 1937, Pipestone's condition was unusual. Franklin D. Roosevelt's New Deal transformed

the park system. Its programs created the greatest windfall in the history of the National Park

Service, supporting the development of more than one hundred park areas. Through the

reorganization of the federal bureaucracy, the agency added more than seventy park areas to

the system, many of which presented important aspects of American history. Battlefields,

historic sites, and other properties became part of the system, and proponents for such areas

pressured NPS officials for development. By the late 1930s, park areas across the nation

sported new museums, administrative facilities, housing, roads and trails, utilities systems,

and interpretation exhibits.

But Pipestone entered the system too late for much of the largess of the New Deal and

without an established plan for implementing development. National parks still topped the list

of development priorities, and the older archeological national monuments that lacked

facilities until the New Deal had vocal proponents within the agency. The Civil War and

Revolutionary War battlefields that were added to the system pulled on heartstrings of

Americans; their obvious meaning to the public made them strong candidates for

development. [2] Pipestone shared none of these attributes. Combined with its remote

location and the unusual resources the monument contained, development became a slow and

frustrating process until the advent of MISSION 66 in the 1950s.

At Pipestone in 1937, the agency faced a dilemma. The growth of the park system and its

development gave Congress and the public a clear set of expectations. By 1937, travelers

anticipated a certain level of service when they visited a national park area. Most popular

parks had visitor centers, concessions, roads and marked trails, and interpretive personnel and

material. For two decades after its establishment, Pipestone could not meet the expectations

embodied in such development.

Initially, NPS officials were not quite sure what to do with Pipestone National Monument.

Pipestone's unique situation made successful administration a difficult proposition. There

were many ways to approach its development. Some in the agency regarded Pipestone as a

primitive park. Others sought to implement a characteristic NPS-style plan, emphasizing the
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historic and geological themes of the monument. But under the circumstances, initial

optimism dissipated, and improvement of facilities became an arduous task.

The conditions NPS officials found when they visited Pipestone were discouraging. In the

summer of 1938, nearly a year after the establishment of the monument, the quarries were

filled with water and had become swimming holes. A "rather dilapidated looking" trailer

stood atop the quartzite ledge, leaving an unfavorable impression on NPS Regional Geologist

Carroll H. Wegemann. Local people complained that the established of the monument

encouraged an influx of Native Americans who hoped to sell pipestone souvenirs. [3] The

beginnings of a tense situation existed at the monument.

One of the first steps taken at Pipestone was finding a volunteer custodian. Volunteers had

been the mainstays of the national monuments since the passage of the Antiquities Act of

1906. During the 1920s, some southwestern monuments received trained NPS replacements,

but elsewhere in the nation, volunteers remained the standard at national monuments until the

New Deal. In many cases, respectable citizens from the vicinity, people with a specific

interest in a park area, or nearby federal officials from other agencies volunteered their

services. At Pipestone, the superintendent of the adjacent Pipestone Indian School, J. W.

Balmer, one of the founders of the Pipestone Indian Shrine Association, accepted the

responsibility. He and the Park Service had much to do. [4]

Balmer inherited the complex set of custom, rules, and regulations that governed the quarries

at Pipestone. The act establishing the monument extended to all Indians the right to quarry at

Pipestone, something the Yankton Sioux relinquished in the settlement of the court case in

1928. In the nine-year interim between the end of the case and the establishment of the

monument, quarrying continued, but without legal sanction. As superintendent of the Indian

School, Balmer exercised nominal supervision over the quarry, but any quarrying that

occurred fell within his discretionary power. Officials of the Office of Indian Affairs

explained that between 1928 and 1937, they had not restricted Indian quarrying, a policy that

the act compelled the Park Service to follow. [5] The enabling legislation strengthened

existing custom. The establishment of the monument created a permanent legal relationship

between Native Americans and the Park Service.

The protection of the rights of Native Americans in the proclamation assured that

administration of the monument would be complicated. There were a number of

constituencies vying for control of the monument and particularly of the money its visitors

would spend. The Pipestone community correctly recognized that it stood to benefit from the

presence of a national park area, but only if the monument provided visitors with an

experience similar to that at other national park areas. Native Americans from the Indian

School and across the northern plains recognized that their heritage was the story behind the

pipestone quarries and their participation was essential to the success of the park. The two

groups often found their objectives antithetical.

The slow development of facilities at the monument exacerbated existing tensions. Between

1937 and 1946, Pipestone functioned as a classic remote national monument. Balmer took

time from his duties at the Indian School to watch over the monument, but he clearly

recognized that without a budget for even the most basic maintenance, he fought a losing

battle. [6] Administered by the volunteer custodian, Pipestone languished on the periphery of

the park system.

But unlike so many earlier national monuments, Pipestone began to be developed within a

very few years. During the New Deal, funding for park development was easy to attain, and

although Pipestone did not receive a CCC camp as did many other park areas, access to NPS

funds came far more quickly than it had for earlier national monuments. The monument
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received its first appropriation of $1,300 for fiscal year 1940. The first seasonal custodian,

Albert F. Drysdale of Winona, Minnesota, was appointed late in 1939 and began work

January 2, 1940. [7] A rudimentary administrative structure began to take shape.

Local support for the monument remained strong. The appointment of the seasonal custodian

was perceived as an important step forward, and Drysdale's arrival was greeted with banner

headlines in the local newspaper, the Pipestone County Star. Drysdale collected visitation

figures during the summer of 1941 as a means to gauge his public. Nearly 1,500 out-of-state

visitors signed the register, an indication that the monument had considerable appeal despite

its lack of amenities. [8] To many in the community, it appeared that Pipestone was

beginning to develop.

By 1940, the NPS planning process had also begun. Edward A. Hummel, who had been

involved with Pipestone since 1935 and had since become the Region II regional supervisor

of historic sites, completed a preliminary historical development report, the first NPS

planning document for the monument. Hummel suggested that planned development should

include a museum and administration building, a custodian's residence, a utility building,

roads, trails, and parking, signs and markers, provisions for the sale of pipestone materials

and artifacts, and a research program to support interpretation. In 1940, a two-fold

interpretive leaflet for Pipestone was designed and 10,000 copies were printed, offering the

beginning of an interpretation program. [9]

Hummel's ambitious program reflected the experience of the New Deal. Federal money

enhanced the agency's visitor service mission throughout the 1930s, and as a result, new

planning had to include substantial visitor service to fit the standards of the agency. Without

provisions for visitor service, development was unlikely. Implementing Hummel's program

would bring the facilities at Pipestone up to the level of the rest of the park system. At the

beginning of the 1940s, it almost seemed a realistic option.

But the attack on Pearl Harbor and American entry into World War II slowed the

development of the national park system. The American economy rapidly retooled for

wartime production, and spiritual and recreational needs ceased to be concerns of decisionmakers. The Park Service was moved temporarily from its headquarters in the Interior

Department in Washington, D.C., to Chicago to make room for more important war-related

agencies. Many Park Service people, from the Washington office to the ranger corps, entered

the military. Almost all park development projects were delayed or eliminated. Restrictions

on travel, gasoline and tire rationing, and concerns about the war curtailed visitation as

Americans concentrated on the difficult task they faced. [10]

Pipestone mirrored the national pattern. Any chance of rapid development disappeared with

the mobilization that began after Pearl Harbor. Drysdale continued to serve in a seasonal

capacity, but other than basic maintenance, there was little that he could do. Visitation to the

monument diminished, although many people from the nearby Army Air Corps base in Sioux

Falls, South Dakota, came to tour Pipestone. Local people continued to make use of the

monument, and picnics and holiday outings became the most common forms of use. [11]

The end of the Second World War brought an overwhelming sense of relief and exuberant

celebration to the nation. In the aftermath of the Japanese surrender, Americans danced in the

streets and made plans for the future. During the war, there had been shortages of all kinds of

goods, while many people were able to save thousands of dollars. The result was a pent-up

demand for consumer goods and travel and recreation, as millions of Americans set off in an

aggressive frenzy to see their country and acquire the cars, clothes, appliances, and homes

that the war denied them. [12]
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The park system experienced an almost immediate impact. The national parks attracted

visitors like never before, as more and more Americans accepted the natural and cultural

heritage contained within them as an important part of their cultural patrimony. The

construction of the interstate highway system and the popularization of highways such as

Route 66 encouraged travel. At a time when Americans could travel from coast to coast by

car, popular culture elevated the experience to the status of myth. Visitation across the

national park system soared, reaching numbers that exceeded the wildest dreams of even the

most use-oriented NPS managers. Visits to the national park system rose from 12 million

each year immediately before World War II to around 35 million in 1950 and continued to

increase. In 1956, the system received more than 54 million visits. In the decade following

the war, appropriations remained nearly constant. [13]

Changes in patterns of travel made handling the growth even more difficult. By the 1950s,

the automobile had replaced the train as the primary mode of transportation of visitors to

national parks. The individualized nature of automobile travel changed visitation and

exponentially increased the impact of visitation. More than 98 percent of visitors arrived in

private automobiles, leading to the use of larger percentages of national park areas, traffic

congestion, parking problems, and traffic congestion, and in some places, air pollution. [14]

The increase in visitation revealed deep system-wide structural problems for the NPS.

Throughout the late 1940s and early 1950s, the park system experienced tremendous annual

growth in visitation without concomitant increases in appropriations for capital development,

maintenance, visitor service, or administration. Across the country, park staffs and facilities

were overwhelmed by an influx of visitors with money to spend and the desire to experience

their natural and cultural heritage. The quality of facilities and visitor experience declined

rapidly throughout the era. Conditions became so bad that noted author and historian Bernard

DeVoto called for the closing of the national parks if they could not be adequately

maintained. [15]

Pipestone experienced many of the typical problems of the era. Without Park Service-caliber

facilities or any of the characteristic agency accouterments, the monument was unprepared

for the onslaught of visitation. Pent-up demand for travel and recreation caused immediate

changes at Pipestone. The increase in visitation was almost instantaneous. War workers

returning home increased visitation at Pipestone in the summer and fall of 1945. The influx

continued during the 1946 travel season, when more than 5,000 visitors came to Pipestone

between May and September. By the end of 1948, months with more than 2,000 visitors,

more than the number that came during an entire travel season before the war, became

common during the summers. [16]

But the condition of the monument remained a local embarrassment. Despite all the efforts at

planning and development, the monument remained essentially the same in 1946 as it had

been in 1937. Despite Drysdale's presence six months of the year, the monument continued to

deteriorate. Upkeep of the grounds was intermittent, there was little to entice or educate

visitors, and as the situation failed to improve, local business people began to discourage

visitors from going to the quarries. Some complained to U.S. Rep. H. Carl Andersen that the

custodian was derelict in his duties, and the monument should be turned over to local people

to assure better management. Andersen asked NPS Director Newton B. Drury to allow the

Pipestone Civic and Commerce Association to receive federal money to administer the park.

[17]

NPS officials rushed to the defense of their custodian and the limited care they could offer

the monument. The situation at the monument was clearly substandard, and NPS officials

reminded Andersen that Drysdale was at the monument six months of the year and because

of government regulations, only five days each week, eight hours each day, during that time.
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Regional office officials determined that Drysdale put in a significant amount of time each

week in excess of the required forty hours, but that the responsibilities at Pipestone were too

great for one part-time person. Increased vandalism during the off-season posed another

problem for the custodian. When Drysdale arrived at the monument in the spring of 1947, he

found the buildings damaged, the partitions in the latrines torn out, and garbage dumped in a

number of places. The fence along the Indian School boundary also required repair. The

monument lacked an appropriation for repair and maintenance, and Drysdale did what he

could. Pipestone needed full-time care. [18]

The NPS sent a team to work with the Pipestone community. In a meeting with Mayor Fred

Walz and a number of other civic leaders, Chief Historian Herbert Kahler, Regional Historian

Olaf T. Hagen, and Drysdale explained the problems of the NPS. The climate had changed

since the New Deal, when NPS officials could routinely summon the resources of federal

programs to transform park areas. In the late 1940s, a master plan and a project construction

program were in the planning stage for Pipestone National Monument, but had not yet come

to fruition. Community representatives were eager to see progress, and NPS officials offered

a preview. The plan included a full-time custodian in Park Service uniform, a seasonal

employee, better training for park staff, provisions for tools and materials for the park,

entrance, informational, and directional signs, a trailside exhibit, and greater cooperation with

the local community. The Park Service officials stressed that the plan would take time to

implement. [19 ]

The Washington office of the Park Service, which again became agency headquarters after

World War II, also worked to include Andersen among its supporters in Congress. In the late

1940s, Pipestone was the only national park area in Minnesota, and much of its predicament

could easily be attributed to a lack of resources. In a series of meetings with high-ranking

NPS officials, Andersen received a clearer picture of the problems at Pipestone. Park Service

officials sought to place a full-time resident custodian at the monument, and Andersen

became a leading proponent of the idea. At a meeting of the House Interior and Insular

Affairs Committee, he called the condition of the monument a disgrace to the community

and the entire park system. Andersen came out strongly for a permanent staff position for the

monument. [20]

A slow and steady move to professional NPS management began at Pipestone in no small

part as a response to Andersen and the concerns of the Pipestone community. The monument

acquired its first piece of permanent equipment, a used pickup truck, in the summer of 1947.

The first full-time year-round custodian, Lyle K. Linch, arrived early in 1948. Later that year

Linch was appointed "superintendent," a reflection of the pejorative connotation attached to

the title of custodian as well as the increased emphasis on equal status for personnel at all

categories of park areas. [21]

Linch had a decade of experience with the Park Service before he came to Pipestone in 1948.

He graduated from the University of Iowa with a degree in biology in 1936, entering the Park

Service in 1938 as a custodial officer at the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, D. C. He

became a park ranger at Natchez Trace Parkway in Mississippi in 1939, and continued at

Rocky Mountain National Park in Colorado and Badlands and Jewel Cave national

monuments in South Dakota before coming to Pipestone. [22] Lean and angular, Linch knew

the Park Service way before he came to the monument.

Linch initiated new programs from the day he arrived at Pipestone. The first involved much

needed maintenance, cutting weeds, clearing trails, and generally cleaning up the monument.

Linch organized cooperative programs with local and state authorities to assist in road and

trail maintenance. He developed interpretation programs, followed in 1949 by research

activities with Regional Archeologist Paul Beaubien and University of Minnesota
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archeologist Gordon Baldwin. These efforts provided the basis for interpretation at the

monument as well as much of its collection of artifacts. In addition, Linch hired George

Bryan, a full-blooded Ojibway who quarried the monument, as the first seasonal interpretive

ranger. In 1950, he, Winifred Bartlett, and others developed nature trails. [23] In two short

years, a trained Park Service professional made a substantial difference in the condition of

the monument.

Linch also supported larger-scale activities to increase the exposure of the monument. With

his concurrence and urging, the local Exchange Club, a chapter of the national organization,

produced its first "Hiawatha Pageant" in 1949. In it, costumed members of the community

acted out Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's The Song of Hiawatha. The Exchange Club format

did not fit local needs and the Pipestone club dissolved. The pageant grew in attendance and

importance, and an entity called the Hiawatha Club was formed to administer it. The pageant

became a regional attraction and a fixture at the monument. [24]

Despite his myriad accomplishments, Linch became a controversial figure within the agency.

Remembered as a "character," he had a flair for the dramatic and at times exceeded the

bounds of acceptable decorum for agency personnel. While he aggressively promoted the

monument and its features, his projects sometimes lacked objectivity and substantiation.

Regional officials spent consideral energy keeping abreast of Linch's activities and reining

him in. Some suspected him of unauthorized quarrying, a violation of the most cardinal

agency rule, but such allegations were difficult to prove. In more public venues, Linch's

claims that he discovered Egyptian hieroglyphics at Pipestone and his formation of an Ankh

society were of particular annoyance. Regional office supervisors strongly recommended that

Linch adhere to the information of respectable scientists and refrain from the

"commercialized" and "gaudy" kind of presentation that characterized private sites. The

boundary between successful promotion of an area and unacceptable showmanship was

clearly defined, although Linch's often idiosyncratic presentations continued intermittently.

[25]

Despite the many positive strides in interpretation and maintenance that Linch made, the

facilities at Pipestone lagged behind the rest of the park system. In 1948, no winter quarters

for the superintendent and his family existed. Linch's family spent this first winter at the

monument in Iowa, while he opened a winter office in the Calumet Hotel in downtown

Pipestone. The separation was a hardship on the superintendent and his family, precisely the

kind of situation the Park Service sought to avoid as it professionalized management at

smaller park areas. [26]

Early in the 1950s, the NPS still had not established control over access to the monument. A

horseshoe-shaped loop road allowed people to use the monument as a thoroughfare, and

without a visitor center, the Park Service lacked an adequate way to orient travelers. In 1951,

the loop road was closed permanently, but the question of visitor orientation remained

beyond the scope of existing Park Service resources. Without a visitor center located between

the parking areas and the quarries, the Park Service had little opportunity to control access to

the monument and prepare visitors for their experience.

In addition, the monument did not yet include all the features of importance in the vicinity.

The initial law establishing Pipestone placed the Three Maidens, the three large rocks near

the southern boundary, within the boundaries of the monument, but the land remained in

private hands. Both the Staso Milling Company and the City of Pipestone owned part of the

area, and acquisition measures to acquire the area would be necessary. [27] While

development of the monument was not predicated on its growth, including adjacent features

of cultural significance enhanced the monument and made it seem complete.
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Beginning in the 1930s, NPS officials sought to acquire the Three Maidens. City leaders

recognized the need for the transfer, and in a February 26, 1940, meeting, the city council

voted to deed its portion of the area, about .17 acres, to the NPS. Although the Park Service

would have preferred to acquire the portion owned by the Staso Milling Company as well, it

proceeded. Yet more than four years later, the city had yet to finish the transaction. The Park

Service still had not received title to the parcel. In addition, the title held by the Staso Milling

Company seemed to the County Recorder of Deeds to be "cloudy." Throughout the 1940s,

legal wrangling over the title to the two tracts continued, until in 1949, the city council again

passed legislation conveying the property to the NPS. Again the City of Pipestone prepared

to donate the entire tract to the Park Service. The Park Service needed to fund a survey of the

boundaries to acquire the land. [28]

But the transfer was stymied. Robert S. Owens, the recorder of deeds who also owned an

adjacent forty-acre tract, personally acquired the piece of land that had belonged to Staso

Milling. A friend of the monument and one of the founders of the Hiawatha Pageant, he had

only two stipulations. He requested that the pageant be allowed to use the area south of the

Three Maidens as a stage for its production and that the Park Service refrain from erecting a

boundary fence along the south side of the monument.

Although Lyle Linch thought the idea a good one, Acting Regional Director Howard Baker

disagreed. Rather than include Owens' stipulations in the transfer, Baker sought to acquire the

land and then discuss a special use permit for the pageant. Owens and the city council found

Baker's counteroffer acceptable, and the agreement proceeded. Fee simple title to the land

was transferred to the Park Service, and the Hiawatha Pageant received a special use permit

renewable annually for twenty years. The Three Maidens were officially part of the

monument, although a small nearby tract was not. The members of the Hiawatha Club

retained a strong proprietary feeling for the features that continued to affect management and

policy. [29]

Developments outside the park system provided impetus for further expansion of the

monument. During the 1930s, the New Deal changed the relationship between the federal

government and Native Americans. Under the administration of Commissioner of Indian

Affairs John Collier, a long-time critic of federal Indian policy whom Franklin D. Roosevelt

placed in charge of Indian issues, Native Americans had been offered much greater control

over their affairs. The prohibitions against speaking native languages or teaching traditional

cultures were lifted as Indians passed from child-like status to near autonomy. One set of

programs, the Indian Reorganization Act, colloquially referred to as the Indian New Deal,

sought to develop an economic backbone for native peoples. [30]

By the late 1940s, the direction of federal policy towards Native Americans had again

changed. Many of Collier's well-intended reforms had disastrous results, and in the postwar

climate, his liberal policies seemed anachronistic. Under the leadership of Dillon S. Myer, the

man who administered the internment camps for Japanese-Americans during World War II,

the federal government sought to end its financial and administrative involvement with native

peoples. The idea of termination—the elimination of reservations, allotment of lands, and

integration of Indians into mainstream America—had become the prevailing current in

federal Indian policy. [31]

To many at mid-century, termination was an attractive policy because it curtailed services

provided to Native Americans. The federal government had invested enough in the

reservation system, this line of reasoning contended, and Indians had reached the point that

they could care for their own needs. Some tribes were terminated—removed from federal

roles as authorized groups that could receive collective benefits. Many of the special

programs offered Native Americans as a result of their treaties with the U.S. government also
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ceased. Elimination of some of the many Indian boarding schools that dotted the West

followed. [32] Pipestone Indian School was among those targeted for closure.

Efforts to close the school had begun in 1948 but were stalled by a powerful local outcry. In

the fall of 1948, a parade of educators and state officials visited the Indian school, assessing

their need for the property and its structures. Lyle Linch wanted to make sure that the closing

helped the Park Service. His prime concern at the time was finding permanent housing for his

family, and he suggested that the Park Service acquire a building from the Indian School.

Land acquisition was more important to NPS goals. Linch also discussed adding some of the

school lands to the park with Winifred Bartlett, who thought it an excellent idea. [33]

The Pipestone Indian School had been founded in no small part because of the community

and had become an integral part of the local economy. Local townspeople perceived its loss

as a severe blow, and led by Rev. J. G. Steinmeyer, they lobbied to keep the school open. To

the surprise and consternation of Linch, who expected to get one of the residences at the

Indian School for his family, the lobbying effort was successful and the school not only

remained open, but expanded its operations. [34]

From Linch's point of view, one major positive feature resulted from the decision to keep the

Indian School open. The situation brought his housing plight to the attention of regional

office officials, and when Linch had to leave his temporary quarters at the school and send

his family to Iowa for the winter, plans for construction of a Park Service residence quickly

took shape. In September 1949, the regional office offered a revised construction program

that included a new residence at Pipestone. In 1950, the first permanent staff quarters at

Pipestone were completed. In typical NPS fashion at the time, the building included a room

in which to store official records. [35]

The potential for land acquisition continued to interest NPS officials. In the initial master

plan for Pipestone, provisions to add Indian school lands were included. When the first talk

of the school closing began, NPS officials assessed the chances of acquisition. Arthur E.

Demaray, associate director of the agency and a person with vast experience in acquiring new

park land, contacted the Bureau of Indian Affairs. But until February 1951, when Regional

Director Baker determined that the closing of the Indian school appeared "probable," little

action occurred. Baker's regional office filed a recommendation for a boundary adjustment

that provided the agency with the ammunition it needed to proceed. The pace accelerated

rapidly, although the Park Service did not take over administration of the land until early in

1956. [36]

NPS officials worked with the Bureau of Indian Affairs to reach an agreement. Chief

Historian Herbert Kahler led a team that met with BIA officials and found them receptive to

the idea of a transfer. Commissioner of Indian Affairs Myer was "quite happy to collaborate"

with the NPS; getting rid of Indian land was in line with his objectives. In August 1951, plans

for terminating the school were approved by the Bureau of Indian Affairs, and Secretary of

the Interior Julius A. Krug sent a draft bill to Speaker of the House of Representatives Sam

Rayburn allowing the transfer of the land. Although Rep. Andersen commended Congress for

keeping the school open in 1953, the following year the school finally closed. The Park

Service and other federal agencies claimed the buildings and equipment, and the Pipestone

Indian School ceased to exist. [37]

Park Service officials built solid justification for their acquisition. An archeological study of

the monument in 1949 laid the basis for acquiring additional land. Archeologist Paul

Beaubien's report showed that most of the area quarried in the historic period remained

outside existing park boundaries. He concluded that the monument boundaries were "an

arbitrary minimum area," and recommended the addition of portions of the Indian School
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area when the school ceased to exist. After the bill to transfer the land went to Congress,

more than 160 acres of the school were placed under the administration of the park as a

prelude to the eventual transfer. [38]

Legislative efforts to permanently transfer land at Pipestone began in 1953. Supportive locals

and a well-positioned congressional delegation from Minnesota helped the cause. In 1956,

the original 115 acres of the monument were augmented by 164 acres from the former Indian

School. The remainder of the reserved area was given to the State of Minnesota for a wildlife

refuge. [39] The 115-acre park had become 279 acres, and with the wildlife reserve, more

than 400 acres of the 640 that had been designated as a reserved area in 1858 had become

public land.

The Three Maidens area remained an issue. Although the legal transfer had been completed

in 1951, the people who produced the Hiawatha Pageant still regarded the Three Maidens as

their property. Part of Robert S. Owens' land to the south of the Three Maidens had passed to

the pageant, and since the boulders were the staging area for the performances, their

assumption of ownership seemed grounded in logic. Nor were there boundary markers to

formally establish the line. In an effort to win continued local support and strengthen an

institution that had the potential to help the monument, Park Service officials conceded their

stewardship. Local custom gave the pageant de acto ownership of the tract, and the Park

Service rarely contested the situation. It had little to gain and much good will to lose.

Regional office officials did assist the Hiawatha Club with planning issues, transferring much

of the old picnic equipment built by the Indian CCC. Just before the final transfer of the

Indian School land to the Park Service in January 1957, the Hiawatha Club ceded its last

portion of land, the area to the west of the Three Maidens. Although the Park Service owned

the area, local feeling of ownership continued.

After six years at Pipestone, Lyle Linch was ready to move on to new challenges. As early as

1951, he began to request transfers to other parks. Despite the problems with unauthorized

activity and standards of interpretation, Linch had been the right person at the right time for

Pipestone. His enthusiasm, although sometimes misplaced, had contributed to the rapid

development of the monument. By 1954, when Linch was transferred to Chalmette National

Historical Park outside New Orleans, Pipestone had begun to take on the characteristics of

the rest of the park system. Although substantial capital development was still necessary, the

monument could offer many of the services available at better-known, better-funded parks.

Harvey B. Reynolds, Linch's successor, continued the pattern of aggressive development that

had come to characterize Pipestone. Arriving in July 1954, he began to assess the needs of

the monument. While local support remained strong, Reynolds recognized two important

gaps. The Hiawatha Club had its own objectives, and the park lacked a comparable,

organized entity. In addition, the Native Americans of the area, so crucial to the interpretive

mission of the monument, had continuous economic difficulties. In November 1954,

Reynolds, Winifred Bartlett, and Dr. Walter G. Benjamin began an effort to address both

issues. They decided to consider a revival of the Pipestone Indian Shrine Association, which

had become dormant after the establishment of the monument. Within a year, the group had

been reorganized and accepted as a cooperating association of the Park Service. [40]

The Pipestone Indian Shrine Association defined a broader mission than most cooperative

associations. Such groups usually provided economic support through sales of park-related

books and postcards and assisted in park programs such as interpretation. Although the

association developed a new trail guide as its first project, the situation at Pipestone offered a

chance to tackle more substantive issues. Faced with growing visitation and the sad specter

of Native Americans shamelessly selling pipes and artifacts made from pipestone for small

sums everywhere from the train station to the boundaries of the park, the organization sought
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to develop a structure to help area Native Americans market their crafts. Its members

established a small gift shop within the contact station that included Indian crafts among its

postcards, books, and souvenirs. [41]

The reinvigoration of the Shrine Association typified the changes occurring at the monument.

Linch initiated many programs, and Reynolds continued to develop them. Reynolds set up a

temporary museum exhibit in the old picnic shelter. Following the necessary and longstanding pattern of outside support dictated by a lack of resources, the St. Paul Science

Museum developed its exhibits. By the end of 1955, the temporary exhibit was ready for the

public. [42]

The temporary museum reflected the condition of the park at the end of 1955. Since its

establishment, a great deal had been accomplished without significant agency expenditures.

Local support for the park remained strong, rudimentary facilities and interpretation

supported visitor services, and energetic and enthusiastic park personnel greeted new arrivals.

But the realities of park management changed in the decade following World War II. Annual

visitation at Pipestone grew from 5,000 in 1945 to more than 52,000 in 1955, mirroring a

similar trend throughout the park system. Despite the developments, Pipestone lacked the

facilities to support such a level of visitation. Many of the measures enacted at the park had

been stopgap in character. Comprehensive and permanent development required the

allocation of resources from the highest levels of the agency.

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Pipestone

Administrative History

CHAPTER V:

MISSION 66 AND THE MODERN ERA

By the mid-1950s, Pipestone National Monument was in dire need of capital development.

The energetic leadership provided by its early superintendents had been responsible for the

beginnings of a professional management regime, but the physical facilities at Pipestone

remained substandard. Following the Second World War, NPS officials found themselves

facing incredible increases in visitation without any kind of budget for the improvement of

facilities. Nationwide, the agency tried stopgap measures to prevent further decline in service

and facilities, but the resources at its disposal were nowhere near adequate. In the funding

climate of the early 1950s, development at Pipestone appeared to be a long way off.

But the increased affluence of American society and the importance of the national park

system as a symbol of American culture made greater development possible. Adept lobbying

by NPS Director Conrad L. Wirth and the response to pronouncements of decline in the

quality of the park system by critics led to the advent of a new program. MISSION 66, a tenyear capital development program funded by Congress designed to improve park facilities in

time for the fiftieth anniversary of the founding of the Park Service in 1966, inaugurated a

new era in the park system. Like the New Deal twenty years before, MISSION 66 reshaped

the park system and the priorities of the National Park Service. [1]

The modern era at Pipestone began with MISSION 66. As a result of the developments of the

program, Pipestone became a modern park area with all the advantages of that status, as well

as its occasional drawbacks. The development program for Pipestone allowed the Park

Service to construct a physical plant that supported agency and visitor activities.

The genesis of MISSION 66 derived from the master planning process that had become

standard throughout the agency. Hummel's preliminary historical development report early in

1940 recommended "sufficient space" for administration and some exhibits for visitors, but

clearly did not envision a visitor center of the kind built at many parks during the New Deal.

[2] The first master plan at the monument was developed in 1942. Like many similar plans, it

was a place to begin rather than a comprehensive approach to the future. Some of the

suggestions Hummel made were incorporated in the plan, but budget limitations hampered

the ability of the NPS to alter the situation at the monument. Most of the implementation

occurred in areas such as interpretation and maintenance. In 1951, the loop entry road was

closed and other improvements made, but other than the construction of the contact station

and the superintendent's quarters, little construction had been completed.

Yet the planning process continued, yielding by 1948 a facsimile of what the Park Service

would build. There were problems with the initial plan. It located the headquarters atop a

ridge made of Sioux Quartzite, one of the hardest types of rock. This would have made the

construction process extraordinarily expensive, and in 1949, plans were made to locate the

headquarters on a more advantageous construction site. A new master plan, developed in

1952, codified this change and offered up more comprehensive possibilities. It included a

complete development plan, a museum and administrative area housed in a visitor center, and
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other amenities, but was clearly relegated to the wish list until the advent of more affluent

times for the Park Service. [3]

As late as the middle of the decade, NPS officials foresaw little opportunity to construct new

facilities at Pipestone. In October 1955, the Park Service completed a remodeling project in

the visitor contact station that added a number of new exhibits. Despite the development, the

new enclosed facility was clearly inadequate within months of its opening. [4] Investment in

a temporary project suggested that more permanent development was still a long time in the

future.

When MISSION 66 was inaugurated in 1955, it began a rapid transformation of Pipestone

National Monument. Development plans for all kinds of park activities were devised almost

instantaneously, in an effort to spend the money allocated for improving facilities and

programs. The rapid increase in visitation—to more than 60,000 by 1956 and projected to

reach 100,000 by 1966—was the primary justification for development. The opportunity to

present a realistic picture of Native Americans, their customs, and the importance of the

calumet, also added significance, as did the need for curatorial storage and facilities to house

and maintain the collection at the monument. [5]

There were other reasons for developing Pipestone National Monument. In 1958, Minnesota

celebrated 100 years of statehood, and Pipestone remained the only operating national park

area in the state. Although Grand Portage National Historic Site had been authorized in 1951

and became a national monument in September 1958, formal establishment did not occur

until 1960. As a result, Pipestone was the only place in Minnesota where visitors could have

contact with the Park Service in 1958. In addition, 1958 marked the 100th anniversary of the

treaty that designated the one-square-mile Pipestone reserved area. NPS officials wished to

have the visitor center ready for the beginning of the 1958 travel season. [6]

The museum prospectus became the driving instrument in the process of preparing to develop

the monument. The prospectus called for rapid development of a building design, an exhibit

plan, and the rest of the documentation necessary to begin full-scale development.

Recognizing the opportunity that existed, other branches in the Park Service expedited their

plans. In July 1957, the exhibit plan for Pipestone received the approval of Director Conrad

L. Wirth, who had become head of the Park Service in 1954. With unusual speed, the

ingredients necessary to support the development project came together. [7] After almost

twenty years in the park system, Pipestone reached the pinnacle of the Park Service's list of

priorities.

Budgeted at more than $250,000, the project progressed rapidly. By the spring of 1958, the

project was nearing completion. A one-story brick visitor center with an entrance constructed

of attractive Sioux quartzite gradually took shape. It was located near the center of the

monument, as had been dictated by the revised master plan in 1952. Roadwork, parking

areas, a wayside exhibit, and utilities were also built. [8]

In July 1958, the NPS dedicated its newly completed project. A range of dignitaries,

including Rep. H. Carl Andersen, Minnesota Lt. Gov. Karl Rolvaag, National Park Service

Regional Director Howard W. Baker, Winifred Bartlett, and Dr. Walter G. Benjamin, came to

hear Director Wirth deliver the dedicatory address. Wirth took the opportunity to trumpet the

success of the MISSION 66 program and the importance of the monument. [9] It was a

triumph for his home region, his agency, and the primary plan of his directorship.

The completed visitor center signaled tremendous changes in the way visitors experienced

Pipestone. As at many similar park areas, the NPS inherited unsatisfactory physical facilities

and a layout that did not reflect the standards and goals of the agency. The activities of the
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1940s and 1950s brought NPS interpretation and care to the resources of the monument, but

were not sufficient to turn the quarries and the contact station into a modern park area. Only

the construction of the visitor center, set up at the end of the approach road and located

between the parking lot and the quarries, established the NPS presence and made Pipestone

equal to other park areas.

Control of access to historic and prehistoric locations in the park system had long been the

defining moment in the history of a national park area. With a physical plant that oriented

visitors as well as served as barrier between the modern world and the prehistoric and

historic, Pipestone joined the modern park system. The visitor center at Pipestone reflected

the established practice of the agency, learned through experience at parks as diverse as Casa

Grande and Bandelier. Its location allowed the Park Service a much greater degree of

influence on the experience of visitors. [10] With an enhanced physical plant to augment

successful interpretive programming, Pipestone seemed sure to play a significant role in the

regional economy.

MISSION 66 for Pipestone mandated the expansion of the permanent and seasonal staff, a

necessary step as the plans to build the visitor center began to come together. The new

situations would require additional personnel to support the expanded mission of the

monument. The second permanent staff member, Park Historian Lloyd A. Abelson, arrived in

August 1957 to join Superintendent Paul L. Webb, and a clerk was added early in 1960. In

addition, the seasonal staff grew to one ranger and four maintenance people. By the time

MISSION 66 for Pipestone ended in 1959, the park had been physically and financially

transformed. [11]

Pipestone became one of the first success stories of MISSION 66. Although the project at the

monument proceeded quickly, some MISSION 66 programs faltered. Some ran into

construction delays, while others were the victim of poor planning or weak leadership at

some level. Congressional interest evaporated rapidly, and support for the program faltered.

In an effort to save what had become the most important program in agency history, NPS

officials began to collect information to tell the story of MISSION 66. In 1959, Pipestone was

selected as one of the best places to illustrate the importance of the program and its

successes. It offered an opportunity to show the impact of the program on small communities

and their economies, the increase in spending in the town as a result of the growing number

of visitors and their lengthened stays, and direct and indirect growth in employment

opportunity for local people. The NPS planned to use the evidence in upcoming congressional

hearings. [12]

The pride in the accomplishment at Pipestone was not misplaced. Visitors responded with

enthusiasm to the improved facilities of the monument. Approximately five percent of

visitors to the monument were surveyed in 1959. Of those, 98 percent reported that they

enjoyed their visit, would return, and would recommend that others visit the monument.

Nearly 75 percent of those surveyed said that they came to the area only to visit the

monument, and 72 percent said that they stopped at businesses in the town of Pipestone. "No

tax money is lost when spent on the Park Service," Mr. and Mrs. C. Winter of Detroit,

Michigan, wrote, and their sentiments were echoed by other visitors. Such a response to the

development was what NPS officials wanted to show Congress. [13]

It also illustrated an important new reality for the leading visitor service agency of the federal

government. The democratization of travel changed the kind of person who visited national

park areas. A developed area such as Pipestone attracted a more middle-class, mainstream,

summer vacation audience than did an undeveloped area. A complex conditioning process

was occurring; visitors began to rank parks by their facilities as much as by their features. It

seemed to the public that the most important parks had the newest facilities precisely because
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the amenities at such places were of recent vintage. In some cases, the facilities became more

important than the reason for preserving the park area. The newly developed Pipestone

National Monument had broader appeal because its museum exhibits and facilities distilled

its message into a form the public easily understood. The interpretive material at the

monument reflected the perceptions of Americans of that time.

The people of the Pipestone community were also impressed with the new development.

Little more than a decade before, the monument had been an embarrassment and local

leaders had lobbied to wrest control from the Park Service. But the new development made

the monument the main attraction in the Pipestone community, and local leaders such as

Robert C. Palmer, the president of the Pipestone Civic and Commerce Association,

recognized that the monument meant "several hundreds of thousands of dollars a year in

additional income" for local businesses. He expected it to increase into the million-dollar

range in the near future. From its position as an insignificant attraction to locals, a fact

reflected as late as 1959 in the paucity of signs for the monument in the town, Pipestone

National Monument had become an important part of the local economy. [14]

The completion of MISSION 66 at Pipestone and its success changed the management

responsibilities of the Park Service. Consolidating the gains became the dominant theme of

management as the park went from an era of rapid development to one of sustained growth.

Making a successful transition from being an area with limited use to a developed one

dominated management priorities. Managing growth and making that growth serve the needs

of visitors were two distinctly different responsibilities. For more than a decade following the

dedication of the new visitor center, administrators at Pipestone sought to become

accustomed to the new management situation. The improvement in agency facilities

demanded more comprehensive approaches to management, and superintendents Paul L.

Webb, W. Dean McClanahan, Carl R. Stoddard, and Ralph K. Shaver sought to implement

NPS policy, preserve the resources of the monument, provide visitors with an enjoyable and

educational experience, and maintain, the quality of services at the monument.

Finding the optimal balance of seasonal and permanent personnel and defining their

responsibilities became a priority for park superintendents. A management study suggested

reallocation of positions from the MISSION 66 proposal. Team members recognized that the

limits of the travel season and the nature of the people of Pipestone made a permanent winter

staff something of a liability. It fed the inclination of local people to regard government

employment as a sinecure. Since local people understood only the visible aspects of Park

Service responsibility—principally visitor service—a full-time winter staff that appeared to

do nothing was something the Park Service could not afford. From a full-time equivalency

[FTE] of 6.3 in the MISSION 66 proposal, the management team subtracted .5 total FTE and

recommended keeping the permanent staff at three instead of increasing it to four. During the

1960s, three more seasonal rangers were added, making the total staff eleven people during

the heavy travel season. [15]

Pipestone personnel had long-standing ties in the community, and during the 1960s, active

participation by the park staff strengthened the existing relationship. Pipestone National

Monument was the creation of local people, many of whom, such as Winifred Bartlett,

remained active in community affairs. They regarded the monument as their creation and

looked favorably on its growth and development. Superintendents such as Paul L. Webb,

who was extremely popular in the community, were active in local organizations, further

enhancing the reputation of the agency. Cooperative agreements that covered a range of

services further linked the town and the park. The monument received many essential

services, such as garbage removal, electricity and water supply, road and trail maintenance,

and telephone service, from the local community. [16] This allowed the Park Service to

avoid building its own utility and sewage management system, an expensive and time-
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consuming management issue.

The community also benefitted. A national park area was a first-class attraction that brought

visitors and the money to the town. The monument and its association with the historic past

conveyed a certain prestige to the area at a time when it became harder and harder for small

towns to survive. The boost to the economy created by MISSION 66 was also important. The

links between the community and the park were strong. The growing pattern of

interdependence illustrated the way in which the Park Service and local communities could

cooperate and showed one of the many ways in which the park returned federal dollars to the

area.

Throughout the 1960s, park leaders firmed up ties and improved services. Visitation

increased, confirming the expectations of the Park Service and the local community.

Superintendents continued to try to make Pipestone meet agency standards in areas as diverse

as resources management, interpretation, and maintenance. As a result of the MISSION 66

program, Pipestone National Monument skipped a generation in the evolution of the park

system. In the 1960s, it was one of the few park areas where visitation and the level of

amenities and facilities provided were commensurate.

By the end of the 1960s, the U.S. was in the middle of a period of cultural upheaval. Spurred

in part by the affluence that followed the Second World War, American intervention in

Southeast Asia, and broad-based optimism about the perfectibility of American society,

Americans sought to change the way in which their nation operated. Many conceived of a

more inclusive ethic that allowed wider latitude in cultural expression. In the middle of the

decade, the civil rights movement expanded from African-American issues in the South to

include Mexican-Americans and Native Americans in the West. [17]

As the rules of American society changed, agencies such as the National Park Service had to

become more responsive. During the 1960s, the agency encouraged Native Americans,

African-Americans, and other minorities to seek careers in park management. A number of

talented minorities found themselves in leadership positions, usually at parks with themes that

reflected their heritage. For Native Americans, the rise to superintendency had little to do

with tribal background. Most who achieved leadership positions began federal careers after

military service and some college. [18] The rise to leadership had more to do with

perceptions that these people understood and valued the way the Park Service operated than

with any sense of their Native American identity.

In 1968, a new superintendent, Cecil D. Lewis, Jr., arrived at Pipestone. Sac and Fox,

Delaware, and Potowatomi Indian, Lewis had grown up on the Navajo reservation, where his

family worked for the Bureau of Indian Affairs. In the proximity of Chaco Canyon, Mesa

Verde, and Canyon de Chelly, he became infatuated with the national parks. After military

service in Korea, he hired on as a seasonal employee. Lewis recognized that completing his

college education would further his chances of a permanent position and subsequent

advancement in the NPS. With his degree in hand, he became a permanent employee in 1960.

After stints at the Southwest Archeological Center in Globe, Arizona, and Bryce Canyon,

Mesa Verde, and Rocky Mountain national parks, in April 1968 he became superintendent at

Pipestone National Monument. [19]

With the support of NPS Director George B. Hartzog, Jr., who personally selected him for the

position, Lewis brought new goals and priorities to the monument. The primary objective he

set was greater participation for Native Americans in the activities of the park and increased

interpretation of native culture. Lewis sought the support of the regional office to run

Pipestone "as an Indian area as opposed to in the old sense a national monument." [20]
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Lewis' plans resulted in an effort to develop a Native American cultural center at Pipestone.

George "Standing Eagle" Bryan, one of the most venerable quarriers and pipemakers and a

frequent employee of the monument, offered the genesis of the idea just after Lewis arrived.

Frank Fools Crow, a traditional Oglala Medicine Man who had been present at the opening

of the pipe bundle on the Cheyenne River Reservation, also supported the idea. [21] He

perceived in it the opportunity for whites and Indians to better understand each other. Lewis

recognized the importance of the idea, but it was the following summer before the

superintendent could begin to implement his plans. On a trip to Omaha, where he met with

Hartzog, Lewis presented a rough conceptual idea for building a center to preserve Indian

crafts and craft-making. [22]

Lewis' proposal was a direct response to the agenda established by Richard M. Nixon's first

secretary of the interior, Walter J. Hickel. When he took office early in 1969, Hickel

established eleven policy guidelines for management of the park system. One called for

programs that enhanced cultural, recreational, and economic opportunities for native peoples.

[23] An Alaskan, Hickel entered office with an important crisis looming in the future of the

department and his state—the Alaskan native land claims issue. Pro-development, he needed

to cultivate an image of sensitivity to native issues. His policy guidelines were one step

toward developing a public posture that allowed him to openly support more development

and a smaller land base for native Alaskans.

Hickel's goals inspired the initial proposal, and with encouragement from the regional office,

Lewis proceeded. He sought to invite Hickel and Hartzog to one of the performances of the

Hiawatha Pageant as an opportunity for presenting the proposal for the craft center.

Minnesota Governor Harold E. LeVander, a Republican, planned to attend the July 18, 1969,

performance, and since Hickel and the governor shared party affiliation, Lewis thought it a

good opportunity. He planned to have George Bryan present Hickel with a ceremonial pipe

as a prelude to introducing his plan. [24]

Although Hickel ultimately declined the invitation to visit Pipestone, Lewis continued to

develop the proposal. At the Midwest Regional Superintendents Conference in Omaha that

summer, Lewis enlisted the support of his peers. In September, he, Paul McCrary of the

Midwest Regional Office, and Don Ripley of Bighorn Canyon National Recreational Area

traveled to three Department of the Interior cultural centers, in Rapid City, South Dakota,

Santa Fe, New Mexico, and Anadarko, Oklahoma, to see what they could learn. They used

the experience to add new dimensions to the proposal for what they called the "Upper

Midwest American Indian Cultural Crafts Center." In September 1969, the proposal went to

the director. [25]

The plan was impressive. With a proposed budget of upwards of $500,000, it recommended

the construction of a building of more than 3,600 square feet, 2,600 of which would be for

work and exhibit space and the remainder for storage and utilities. It included ample room for

visitors to view craft demonstrators, permanent wall and floor exhibitions, and space for the

sale of pipestone materials and other related crafts. In the project, eight to ten rental trailers to

house visiting Native American crafts people were proposed. Rental housing was in short

supply in the town of Pipestone, and craftspeople would have to relocate to the area if the

program were to succeed. [26]

In February 1970, Lewis' planning came to fruition. Included in President Nixon's budget for

fiscal 1971 was $487,000 for the project. Simultaneously, the regional office in Omaha

announced plans to construct the center. As suggested in the proposal, it was to be built

adjacent to the rear of the visitor center, away from the parking lot. A six-unit apartment

building for temporary housing was to replace the mobile trailers in the initial plan. On paper,

the facility was impressive. "Maybe I robbed from Yellowstone," Lewis laughingly
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remembered two decades later when asked about the scope of the project. [27]

The center added greatly to the interpretive capabilities of the monument. It included

demonstration booths, video displays where visitors could view short movies about

pipemaking, bead and quill embroidery, leatherwork, painting, weaving, birchbark craft

work, as well as exhibits of similar craftwork from the modern era, and cross-cultural

exchange of artifacts such as knives, guns, blankets, and beads. The sales counter of the

Pipestone Indian Shrine Association, which in 1969 purchased $28,870 in crafts from Native

Americans, was also included. [28]

The cultural center was part of a larger program to preserve craftmaking traditions, utilize the

skills of area Indians, and teach them to manage natural and cultural resources. Lewis

traveled to many of the reservations in South Dakota, where he sought the input of various

tribal councils. Their contributions shaped the program. The initial plan called for full-time

demonstrators who would serve as instructors for younger Native Americans. Pipemaking

and other crafts were to be taught to students, who would then go home with a marketable

skill and a knowledge to transmit to their peers. Some Native Americans were to stay at the

park during the winters to learn resource management skills for use at reservation parks and

cultural areas. [29]

The result was supposed to be a revival of native arts and crafts, an opportunity for Indians

to develop a livelihood, and better management of Native American holdings in tribal

museums. But "the money didn't come," one park staffer remembered, and the program

changed. No one to teach craft skills could be found, and as Vietnam-era inflation began to

affect federal spending, there was no money to hire them anyway. Instead of an educational

experiment, a demonstration program evolved. [30]

The program that emerged was part expedience, part education. Cultural demonstrators were

hired each summer to display Indian craft and pipemaking skills. Many of the initial

demonstrators were from families with long histories at the quarry, limiting the impact of the

program on potential craftspeople from nearby reservations. Yet visitors found the

demonstrations compelling, and throughout the 1970s, the program grew, reaching seven

demonstrators in 1977. Their work quickly became one of the most important focuses of

interpretation at Pipestone. It offered a unique feature, for the demonstrators at Pipestone

were not reenactors, but genuine practitioners of the cultures they portrayed.

This unique situation compelled different management strategies. Interpretation at Pipestone

followed Native American custom more than NPS manuals. Involved in historic practice and

ritual, Native American interpreters simply worked their material, answering questions but

usually volunteering little. While Indian interpretation was not like that of NPS personnel,

who focused on explaining culture in a standardized manner that utilized the educational level

of the public, the way Indians made traditional crafts offered a measure of reality different

from that to which the American public was accustomed. [31]

The Park Service supported the demonstration program, but left its management to the

Pipestone Indian Shrine Association. The association had a long history of supporting native

arts in the region, and with the addition of cooperation between the nearby Flandreau, South

Dakota, Indian school and the Park Service, a situation that benefitted all developed. Native

skills and craftmaking were transmitted to younger Indians and made available to the public,

and park visitors received a special kind of interpretation.

Not every feature associated with the cultural center succeeded. The six-unit apartment

building was not popular with visiting demonstrators and became a headache for park

managers. It was a relic of the planned teaching program and did not fit in the changed
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situation. There were problems with maintenance of the structure. Initially, the sewer could

not be hooked up because of the nearly $100,000 cut from the budget between the proposal

for the center and its implementation. The building remained unusable until money could be

found to hook up the sewer. In one later instance, two to three feet of snow blew into the area

between ceilings and the roof and melted, necessitating expensive and time-consuming

cleanup. Park rangers had to climb into the area and scoop the snow out by hand. Worse, the

building had little appeal for Native Americans, who preferred off-site mobile homes,

trailers, or other accommodations. [32]

As a result, park officials sought new tenants. In 1978, three of the six apartments were

leased to the local school district and vocational education institute on a renewable ten-year

basis. In 1989, the apartment building was sold and removed from the park area. During the

spring of 1989, restoration of the ground began.

The cultural center also inspired bold interpretive planning for the visitor center. The exhibits

in the visitor center had been put together in 1958 and they reflected the time of their

genesis. New planning recommended greater reverence in the explanation of the importance

of the ceremonial pipe and in the overall treatment of Native American religions. The

prospectus also recommended displaying pipes "in profusion," a plaque or some other form of

recognition for Winifred Bartlett, a reproduction gallery of nineteenth-century art that

depicted Plains Indians, and an explanation of the impact of artist/explorers George Catlin

and Karl Bodmer. It also recommended a new audiovisual presentation, expanding on the

existing presentation of the White Buffalo Calf legend, depicting religious use of the pipe.

Social uses of smoking added a dimension, as would the use of Lakota language translated by

a narrator. Another movie, this one interpreting the rise and fall of the horse-bison culture,

was also recommended. The issues the film could address had much wider application than

Pipestone National Monument alone. [33]

The final interpretive prospectus recommended radical changes in the interpretive scheme of

the museum. Of all the existing exhibits, only the diorama depicting prehistoric quarrying

was to be retained. A number of exhibits were to be dropped, and others were to be

incorporated into new exhibits. The plan proposed more than $112,000 in changes to the

visitor center and an additional $66,700 for the cultural center. [34] Such an interpretation

scheme would reflect the increased commitment of resources to the park. But the prospectus

was not implemented.

The Upper Midwest American Indian Cultural Center and the interpretive prospectus ended

the second period of rapid growth for the monument. After absorbing the MISSION 66

improvements, sustained management appeared close at hand, but the new developments

spurred a second period of growth. After the construction of the center and the completion of

the interpretive plan, the park was essentially complete. There was little need for further

capital development, and the plans for upgrading interpretation were in place. Finding the

resources to implement quality programs became the real issue.

The construction of the center strengthened the ties between the Park Service and the local

Native American community. Superintendent Don Thompson, who followed two Indian

superintendents when he arrived in 1971, recalled that he, park staff, local Indians, and the

community formed touch football and softball teams and leagues. There were also a number

of "sweats" held in a sweat lodge in the park. A Medicine Man from the Rosebud Sioux

reservation, Charles Kills Enemy, built the lodge. On five occasions, Thompson participated

in the ceremony. [35] The increased level of social and ceremonial interaction built on the

professional and personnel ties that already existed. It also illustrated the importance of the

monument in the life of everybody in town.
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Yet despite the investment in the monument and the many advantages of the cultural center,

its construction highlighted a historic problem at Pipestone. The monument was anomalous in

the Midwest Region, a situation that its relative proximity to the regional office in Omaha did

little to alleviate. From Fort Larned and Fort Scott in Kansas to the Jefferson National

Expansion Memorial in St. Louis, most of the others parks in the region interpreted the

history of Euro-American experience.

Despite Catlin and Longfellow, Pipestone did not fit easily with that heritage. Most parks

with Native American themes were located farther west, in the Rocky Mountain, Southwest,

or Western regions. The administrative questions at Pipestone more resembled those at

Canyon de Chelly or Navajo national monuments, and Native American themes and issues

remained a top priority for park administrators. In the politicized climate of the time,

superintendents at Pipestone spent much time in contact with their peers in other regions.

[36]

The problems of Pipestone were underscored in 1971, when national park areas in Minnesota

were transferred to the Northeast Regional Office, located in Philadelphia. This region, since

retitled the Mid-Atlantic Region, administered many Revolutionary War and industrial

revolution parks as well as the a significant number of the rapidly expanding category of

urban national park areas. Pipestone was even more anomalous in the Northeast Region.

Ironically at the same time, the Midwest Region added national park areas in Colorado, Utah,

Montana, North Dakota, South Dakota, and Wyoming. Pipestone shared common themes and

issues with many of these parks. Park administrators experienced some relief in January

1974, when a major realignment of national park system boundaries returned Pipestone to the

Midwest Region. [37]

By the mid-1970s, a sustained management mode came to govern decision-making at

Pipestone. The monument was much like many other small areas in the park system. Its

facilities and level of staffing were comparable, its issues similiar, and its prospects about the

same. Administrative priorities in 1975 included management and preservation of the quarries

through permit use by Indians and education for visitors, interpretation of native cultures, and

the preservation and restoration of prairie areas within the park. Pipestone National

Monument moved toward integrated management.

The planning process that had become increasingly important in the park system helped

establish continuity in decision-making. The existence of prepared documents and the

evolving practice of listing area priorities helped park managers retain consistent objectives

even with the typical frequency of staff turnover within the Park Service. Superintendents

and staff still determined priorities, but on the basis of the priorities established by their

predecessors. Pipestone moved toward more orderly and planned growth and change than in

the past.

But by the 1980s, the Park Service was in crisis. Changes in culture and character in the

agency in the 1960s and 1970s affected relationships between the parks, regional offices, and

the Washington office. After Secretary of the Interior Stewart Udall forced out NPS Director

Conrad L. Wirth in 1964, the Park Service scrambled to retain its familiar exalted position

inside the capital Beltway. The selection of George Hartzog, a man with extensive agency

experience, to succeed Wirth held off the changing climate, but a new level of precedent had

been established. Earlier directors such as Newton B. Drury had been forced out in political

situations, but never had the directorship of the NPS become a political perquisite. The firing

of Hartzog and the appointment of Nixon assistant Ronald Walker, an insurance executive

with little experience in the parks, in 1972 was evidence of the change. The remainder of the

1970s were disastrous for the Park Service, as a series of directors who could not inspire the

rank-and-file came and went. Only with the ascension of career NPS official Russell
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Dickenson to the directorship in 1980 did the pattern begin to change. [38]

But Dickenson's administration faced problems of its own. The election of Ronald Reagan in

1980 brought a new mode of operation to the federal bureaucracy. For the national park

system, it had a mixed effect. Secretary of the Interior James Watt sought to privatize some

public land, and emphasize the development of visitor amenities at existing parks instead of

the acquisition of new areas. [39] This seemed to bode well for Pipestone, but in actuality,

Watt's development schemes focused on the grandiose scenic parks. With its newly

completed physical plant, Pipestone was in no position to compete for resources.

In the late 1980s, agency officials were able to step out from under the iron hand of Watt and

his successors, William Clark and Donald Hodel, and shift their objectives back to

acquisition of new areas. But as the economic climate declined after the oil bust in 1985 and

the savings and loan scandal a few years later, funding problems resulted. New parks were

created, but their needs sometimes drained resources from other areas. The pool of funding

for parks was not growing, and established areas like Pipestone found themselves with

constant or shrinking budgets as a result of the addition of new park areas.

As leadership in the agency became increasingly politicized throughout 1970s, Park Service

culture and the morale of NPS staff suffered. The appointment of Russell Dickenson as

director in 1980 was clearly an effort to fashion a return to earlier agency values. But as

rangers in the field toiled for many years without adequate pay or housing, and many times,

without hope of career advancement, park-level staff throughout the system perceived a

growing gap between national policy and objectives and local and regional needs. Attrition

became an agency problem, as many younger, talented people left the Park Service for other

careers. [40]

More strict enforcement of government regulations compounded the problems of agency

personnel. A new bureaucratic mentality began to emerge in the agency as many suffered

from burnout or found that they were discouraged from treating their jobs as anything more

than a forty-hour-per-week obligation. The Park Service traditionally had been an

organization with deep commitment. Individual rangers often worked "off the clock," on their

own time, to assure that everything was accomplished at their area. By the 1980s, insurance

regulations, the problems with compensation for time worked after hours, and other similar

concerns limited the intense commitment park-level staff across the system once felt. Despite

Dickenson's appointment and the subsequent rise in morale, the old Park Service was gone

for good.

At Pipestone, these changes created a feeling of being left out. Park objectives were not

always supported by higher administrative personnel, nor were resources available for many

important projects. Park personnel expressed growing frustration, a sentiment shared by

employees throughout the park system. Despite its impressive physical plant, Pipestone

seemed again a remote place, far from the mainstream of a rapidly changing agency.

The sustained management mode continued at Pipestone. Superintendents David Lane and

Vincent Halvorson, who collectively served from 1973 into the 1990s, found that a number of

management issues intrinsic to the nature of the park dominated their administrations.

Pipestone's unique commitment to Native Americans, its role in the local community, the

atypical function of the cooperating association, and relations with other resource

management agencies defined the limits of park management.

The Pipestone Indian Shrine Association became an increasingly complicated management

issue for the park. Since its reinvigoration in the mid-1950s, the association and the park had

close working relations. When the sales counter that the association ran was located in the
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museum, rangers often worked the desk. After the construction of the cultural center, rangers

handled some of the purchases of pipes from Native Americans, but no longer worked in

sales. Superintendents and chief rangers from the park sat on the shrine association board,

and the NPS had a reasonable amount of influence in its decision-making. Late in the 1970s,

changes in NPS policy led to declining influence of the park on the Pipestone Indian Shrine

Association, as the Park Service adopted more of a hands-off approach in the affairs of the

association. [41]

Since its founding, the shrine association had a broader mandate than most NPS cooperating

associations. This bifurcated mission had the potential to cause problems. The educational

activities of the shrine association were typical, but the marketing of pipestone pipes and

artifacts was an area into which most cooperating groups did not venture. Their sales items

were usually limited to books, trail guides, postcards, and other mementos of a place.

As NPS influence on Pipestone Indian Shrine Association declined, marketing pipestone

artifacts took on greater importance. Each year, the association purchased more and more

pipestone from local Native Americans, its catalogue business grew bigger, and it became

more of an institution. After the Park Service limited its influence on the association, its

priorities began to change in a manner that some in and out of the agency questioned.

Late in the 1980s, two local Native Americans, Loren Zephier and Mitch Walking Elk,

challenged the shrine association. The politics of being Native American had again

developed public militancy, and some felt that the shrine association, despite its

overwhelmingly Native American managerial and sales staff, was not closely linked to the

Indian community. This spurred park officials to question whether it was appropriate for an

NPS cooperating association to market artifacts and material that may have religious

significance. There were other Native American institutions in the community that offered an

alternative. The Little Feather Indian Center, a local Indian support center, had the potential

to evolve into a marketing operation. In the 1990s, park officials watched with great interest

as the issue grew in importance. [42]

Maintaining the longstanding ties between the monument and the adjacent town and county

of Pipestone also required management skill. Pipestone National Monument was a source of

pride in the local community, and some locals had a proprietary feeling. Many walked its

trails on a regular basis, and participated in activities that supported the monument and its

mission. Some chafed in 1987, when a fee was instituted for entering the visitor center.

Despite initial grumblings, this deterred few of the locals, who continued to walk in the

monument, but eschewed contact with the Park Service. Yet this "city park" phenomenon had

important positive ramifications for the monument.

In no small part as a result of the feeling of local people, relations with local government

remained good. The County Board of Supervisors were generally supportive of Pipestone

National Monument. A web of service arrangements continued to link county, city, and park,

although a county-city dispute over responsibilities to the park simmered. Park officials

considered it indicative of tension between the city and county, not a reflection on the

relationship between the park and the community. A number of specific issues required

constant attention. Flooding and flood control and the monitoring and testing of groundwater

mandated by a comprehensive water plan required NPS attention. Occasional projects, such

as the roadwork done on Hiawatha Avenue, had to be monitored by the superintendent. [43]

A number of other federal agencies had responsibilities in the southwestern Minnesota area,

and on some occasion, these required the cooperation and participation of the monument

staff. The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service and the Park Service shared a common interest in

the protection of eagles and limiting the trade in eagle feathers. The Fish and Wildlife Service
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held title to the game reserve to the north of the monument that was created when the Indian

School ceased to operate, although the state Department of Natural Resources (DNR) handled

the daily administration and management. Monument officials and DNR often coordinated

natural resource management programs such as controlled burning. In other situations, the

park exchanged perspectives with other agencies on a range of issues. [44]

Surprisingly, park officials reported relatively little communication with the Bureau of Indian

Affairs. In the era of self-determination, BIA officials were increasingly divorced from dayto-day decision-making of native peoples. This was particularly true in cultural affairs, where

the legacy of nearly one hundred years of repressive policy made government advice

unwelcome. The Tribal Council of the Santee Sioux Reservation often served in the stead of

BIA. NPS officials and the council worked out numerous agreements and arrangements

covering issues of mutual concern. Occasionally, BIA officials called about the rules

governing quarrying, but in the early 1990s, that was usually the extent of contact. [45]

Relations with state agencies were closer. There were many issues of mutual concern that

required consistent interaction. DNR and the park maintained a fairly close working

relationship concerning the game reserve. DNR also monitored the new clean air act for the

State of Minnesota, expanding the relationship with the Park Service even further. The

Minnesota Pollution Control Agency became the lead state agency for issues such as

pollution contamination, discharge, and water analysis, surveys and inventories. In the area,

many of these focused on Pipestone Creek. The Minnesota Department of Transportation and

the park worked together on issues of directional signing. Signs from highways to the

monument were crucial to bringing visitors. Park relations with the state Department of

Agriculture were more infrequent. If pollution could be traced to a farm chemical, the

Minnesota Department of Agriculture was responsible. Initially, the state Department of

Agriculture and the Minnesota Pollution Control Agency passed responsibility for such

problems back and forth, but changes in law made farm chemical pollution the province of

the state Department of Agriculture. The people of the wildlife division in DNR and at

nearby state parks had the closest relationships with Pipestone National Monument.

Monument staff and state park administrators in particular had similar concerns and

interacted on common issues.

The park faced another important visitation issue. The number of recorded visitors began to

decline following the Bicentennial celebration. The fall was dramatic, from approximately

200,000 in 1976 to 130,000 in 1984. Pipestone was not alone in this predicament, as other

park areas in the I-90 area showed similar percentage declines. [46] Inflation and the rise in

gasoline prices played an important role in the decrease.

Different methods of counting visitors may also have contributed.

In the late 1980s, visitation again fell by about ten percent, presumably in response to the

initiation of an entrance fee. Since the people of the City of Pipestone regarded the

monument as a city park, much of this decrease was attributed to the reluctance of local

people to pay to enter the visitor center. Ironically, the entrance fee gave the monument extra

operating capital to support operations, in an odd sort of way achieving the perennial

bifurcated goal of the agency: to preserve and use simultaneously. Fewer visitors and more

resources pointed in the direction of less wear on the resource and better programming and

service for each traveler.

At the beginning of the 1990s, Pipestone National Monument played an important role in

southwestern Minnesota. A destination for travelers, it added measurably to the regional

economy. Its programs worked in concert with those of state and federal agencies to

implement federal, state, and local law and policy. Its presentation of Native American
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culture and craftwork added a dimension of heritage to life in the region, bringing Native

Americans from across the continent for ceremonies, rituals, and celebrations. These many

roles made administering the park a delicate and sensitive process that required knowledge,

foresight, and constant preparation. As in any similar situation, the Park Service had to

balance the demands and desires of many constituencies with its legally mandated

responsibilities. Success in such a venture had to be measured in increments; not everyone

was pleased with the Park Service all of the time.

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Pipestone

Administrative History

CHAPTER VI:

"AN INDIAN-ORIENTED PARK": NATIVE

AMERICANS AND THE MONUMENT

The establishment of the monument in 1937 gave the Park Service a set of specific

responsibilities at Pipestone. Among the most important of these was the obligation to

preserve the right of Native Americans to quarry in a traditional manner. The rights granted

in the proclamation were both new and old. They had historic standing since the Treaty of

1858, which guaranteed the Yankton Sioux the right to quarry pipestone on the reserved area.

The court case that began in the 1890s was based on those rights, but its resolution in 1928

extinguished all legal Native American claims to the quarries and their use. Between 1928

and 1937, Native American people had no more legal right to use the quarry than anyone

else. Nonetheless, after 1928, Indian School administration officials allowed Native

Americans from any tribe to quarry, a reality that the enabling legislation for the monument

codified. The monument proclamation established a permanent legal relationship between the

Park Service and native peoples. This relationship, with its many complications, has been

crucial to NPS management of the area.

From its inception, Pipestone National Monument has been, in the words of former

Superintendent Lyle K. Linch, an "Indian-oriented park." [1] Native Americans and their

myriad cultures are essential to the monument. The quarries the Park Service seeks to

preserve have significance because of their importance to Native Americans; the

interpretation is meaningful because of the presence of Native Americans working the stone

in time-honored fashion. That orientation has made the management of the monument unique

among national park areas in the United States.

At Pipestone National Monument, the Park Service inherited the existing set of relationships

between Native Americans, Anglo-Americans, and the federal government. While NPS

officials had the legal power to change local practice, they initially had little to gain from

such an action. The agency lacked the work power, and in fact the desire, to implement new

policies. From the inception of the monument, NPS inspectors, observers, and officials

regarded the continuing practice of quarrying as an asset for the park. It provided built-in

interpretation in a form that the Park Service could not match. Pipestone was special, early

NPS observers agreed, and the continuation of quarrying was crucial to its unique nature.

They also recognized that quarrying offered something visitors could not experience

elsewhere—the opportunity to see an historic activity performed in a manner that resembled

historic practice. [2]

In this respect, Pipestone and Canyon de Chelly had much in common. Both had visible

Indian presence, and at two parks, American Indians were entitled to use the resources of the

monument in a historic manner. At Canyon de Chelly, Navajo guides were required of

visitors, and some Navajos still farm and herd sheep in the traditional way in the bottom of

the canyon. The story of the Navajo and Hopi were also told in addition to that of the

Anasazi. At Pipestone and Canyon de Chelly, Native Americans of many tribes were part of
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the story of the park. In addition, the story that the Park Service sought to tell at Pipestone

was that of the Native Americans who lived nearby. At most other parks of this vintage, the

interpretive story addressed prehistory, while modern natives who lived in the area

participated in its transmission. [3]

Yet random quarrying was not in the best interests of the resource, its users, or the traveling

public. Although agency officials agreed to a Bureau of Indian Affairs request to not limit the

amount of stone quarried, the Park Service needed to set up a system of permits and

regulations to govern quarrying. This allowed a measure of NPS oversight at Pipestone. Park

officials could determine who quarried and how much stone they took. Almost from the

moment the monument was established, different groups of Native Americans sought to

control access to the quarries. NPS officials recognized the need for some level of impartial

administration. [4]

During the Indian School administration of Pipestone National Monument, Superintendent J.

W. Balmer created an informal system to govern quarrying. As volunteer custodian, he

continued existing practice. Initially Park Service officials were grateful, and when Balmer

made suggestions toward developing a permanent policy, they listened closely. Balmer

wanted to assure that Native Americans first secured a permit to quarry from the Park Service

before they began to work at the site. He also insisted that they use only hand methods, that

modern living facilities such as trailers be prohibited on the monument, and that the

workshops used to prepare the stone at Pipestone be limited to Sioux-style tepees. [5]

Balmer's conception of a system fit well with NPS aspirations. NPS officials regarded

quarrying as a valuable interpretive resource and recognized that the easily accessible

resources of the quarry were limited. Following typical NPS guidelines, regulations were first

proposed in 1938. These rules went through an extended series of reviews and were finalized

in 1946. They limited quarrying to Native Americans using hand tools, required quarriers to

secure a permit, and prohibited modern amenities such as trailers or mobile homes as

accommodations on monument grounds. [6] These rules had the twin advantages of

presenting quarrying as an interpretation activity and slowing the quantity of stone quarried.

Before the regulations were approved in 1946, regulation of quarrying occurred at the

discretion of the custodian. Each Native American who sought to quarry had to secure a

special use permit. In essence, the terms of the special use permit were the same as the

proposed regulations, but nonetheless, the temporary system seemed cumbersome. When the

custodian was forced to use discretion, administering quarrying was time-consuming. It

required time and energy as well as paperwork. Both custodians and Native Americans were

pleased to have a clearly defined permanent system. It was easier for everyone when potential

quarriers could simply fill out one form. [7]

The implementation of a system had little impact on quarrying. The number of permits issued

by the Park Service remained constant throughout the late 1940s and early 1950s. At the

time, most of the quarriers were local Indians, descendants of families that moved to the

town of Pipestone to quarry. Crafts made from pipestone became an important cottage

industry for local Indians, but their market was seasonal. When visitors arrived in town, a

market existed. During the long winter, when few visitors came to Minnesota, there was no

one to buy Indian crafts. As a result, quarrying was only a sideline. It did not offer a

consistent and dependable source of income for native people. [8]

The inconsistency led to some uncomfortable situations in the town of Pipestone. Some local

merchants paid Native American craftspeople low rates for finished products in the offseason and sold the crafts at exorbitant rates during busier times. In some instances, desperate

Native Americans met the trains that came to town, selling fine craftwork to incoming people
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for a pittance. A pattern had developed. Although the monument protected access to the

stone, its officials could do little to protect the economic interests of Native Americans

outside its boundaries. Native stone and craftwork increasingly benefitted everyone but the

Native Americans. [9]

To some people in the town of Pipestone, this was an inequitable and untenable situation.

Working with Superintendent Lyle Linch in 1954, they planned a revival of the Pipestone

National Park Association, the organization that had been responsible for the effort to

establish the monument in the 1930s. Its new incarnation was called the Pipestone Indian

Shrine Association (PISA). [10] This time, the association had a different purpose.

The new incarnation of PISA sought to provide Native Americans with both a structure to

protect their economic interests and support to perpetuate the skills and crafts required in

quarrying and pipemaking. The organization was not all Anglo-Americans; quarriers and

pipemakers such as George and Winona Bryan, Harvey and Ethel Derby, and Ephraim

Taylor were part of the organization from its inception, adding an important component of

native influence. The association set up a marketing system that standardized prices for the

sale of crafts. This established a minimum value for craftwork and prevented seasonal need

from damaging the fragile native economy. The association opened a sales counter in the

visitor center at the monument and purchased artifacts from Native Americans. It also meant

that the selling of artifacts was limited to a few places, taking Indians out of the embarrassing

position of hawking their crafts in the streets.

The shrine association also took responsibility for the perpetuation of quarrying and

pipemaking. The practices were dying in the 1950s, and the association worked to assure

their revival. George Bryan, Harvey Derby, and Ephraim Taylor, three of the most consistent

users of the quarry, were also important pipemakers. The trio were active participants both in

the park and the association. Their input and ability to teach younger Indians the art of

pipemaking was crucial. Robert and Clarence Crooks, former Indian School students, also

became expert and renowned pipemakers. Under the loose aegis of the shrine association,

Native American craftwork was sustained.

As PISA grew, other opportunities for Native Americans emerged. In 1969, the association

began to develop a mail-order business. The cultural climate of the time made Native

American crafts and clothing fashionable. In the early 1970s, pipestone artifacts gained

popularity and business boomed. This meant a larger market for Native Americans who sold

their craftwork to the association and more opportunity for PISA to support native people and

the park. A bookkeeper, Betty Zorich, who was hired in 1969, became the business manager,

and the seasonal staff increased. Although the business manager of the association was an

Anglo-American, the remainder of the employees were Native American. Native American

employment continued throughout the 1970s and 1980s. After the retirement of Zorich in

1989, Mattie Redwing, a Native American, replaced her, and the entire PISA staff was

Indian.

PISA benefitted from the changing cultural climate of Native American-white relations.

During the 1960s, Native Americans again began to agitate for changes in their relationship

with the institutions of American society. The era of "termination" had ended with little

acclaim, and the predicament of many Native Americans remained as precarious as ever.

Later in the 1960s, a new federal policy regarding Indians was implemented. Called "selfdetermination," this policy granted Indians greater autonomy and control of their affairs than

at any time since the arrival of Anglo-Americans. [11]

Despite the change in policy, new militance swept through Native American communities. In

Minneapolis, about 150 miles from the monument, a group of urban Native Americans
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formed the American Indian Movement (AIM). It expressed its views in direct action, with

incidents such as the seizure of the former federal penitentiary at Alcatraz in San Francisco

Bay in 1969 and the takeover of the Bureau of Indian Affairs in 1972. AIM reached its

critical moment in 1973, when members occupied Wounded Knee, South Dakota, the place

where nearly 100 years before, the U.S. Cavalry slaughtered more than 140 Indians. The

occupation was in response to perceived corruption within the Tribal Council of the Pine

Ridge Reservation, and the BIA gave tacit support to those who sought to quash AIM. An

unfortunate series of circumstances, culminated in a 71-day siege of Wounded Knee by

federal agents. A number of skirmishes occurred, two Indians died, and another was

paralyzed. A negotiated agreement ended the siege in May 1973, but the issues were anything

but resolved. A small civil war broke out on the reservation, leading to more than 100 Indian

deaths in a two-year period. Only the death of two FBI agents in a gunfight in 1975 refocused

national interest on Wounded Knee and the Pine Ridge reservation. [12]

Wounded Knee had an iconography of its own. After the publication of Dee Brown's Bury

My Heart At Wounded Knee in 1971, the name connoted injustice to Americans of all

backgrounds. In an effort to attract attention, AIM leaders selected a place with broad-based

cultural meaning. The choice of the location to express outrage was ironic; the results of the

situation tragic.

AIM and its militance reflected the changing situation of Native Americans. The end of

restrictive policies and the vast autonomy native peoples received beginning in the middle of

the 1960s led to changes in Native American perceptions of the larger world. Legislation

such as the American Indian Civil Rights Act of 1968 vested Native Americans in a manner

that Anglo-America never before saw as necessary or desirable. Many Native Americans,

particularly the old, were ambivalent about their new situation. Others sensed an opportunity

to move forward in the larger world. Still others withdrew from both the Indian and white

worlds. Legal emancipation offered many benefits, but it was also dislocating. [13]

Native Americans in the Pipestone area were not generally militant. Their exposure to Anglo

institutions, residence in a largely white town, and the relative economic stability offered by

the Pipestone Indian Shrine Association and the quarries made them poor candidates for

involvement in cultural strife. [14] Despite the relative conservatism of local Native

Americans, the turmoil of the time intruded on the community.

The proximity of AIM in Minneapolis to the monument served as the catalyst for an

expression of militance at Pipestone. AIM members often acted in symbolic ways.

Stereotypic depictions of Native Americans was one of their important issues. The Song of

Hiawatha annual pageant served as a lightning rod for this expression of dissatisfaction. In

1970, AIM protesters attended a presentation of the pageant. In the middle of the

performance, they disrupted the show, shouting and stamping their feet. AIM members

regarded the pageant as a romanticized, inaccurate depiction of their heritage. The white

people who attended the show, schooled in a different tradition, were confounded. Even the

Park Service overreacted a little. After the incident, the historic pipes from the monument

were immediately locked away in the bank vault in downtown Pipestone. [15]

The Park Service fared better under AIM scrutiny. During their visit, AIM activists assessed

the operations of the monument. While the museum and its interpretation were disappointing

because of their overwhelming ethnocentricity, AIM members were surprised to find strong

Native American representation both in the park and the co-operating association. Native

American employees were established at the park. It had already had two Indian

superintendents, and PISA worked to maintain native representation on its board and in its

activities. [16] While harmony did not ensue, a sort of informal accommodation was reached.
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In a less militant climate a few years later, Native Americans won a major legislative victory.

The American Indian Religious Freedom Act of 1978 codified in law the existing practice at

Pipestone and other national park areas. It assured the rights of native people to practice

religious and ceremonial rites on all federal land without interference. The new law granted

Native American religions a degree of respect and protection that had not existed since

Europeans first legislated Native American religion and behavior. [17]

The American Indian Religious Freedom Act both reflected and shaped changes in Native

American society. Renewed Native American interest in their culture and heritage began as

an outgrowth of the cultural upheaval of the early 1970s. The legislation resulted from the

desire of some Indians to secure rights; the passage of the act spurred more people to greater

awareness. A nascent spiritual revival existed in some parts of the Native American

community by the early 1980s.

In no small part as a result of this heightened awareness, the narrative presented in the

museum began to be the source of negative comment. European visitors often reacted to it in

the aftermath of the 1960s, but the real objections came beginning in 1986 and 1987. More

Native Americans with strong religious and cultural traditions came to the monument, and

many were offended by the presentation of Indian-white relations and Native American

culture in the museum exhibits. The interpretation dated from the 1950s and reflected the

perspective of that time. "Meanwhile, back at the ranch," one park staffer mused in the early

1990s, "people have changed." The museum vastly overemphasized the significance of white

explorers, particularly George Catlin. It portrayed Native American cultures in the past tense,

belying their existence and viability in the present. One exhibit, titled "The White Man

Comes," evoked particular animosity. In one instance, a woman scratched out museum labels

in the exhibit. Others objected to the idea of the federal government depicting native religion

that its regulations had censured for so long. [18] In a climate of heightened awareness, the

Park Service needed to respond to changing public perceptions.

The increase in cultural awareness among Native Americans led to other kinds of expressions

of faith and belief. Pipestone National Monument had both cultural and religious significance

for Native American people, yet federal officials in the green uniform Service administered

the quarries. To newly empowered Native Americans seeking to rediscover and transmit their

cultural heritage, the situation was an affront.

In 1986, the first inkling of a movement to restore the quarries to Native American hands

surfaced. The National Congress of American Indians (NCAI) passed a resolution to prohibit

the sale of objects and pipes made of pipestone. Their complaint was that the material from

the quarries was sacred, and treating pipestone as a commodity instead of religious material

was sacrilegious. The following year the Yankton Sioux took this concept further. Victor

Provost, vice-chairman of the tribe, filed a petition with Senator Daniel K. Inouye of Hawaii,

the chairman of the Senate Select Committee on Indian Affairs, that cited the American

Indian Religious Freedom Act in an effort to wrest the monument from NPS control. [19]

This renewed militance was different than earlier versions of the same impulse. AIM had

been founded by urban Indians to help newcomers to cities adjust and to lobby for the fair

application of American law to Native Americans. [20] Its objectives were political. The new

challenges to the Park Service were from Native Americans still on the reservation. Their

motives were cultural rather than political. This presented the Park Service with an important

problem. It was difficult not to sympathize with people whose objectives were spiritual in

character.

Concerned Native Americans approached the park for help in achieving their goal. Adalbert

Zephier, a former PISA cultural demonstrator whose son John marketed decorative pipestems
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through the shrine association, confronted the agency in a letter. He objected to the sale of

pipestone artifacts because he "believed any thing sacred isn't for sale or shouldn't be sold, or

marked for sale. . . we know people who buy pipes don't use it right." Zephier sought to

arrange a meeting between park officials and Native American crafts people. [21]

Zephier's letter required an NPS response. He and two of his other sons, Loren and Sherwin,

previously worked at the park as cultural demonstrators. They were familiar with the park

and its operations, and aware of the emerging sensitivity to native issues in the agency, they

perceived the Park Service as a potential ally. A complicated drama began to unfold. [22]

The position of the Park Service differed from that of the Yankton Sioux. The organic

legislation that established the monument preserved the right to quarry for all Indians, not

just the Yankton. The legal settlement in 1928 extinguished Yankton claims to the land. As a

result, religious traditions other than the Yankton were represented among quarriers at

Pipestone. Some of these had no problem with the marketing of artifacts. In addition, some of

the Indian families in the town of Pipestone, who were not Yankton Sioux, had worked the

quarries for generations. The shrine association remained an integral part of the local Native

American economy. The religious and cultural traditions of Native Americans were, in the

words of one Pipestone area Native American, "diverse and sometimes conflicting" on the

question of the use of pipestone. Park officials sought some resolution. [23]

The issue highlighted a schism among Native Americans. Not monolithic in culture or

custom, native peoples had a range of points of view on the subject. The Yankton perspective

dated from the end of the eighteenth century, when they established hegemony over the

quarry and prevented others from using the stone. Other tribes believed differently, harkening

back to the era before the Sioux, when a number of tribes used the quarries. Twentiethcentury economics intruded on historic questions of spirituality. Other groups opposed

Yankton control of the quarry because it would limit their livelihood as well as infringe on

their religious views. The issue also forced native people to confront their attitudes about

traditional culture. Divided by age, nature of reverence, tribal affiliation, and economic

concerns, Native Americans disagreed over the proper use and disposition of the quarry.

To a large degree, the issue was moot. NPS officials showed little inclination to turn the

quarry over to anyone. From the Park Service perspective, the agency served as a guardian of

the place, preventing internecine cultural conflict from affecting its use. With the NPS at

Pipestone, all Native Americans had equal access to the quarry. As long as the organic

legislation remained unamended, little change was likely to occur.

The following summer, the drive to limit the sale of pipestone materials gained momentum.

In June 1988, about fifty Sioux began a 450-mile trek across South Dakota toward Pipestone

National Monument in pursuit of this goal. Nearly one month later, the group completed its

spiritual run/walk, and the crowd came up the entrance road singing and made camp at the

monument. [24] The letter-writing campaign had become direct action.

Native Americans remained divided on the subject. While most agreed that Native American

control of the quarries would improve the situation, that was the extent of consensus. The

marchers opposed the commercialization of pipestone, arguing that it should be used only for

religious purposes. Many of their objections focused on the activities of the shrine

association. "I cry because I'm seeing the sacred cry pipe at rummage sales," said Pretty

Sounding Flute of Aberdeen, South Dakota, echoing one of the predominant concerns of the

marchers. A significant contingent also wanted the quarries returned to native hands. In their

view, the sale of the land in 1928 was illegal, a perspective modified by Herbert T. Hoover, a

professor of history at the University of South Dakota. "You can talk about legality all you

want," Hoover remarked about the sale of the land, "but you have to talk about morality, too."
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On that basis he favored returning the quarries to the tribe. [25]

The demands of the group focused on the use of the stone from the quarry. They sought a

board of trustees, to be selected from members of the Yankton tribe with reverence for

tradition, to oversee quarrying. In addition, they wanted programs to educate the public and

pipemakers about the nature of the sacred stone and sought to enhance economic

opportunities for the Native American population of Pipestone so that when commercial

quarrying eventually ceased, local Indians would not suffer. They also wanted all pipes on

display at the visitor center disassembled and returned to the Yankton people. [26]

Most local Native Americans, pipemakers, and others took a different view. People such as

Adam Fortunate Eagle, an Ojibway ceremonial leader and internationally known sculptor

and pipe maker who was educated at Pipestone Indian School, exemplified the opposition.

Local pipemakers should be venerated, Fortunate Eagle believed, for they "kept these

quarries going . . . [with] their tenacity and bravery over the years. The utmost irony in this

protest is that our own Indian pipemakers are being condemned. I think the worst thing that

could be done," he continued, "is to try to destroy the livelihood of the very people who

protected and preserved our sacred quarries." Fortunate Eagle noted that the stone had always

been traded and sold among Indians. Even after the Sioux takeover, trade continued. Nearly

all of Pipestone's Native Americans agreed with Fortunate Eagle. Monument official

Raymond L. "Chuck" Derby, himself a pipemaker, articulated this point of view: "We were

taught by our elders to do this." [27]

There was little support for the ideas of the South Dakota walkers, and in 1988, no resolution

occurred. The shrine association explained its perspective, emphasizing a nearly forty-yearold commitment to pipemaking as an art, the more than $260,000 it paid to Native American

craftspeople and employees from five tribes in 1987, and the participation in its

demonstration program of a number of Native Americans. The local Native American

community perceived the marchers as a threat. They reminded non-Indians about the

importance of PISA to the local Indian population and pointed out the long history of interIndian trade in pipestone. Perhaps most significant, the local Indian community asserted that

the traditional medicine men of the generations before had been pleased by their efforts and

were grateful that Indians still made pipes that they could use for their ceremonies. After a

brief stay, the marchers left, vowing to continue their new tradition the following year. [28]

The next summer, the process started anew. The Park Service had successfully maintained a

neutral position in what had become an inter-Indian cultural dispute. As a result, the battle

for control of the ideology of pipemaking would again take place at the monument. Early on

the morning of July 4, 1989, a group of runners set out for Pipestone on what they termed the

Spiritual Run for the Sacred Pipe. The 768-mile run was set to reach the monument on July

16, when a two-day conference would take place. The purpose was the same, although

Yankton Sioux councilman Wesley Allen Hare, Jr., developed a new strategy for securing the

quarry. He sought a contract to allow administrative control, which the tribe planned to give

to a council of elders. [29]

The marchers had expanded their claims and received some outside support. In 1989, the

National Congress of American Indians called on Congress to prohibit the sale of pipestone

and pipestone objects. Its leaders also asked the NPS to end its exhibition of pipes at the

monument. Wesley Hare of the Yankton tribe claimed that the pipestone had faded in color

because of improper use during the past four years. Arvol Lookinghorse, known by traditional

Indians as Keeper of the Sacred Pipe, insisted that "Lakota spirituality was not for sale—this

includes ceremonial songs, sweat lodge ceremonies, prayers, and sacred religious artifacts."

[30] The lines between the different groups of Native Americans remained as clear as ever.
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The Spiritual Run/Walk became an annual event, continuing in 1990 and 1991. Thirteen

runners were part of a group of 33 people associated with the run/walk in 1990. Again they

stayed at the monument about two days, practicing religious and ceremonial rites, discussing

the situation, and attracting media attention. The following year, the process was repeated.

[31] The Lakota were determined to make their point.

As a result, NPS personnel were compelled to address interpretation at the monument. Since

the mid-1970s, plans for renovating the museum had been shelved. Trapped by the funding

problems that permeated the system late in the 1980s, the resources to implement the

program simply were not available. As a result, at a time of increased militance, the

portrayals of Native Americans at the monument were anachronistic and disappointing.

Much of the emphasis of the new traditionalists centered on the display of pipes in the

museum. Of the sixty pipes displayed at the monument, about forty were displayed with the

bowl and the stem separated. The other twenty were joined. For some tribes, the bowl and

stem of the calumet were only joined during religious ceremonies. The display of joined pipes

inspired the wrath of some of the marchers. A number of the Yankton, including Wesley

Hare, wrote to complain. In one instance in 1991, a member of the patrol team of the

Sundance ceremony entered the museum for the first time and was grossly offended by the

display of joined pipes and the sale of pipestone artifacts. He approached the park ranger in

an aggressive manner, asking why these practices were allowed. The ranger told him to stay

around a while and watch activities at the visitor center. Two days later, the young man

showed the ranger a pipe he bought from one of the craftsmen, suggesting a new

understanding of the situation. [32]

Such conversions were infrequent, and the Park Service was compelled to defend its position.

The agency contacted Dr. Martin Broken Leg, a Rosebud Sioux and professor of Indian

Studies at Augustana College in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, to discuss retaining him as a

consultant. In 1992, the planning process for such an arrangement began. In addition, park

officials made a systematic survey of pipe displays in American and Canadian museums.

Most museums displayed joined pipes, and a number of Native Americans, including George

Horse Capture, curator of Plains Indian Museum, regarded it as an issue for individual

interpretation because of the diversity of views in "Indian Country." Horse Capture himself

displayed his pipes joined at the Buffalo Bill Historical Center in Cody, Wyoming. [33]

Park officials recognized that they had to address an issue of great sensitivity. The pipes that

were joined were used to express artistic and commercial aspects of heritage rather than

ceremonial or religious ones. The dated museum exhibits depicted only Lakota images,

neglecting the earlier groups that used the Pipestone region or the broader dimensions of the

trade in pipestone that characterized the northern plains. NPS officials explained this to

objecting Native Americans, and worked to assure them that the museum renovation would

be undertaken as quickly as possible. More comprehensive interpretation that reflected

increased sensitivity could only stand the Park Service in good stead with the entire Native

American community. [34]

The issue continued to attract attention. In 1991, Shaman's Drum, an alternative culture

journal published by the Cross-Cultural Shamanism Network, published a misleading,

inaccurate, and derogatory article about the situation at the park. The Park Service was

accused of allowing local white business people to quarry at the monument, hiring crews of

token Indians to "mass produce facsimiles of sacred pipes to be sold for hundreds of dollars

each," and of allowing the stone to be made into trivial objects. Superintendent Vincent

Halvorson responded with a letter explaining the laws, policies, practices, and procedures at

the monument. [35] The considerable momentum of the movement to alter the use of

pipestone meant that in the future, park officials will write many similar letters.
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The issue increasingly became a battle between the Yankton Sioux and the heterogeneous

Pipestone Native American community. In 1991, the Yankton Sioux passed another

resolution seeking to limit use of the quarry to Yanktons who sought the stone for religious

purposes. They sought to use the American Indian Religious Freedom Act to assert their

exclusive right to the quarry. Yankton success would mean terminating PISA and its

activities. The move left other Native Americans with the impression that the Yankton sought

to reinstitute their prior control of the area. In this scenario, one historic moment would

supersede all others.

The Indian community at Pipestone approached the Indian Affairs Council of the State of

Minnesota, requesting an exemption from the American Indian Religious Freedom Act for

Pipestone National Monument. The law prohibited any disruption of sacred places or events.

The requested exemption would permit existing activities to continue. The council, set up to

advise the state legislature and its agencies on Native American issues, agreed with the

Pipestone Indians and passed a resolution supporting its position. [36] At the beginning of

1992, the relationship between the Yankton, the Native American families of Pipestone, and

the Park Service had not yet been resolved.

Native Americans sought to use the quarry to express their sense of spirituality in other ways.

In May 1991, the park received a request from the Sundance committee, a group affiliated

with the American Indian Movement, to use the monument for a Sundance. This intricate

religious ceremony, designed to promote unity, rejuvenation, and health, was a cornerstone of

Native American religions. It required a four-year cycle. After a meeting with Superintendent

Halvorson at the monument, a special use permit was granted for the ceremony. [37]

The Sundance was different than the earlier Spiritual Run/Walks. While the marchers sought

to make a point a about return of the quarry and the regulation of its use, those involved in

the Sundance wanted to use the park as a place to express spirituality, renewal, and

sacredness. The Sundance showed Native American culture looking inward to cleanse itself,

not engaging with the outside world. Its leaders sought an enhancement of spirituality, not

confrontation or redress of grievances. In keeping with this objective, the purification ritual

that preceded the ceremony was scheduled for August 18, with tree day, a religious event, to

follow three days later. [38]

Early in August, Native Americans began to arrive at the monument to prepare for the

Sundance. Clyde Bellecourt and Chris Leith, two of the leaders of the Sundance committee,

were the first. A steady stream of heterogeneous Native Americans from a range of tribes

followed, and by August 18, three large tepees, several tents, and a number of sweat lodges

were in evidence. The Park Service cooperated with the campers to keep contact between

park visitors and campers to a minimum. The ceremony was secret, and potential for

offensive behavior by an inconsiderate public was vast. The event came off very well, and at

the end, the Sundance committee thanked Halvorson and his staff for their cooperation. The

superintendent invited the dancers back for the following year, and Native Americans

departed knowing that their traditions and religion had been respected. [39]

For the Park Service, the success of the Sundance ceremony illustrated the importance of

remaining impartial in intra-Indian disputes. As the official keeper of the quarries, the Park

Service had myriad obligations to native peoples. Negotiating a path among the competing

interests required patience, careful reflection, and much cooperation. Despite claims that the

Park Service should relinquish the quarries, events such as the Sundance demonstrated the

importance of a non-partisan, unaffiliated administration for the quarries. The situation

showed the Park Service and its managers in a positive light.

The growing sensitivity to Native American concerns was at least in part a reflection of the
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diversity of the workplace at the monument. Unlike many park areas with Indian themes,

Pipestone had Native Americans involved with the park since its inception. There had been a

longstanding Native American presence in the work force at the monument. Most of the

quarriers predated the monument, either as students at the Indian School or as residents of the

community. When NPS personnel arrived, these people were already at work in the quarries.

NPS officials recognized this dimension as valuable from the beginning, and worked to use it

for interpretive purposes. The presence of people working the stone in an historic manner

gave Pipestone National Monument something unique. Late in the 1940s, George "Standing

Eagle" Bryan began to work as a seasonal interpreter while quarrying. Others, such as

Harvey Derby, followed. [40]

Because the number of staff positions at the monument remained small, the employment of

Native Americans in permanent positions began slowly. The first staff positions were for

specialized professional employees at a time when few Native American worked in the Park

Service. In the 1950s and 1960s, as at other parks with Indian populations and themes, most

Native Americans were found in the maintenance department. At Pipestone, Native

Americans were well represented among the seasonal maintenance staff.

In the early 1960s, the demography of the Park Service began to change. MISSION 66

created large numbers of new positions, and NPS officials increasingly sought minorities for

positions with the agency. Many blacks, Hispanics, and Native Americans with college

training and military experience were sought and recruited by the ranger corps. This was a

difficult task for the NPS because other federal agencies could offer higher incoming General

Schedule (GS) grades than the Park Service could. A Native American could enter the

Bureau of Indian Affairs as a GS-9. Generally the Park Service could only offer a GS-5 rank.

As a result, those minorities who became rangers had great commitment to the agency. [41]

Minorities without military experience or college coursework usually became permanent

maintenance workers.

At Pipestone, the first Native American permanent employee was a natural choice. Raymond

L. "Chuck" Derby was hired as a permanent maintenance man. The son of Harvey and Ethel

Derby, who quarried the monument, he grew up in the park. Following a typical pattern, he

first hired on as a seasonal in 1963, became permanent in late 1960s, and was appointed the

first maintenance supervisor in the early 1970s. [42]

By the time Derby became maintenance supervisor, a revolution in leadership had taken place

at Pipestone. Many of the young minorities in the Park Service advanced quickly, some to

positions of responsibility and leadership, and were ready for superintendencies by the end of

the decade. Their presence and preparation dovetailed with the needs of the agency. In the

late 1960s, the NPS sought to become more inclusive. Agency leadership recognized that at

some parks, a minority presence in leadership offered advantages. At Pipestone, Cecil D.

Lewis, Jr., a Sac and Fox Indian, was appointed the first Native American superintendent in

1968.

The Native American presence at the park provided a new dimension. Lewis offered strong

leadership, spearheading the development of the Upper Midwest Indian Cultural Center and

increasing sensitivity to Native American concerns. Clarence N. Gorman, a Navajo,

succeeded Lewis. Gorman remained for only a year, preferring to return to his home in the

Southwest. [43] Subsequent superintendents were Anglo-Americans. Despite that reality, the

Indian superintendents left a legacy. Their successors were made aware of a broader range of

issues. Some of the later superintendents, such as David Lane, were remembered as having

special respect for Native Americans.

Although Native Americans ceased to occupy the superintendent's office, they remained an
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important presence in the work force. As of 1991, three Native American served in full-time

positions, one as a ranger and two in maintenance. Two others served as seasonal

maintenance workers. One glaring gap existed in seasonal interpretation, where despite

extensive recruiting, no qualified Native Americans have been found who will accept a

position at Pipestone. With regional office support for recruiting efforts, the chances of

finding and hiring qualified Native Americans have increased.

In the past two decades, Native Americans have become an increasingly important force at

the monument. Always a significance presence, Native Americans have again come to see the

quarries as an integral part of their heritage, important to the viability of their many cultures.

Within the guidelines of its management responsibilities, the Park Service has accommodated

native peoples and their concerns, utilizing an integrated approach to management to find

compromise solutions to often thorny issues. Sensitive to Native American needs, park

personnel seek to maintain Pipestone as a cultural park. The result has been cordial relations

that allow Native Americans to use the park and its resources without eliminating the federal

presence.

Yet as the United States grapples with the implications of its multicultural heritage, the

process of managing native relations may become more complex. Accommodating extreme

perspectives may prove more difficult than past experience would suggest. Yet under

enlightened leadership, Pipestone has developed an integrated management perspective that

accommodates Native American needs, serves the larger public, and preserves and protects

the resources of the monument.

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Pipestone NM: Administrative History (Chapter 7)

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Pipestone

Administrative History

CHAPTER VII:

CULTURAL AND NATURAL RESOURCES

MANAGEMENT

Although the organic legislation that established Pipestone National Monument emphasized

its cultural features, the area also contained important natural attributes that required

management. Since the establishment of the park, the Park Service integrated both kinds of

resources management into the conception of its responsibilities at Pipestone National

Monument. Resources management began long before a label existed for such activities.

Initially it was a reactive, almost haphazard process; as a result of changes in legislation that

began in the 1970s, the process became proactive and formal. That transition revealed many

of the important aspects of the history of resources management at Pipestone National

Monument and in the national park system.

Before the establishment of the monument, there had been rudimentary efforts to care for the

quarries and their environs. While the quarries were under the nominal supervision of the

Indian School, J. W. Balmer assumed responsibility for basic maintenance. He detailed

students to clear weeds, maintain fields, clear brush from the creek, and perform the work

necessary to keep the reserved area attractive. [1] Yet little was systematic about such an

approach, and minimal planning went into the process.

After the establishment of the monument, the Park Service was limited by a lack of resources.

Without a budget, any activities at Pipestone occurred because someone volunteered. Balmer,

the first custodian and himself a volunteer, could do little without support. He received no

budget or guidance for either interpretation or natural resources management, and as a result,

simply continued the practices he began under Indian School administration. When Albert F.

Drysdale replaced Balmer as custodian in 1940, he faced a similar predicament. He also

lacked strong ties to the agency, a budget for resources management work, and the sense of

direction that NPS training often instilled. [2] At its inception, resource management was

reactive to a fault.

Widespread of the importance recognition of portraying Native American history,

ethnography, crafts, and religion at Pipestone did not hasten the beginning of comprehensive

cultural resources management. Work in the field was initially confined to issuing permits to

quarry and maintaining features of the park such as the Nicollet marker. Regional office

personnel solicited academic resources such as the Lithic Laboratory in Columbus, Ohio,

which contributed a study of the properties of the Catlinite stone from which pipes were

fashioned, but the agency had little more than that to commit to the development of any facet

of the new park. [3]

Despite the lack of resources, the NPS strove to make clear the purpose and character of the

national monument. In some instances, this led to the rejection of local attempts to assist the

monument. At the beginning of the 1940s, the Park Service declined an offer from the county

historical society to construct a building on the monument to house a collection of artifacts

from the settlement era in southwestern Minnesota. The monument had been established to
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protect and interpret the quarries, NPS officials determined, not display local and regional

settlement history. The first master plan at the monument, prepared in 1942, reaffirmed this

goal, proposing that the interpretation at the monument and in its museum be limited to

Indian pipes and customs, pipemaking, and the "specific" history of the area. Despite the

need for development, NPS officials would not compromise on the character of the park. [4]

There were some early efforts at research to support cultural resources management and

interpretation. Historian Hummel's preliminary historical development report in 1940,

perhaps the single most important document of the first decade of the existence of the

monument, laid out a clear direction for interpretation at Pipestone. The Lithic Laboratory

study added a geological dimension to the story of Pipestone. Drysdale also began to collect

information and photographs to prepare an interpretation pamphlet for the monument.

Slowly, the background for an interpretation program began to take shape. [5]

Early natural resources management consisted of basic maintenance. Activities such as

cleaning out brush, hauling hay bales in borrowed trucks, and starting efforts to eradicate

undesirable species were common. Early in the 1940s, one plant, poison ivy, created a

problem for Drysdale. He sought to eliminate it, but because it was native flora rather than an

exotic, was forced to let it remain. Following that decision, the NPS expended significant

effort to remove exotic plant species and restore the grasslands of the monument to the

condition of the early nineteenth century. Policy changes led to new practices. By 1950,

mowing for weed control decreased, and 2-4-D, one of the active compounds in Agent

Orange and later discovered to be a carcinogen, was commonly used to spray undesirable

plants. Sweet clover, assorted thistles, and after a policy change, poison ivy, were among the

species eradicated. The program was successful, for native plant species such as Purple

Gentian, a fall flower, and Foxglove, a spring bloom, returned. [6]

Most of the successes in weed eradication and species restoration occurred on the prairies.

The quartzite ledges presented a different set of problems. It was a "back breaking and

painstaking" operation, according to Lyle K. Linch, that remained a costly investment of time

and resources. [7] The natural resources management goals of the Park Service at Pipestone

and the resources it had to commit to such an objective were far apart.

Yet the embryonic natural resources management activities at Pipestone suggested that the

monument was different from many other historic parks. Because it preserved Native

American history and ethnography and descriptions of the appearance of the area at the time

of contact existed, managing the natural resources of the monument took on an importance

not then characteristic of historic areas in the system. The setting was important to the story

of Pipestone, forcing a prescient kind of management of natural resources at a cultural park

area.

The appearance of the energetic and idiosyncratic Linch led to the first comprehensive efforts

to standardize resources management at Pipestone. Nature trails, improved access to exhibits,

and the recreation of a typical section of prairie characterized his early efforts. Such activities

were instigated at the park level and executed with little more than concurrence from the

regional office. As was typical of the era, superintendents such as Linch were expected to

handle every aspect of research and management. Although possessing a biology degree,

Linch set himself the task of completing basic archeological research at the monument in the

winter of 1948-49. Regional office archeologist Gordon Baldwin planned to guide Linch,

who expected to perform an archeological surface survey of the park, a task not beyond the

scope of an interested amateur. [8]

But Linch's unique approach to history and prehistory had already come to the attention of

the regional office. His flair for the dramatic made him suspect among the professional staff,
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and his adherence to unusual kinds of interpretation threatened his credibility with his

superiors. They were unlikely to allow him to perform significant cultural resources work. In

an effort to assure that NPS standards were maintained, archeologist Paul Beaubien from the

regional office went to survey Pipestone in June 1949. Regional office officials put Linch's

training to work in another way. Instead of the archeological survey, he completed "A

Preliminary Study of the Geology of Pipestone National Monument." [9]

Linch also had important ideas for natural resource management. In 1950, he proposed

removing trees on the quartzite ledge in an effort to replicate the vista of the 1830s. The

woody character of modern grasslands evident in the 1940s was anachronistic. The grassy

plains described by people like Catlin had become wooded. Historical evidence suggested

that as a result of fire in the historic period that had been suppressed since the Anglo

settlement of the area, cyclic broadcast fire would have created a pattern of prairie

regeneration that the modern distribution of trees did not reflect. Linch marshaled historical

evidence that indicated fewer wooded areas as late as the end of the nineteenth century.

Observers such as Philander Prescott, George Catlin, C. A. White, and William Henry

Holmes all reported treeless quartzite ledges. Photographic evidence from the 1920s that

showed a lack of forestation supported Linch's contention, and he proposed that the Park

Service remove the timber from a 200-foot section of the rock outcropping to better emulate

the vista reported by historic observers. [10]

This was an important tactical decision that required higher-level input. While the Park

Service recognized restoring landscapes as an objective, such action had many potential

negative consequences. People familiar with a place often resented such a move, for the

"historic" setting they remembered was different than the one the Park Service sought to

reconstruct. In some parts of the country, an action like this smacked of federal insensitivity

to local concerns. It had to be handled with some tact and sensitivity.

At Pipestone, a number of the important members of the community supported the idea of

clearing the vista. Winifred Bartlett, Dr. Walter G. Benjamin, and Edward Trebon all

remarked on the problem to Linch, lending credence and effectively countering any local

opposition to the idea. Regional officials agreed that the proposal was a good idea.

Archeologist Beaubien insisted that a landscaper, not Linch, remove the trees to assure that

"someone competent to judge the consequences" evaluate the range of cutting undertaken."

This suggestion reflected a growing recognition within the agency that some park-level

resources management decisions required greater sophistication and knowledge than usually

existed in the field. By the early 1950s, agency officials recognized that Pipestone was more

than just a few quarries, and had a range of issues associated with the management of the

surrounding prairie. The regional office asserted control over what was to become an

important category of decisions at the monument.

The decision to supervise the superintendent also reflected the style of resources management

current in the agency in the 1950s and early 1960s. Throughout the two decades, cultural and

natural resource management proceeded in a reactive manner. As problems were identified,

they were addressed, particularly in conjunction with updating of the master plan for the area,

which occurred about every seventh year until 1965. Most often, the lack of support for

projects at places such as Pipestone meant that the important decision-making passed to the

regional office level. The parks had neither the staff nor the expertise to prepare a

comprehensive vision. As a result, park officials provided support and information for the

planning process, but were not in a position of leadership in it.

At Pipestone, this translated into park-level work on specific issues. In cultural resources

management, research into the historic activities of the monument continued throughout the
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1950s, and in 1960, an administrative history was written that focused on acquisition of the

land that became the monument. [12] In natural resources management, the patterns of the

1940s and early 1950s continued. Most efforts involved eradication of exotic plants species

and efforts to reconstruct earlier vistas.

As was true service-wide, by the middle of the 1950s, MISSION 66 and its capital

development programs dominated attention at the national, regional, and park levels. [13]

Facing the onslaught of visitation limited the effectiveness of response in other areas. At oneand two-person park areas, of which there were many, the work power to do more than

service visitors and plan MISSION 66 developments did not exist.

At Pipestone, the museum and its exhibits were the major accomplishments of MISSION 66.

As was typical at the monument, the plans for a museum were in place long before the

agency had the resources to implement them. The first proposals dated from the immediate

postwar era and included a museum room in a larger administrative center. The 1952 master

plan highlighted the lack of a museum, but it was not until the MISSION 66 process began

that a comprehensive museum prospectus was assembled. [14]

The prospectus was a galvanizing document that planned a future in cultural resources

management for the monument. It proposed a many-faceted museum that would augment the

existing trailside exhibits and lend some sort of comprehensive story to interpretation at

Pipestone. Its authors, former superintendent Harvey B. Reynolds and archeologist Paul

Beaubien, envisioned a range of exhibits that explained the geology of the area, the

distribution and properties of catlinite, the history of quarrying at the monument, Native

American practices of smoking and the importance of the calumet, Native American living

patterns and lifestyle, the commercialization of the quarry, and the cultural history of contact

between Europeans, their descendants, and Native Americans. The importance of pipestone

and the pipes in literature were also part of the plan. A 600-square-foot exhibit room for the

display was recommended. [15]

The exhibit room in the MISSION 66 visitor center was a major triumph for the monument. It

laid the basis for modern cultural resources management at Pipestone. No longer would

interpretation be limited to a one-wall museum in the contact station, a few trailside exhibits,

and a guide pamphlet. Instead a substantial effort to explain the meaning of the monument

that used historic and prehistoric artifacts, required professional management, and allowed for

the protection of cultural resources replaced more limited earlier efforts. The MISSION 66

program for Pipestone made the monument equal to the standards of the time.

The nature of natural resources management changed shortly afterward. By 1960, a

revolution in natural resources management within the agency had begun. With its roots in

the nascent ecological thinking of the 1930s, a new enthusiasm for scientific management of

natural resources took hold. Many of the practitioners were trained scientists who had begun

to assume positions of leadership in the NPS. They brought a different understanding of

science as well as a new set of goals with them, and sought to apply the latest in scientific

thinking to park management. The Wildlife Management Advisory Board's 1963 report,

better known as the Leopold report after its chairman, A. Starker Leopold, pointed the way

toward a new approach to natural resource management. A national park area should, in the

words of the report, "represent a vignette of primitive America." [16]

At Pipestone, the Leopold report merely reflected existing practices. In this respect,

Pipestone's unique theme, short visitation season, and remote location helped protect the

monument from the commercialization that characterized some park areas. While other park

managers worried about the impact of visitation during the boom of the postwar era, Linch

had planned the removal of exotic and ahistoric flora and timber in an effort that anticipated
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the direction of the Leopold report. In the 1960s, the limited kind of resources management

that the staff at Pipestone could provide coincided with the new dominant currents of

thinking in the agency.

Similar changes had begun in the presentation of history. By 1963, after the debut of How

the West Was Won, a full-length feature movie epic of westward expansion that modified the

traditional view of a great and glorious westward quest, a different picture of Native

Americans began to emerge among the public at large. No longer were they mere obstacles to

progress and civilization, savages to be tamed by the progress of civilization. Instead they

had begun to become historical characters with ideas and values of their own. This resulted in

greater sensitivity to Indian themes in the Park Service and a stronger effort to present the

many dimensions of native cultures in a comprehensive fashion.

The new museum at Pipestone quickly became outdated as the cultural presentation of Native

Americans changed. The museum had been conceived and designed during the 1950s and it

reflected the standards of the time. As the cultural current in the nation changed, the

interpretation of Native American culture and life in the museum exhibits became

anachronistic.

Changes in federal law also compelled a more aggressive approach to resources management.

The Wilderness Act of 1964, the National Historic Preservation Act of 1966, the National

Environmental Policy Act of 1969, the Clean Air Act of 1970, and the rest of the range of

environmental legislation that emanated from the Johnson and Nixon administrations

mandated specific actions by the Park Service. [17] Resources management became an

increasingly sophisticated process that was driven by directives outside of the agency. This

required a new kind of labor-intensive compliance as paperwork started to increase.

These changes gradually filtered down to Pipestone National Monument and spurred a move

towards more thorough planning of resources management activities. No longer did initiatives

begin at the park level. Park superintendents generally responded to directives from above

that required some kind of evaluation of a range of situations at the monument. Among the

efforts initiated in this changing climate were John Sigstad's archeological research in 1965

and 1966, which sought to determine the age and distribution of pipestone from the

monument, and the controlled burning program to regenerate historic grasslands that began in

1973.

Controlled burning was a management step of tremendous significance. Although Native

Americans utilized fire for a variety of purposes, it had been the age-old enemy of EuroAmericans settlers. Suppression efforts across the northern plains began with white

settlement and were usually complete by the 1890s. Yet there were environmental

consequences, the most severe of which was demonstrated in the periodic vast fires that

swept large timbered areas across the continent. In the most severe of these, entire

communities succumbed to fire, and millions of acres were burned. In the summer of 1910,

more than five million acres of American national forests burned despite the fact that fire

suppression plans already existed. More than fifty years passed before scientists recognized

that suppression only delayed the onset of fire and changed its character into something far

more difficult to control. Nonetheless, suppression became the dominant mode of fire control

as farms and towns developed across the plains, necessitating a semi-permanent state of local

nervousness during dry seasons as well as brigades of volunteer firefighters. [18]

The Park Service was heir to the tradition of fire-fighting, and many among its first two

generations of employees in the West felt a personal hatred for fire. Some lost friends and

coworkers fighting fires in the course of their careers and could not conceive of anything

positive resulting from a fire. In the Park Service, as nearly everywhere else in the federal
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natural resources bureaucracy and the West, fire was anathema. [19]

Yet by the early 1970s, the value of fire as a resources management tool began to become

apparent. Fire had the ability to reshape landscapes, transforming the visual and ecological

character of the physical environment and often providing a new and broader range of

management options. Across the nation, it had been a primary technique of pre-Columbian

people. Natural fire, usually resulting from lightning, also had transformative qualities, and

NPS scientists quietly began to consider controlled burning policies in an effort to assess its

impact.

At Pipestone, the controlled burning program began as a result of a series of coincidences.

An accidental fire in 1971 removed significant amounts of woody vegetation, enabling the

spread of prairie grass to previously wooded areas. Since the late 1940s, the NPS desired

such a result. Efforts at cutting timber such as those initiated by Lyle Linch were mere

stopgap measures that addressed the consequences rather than the causes of the increase in

timber. Grasslands more closely fit the historic descriptions of the quarry and its environs,

and controlled fire proved to be the most efficacious way of achieving a better mix of

prairies and woodland. Beginning in 1973, burning was conducted in the spring, with each of

six management units in the park fired on a four- to five-year rotation. Yet no burning

occurred on the quartzite edges or along Pipestone Creek, suggesting the limitations of

natural resources management in park area reserved for cultural purposes. [20]

Management issues that had to be addressed as a result of changing legislation included

preservation and use of the quarries at Pipestone. Beginning in the 1960s, historic

preservation took on increased importance in the federal system. New laws that required

evaluative procedures became part of the code of federal regulations, and the NPS struggled

to fulfill another in the seemingly endless set of directives governing federal activities. In

compliance with the National Historic Preservation Act of 1966, the Park Service filed a

request for clearance of ongoing quarrying at the monument. This compelled the Section 106

compliance process, which meant that quarrying would have to be evaluated for its impact on

the historic resources of the monument.

As the ramifications of the new laws became clear, the Park Service sought to develop a

program to administer new responsibilities. In response to the amended National Historic

Preservation Act of 1966, Nathaniel Reed, assistant secretary of the interior with

responsibility for national parks, orchestrated a Park Service response. The appointment of

Robert M. Utley, former chief historian of the agency, to the position of assistant director for

park historic preservation confirmed that the agency planned to regard its preservation

responsibilities in a serious manner. An experienced NPS professional, Utley worked to help

the agency get over what he referred to as its "psychological hangover from MISSION 66"

and recognize that in law, preservation came before development and visitor services. As

Utley worked to stress this different and seemingly foreign set of objectives, he struck the

very strong chord of preservation sentiment that lay just below the surface of the agency.

[21]

Among those interested in exploring the legal and cultural ramifications of the new mandate

was Roy W. Reaves, III, a former archeologist at Pipestone who served as executive order

consultant in the NPS offices in Denver. Reaves noted that the practice of quarrying at the

monument had not been reviewed by the Advisory Council on Historic Preservation (ACHP),

a violation of Section 106 of the National Historic Preservation Act of 1966 and Executive

Order 11593, which mandated compliance. [22]

The problem was complex. Two different pieces of law contradicted each other. The new set

of historic preservation laws mandated a review of adverse impacts on historic resources,
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which clearly encompassed quarrying. If the NPS sought to stop this adverse impact, it would

violate the organic legislation of the monument, agreements, understandings, and other

similar legally binding stipulations. If it did not address the problem, the NPS would fail to

be in compliance with its own regulations and those of the secretary of the interior and the

president. [23] Compliance with the terms of the historic preservation laws was a seemingly

insoluble dichotomy.

Reaves advocated "doing the right thing by the cultural resources of the monument." He

recognized that the stone itself had long been treated as the primary resource at the

monument, superseding the value of the history, archeology, and ethnology of the quarries.

Reaves argued that the ethnological character of the monument was its outstanding feature,

for it was what made Pipestone unique. It merited inclusion as a resource in the study of the

characteristics of the monument. This approach gave the Park Service a way to present a case

to avoid its dilemma. If quarrying was a part of the resource protected at Pipestone, even the

removal of the stone could not be considered an adverse impact. [24]

Following Reaves' lead, the NPS undertook the Section 106 compliance process to legally

determine the fate of quarrying. In practice, there was no doubt that the quarrying would

continue. Its sanction could withstand any legal challenge, and as many within the NPS

pointed out, curtailing the activity would have been a public relations disaster that could have

done vast damage to NPS relations with Native Americans. [25] But Park Service officials

needed approval to continue their congressionally sanctioned programs.

The NPS began to implement its compliance activities. Regional officials dug out John

Sigstad's archeological study of the monument, performed in 1965 and 1966, to use as its

compliance inventory. The Midwest Archeological Center in Lincoln, Nebraska, an arm of

the NPS, agreed that Sigstad's work was a thorough inventory, and Acting Chief Adrienne

Anderson noted that the quarrying had enough historical importance to mitigate the adverse

impact of the activity. Park Service officials offered the management expertise of the agency

and its continued supervision and administration of the quarry and its use as a remedy for the

situation. With this potential resolution, the NPS approached the Minnesota State Historic

Preservation Office to get the concurrence of that agency. Initially, state officials did not

respond, but in phone conversations, NPS personnel secured their agreement. [26]

Receiving the comments of the Advisory Council on Historic Preservation was the next step.

As soon as ACHP officials received Reaves' memorandum, they requested an NPS

investigation to determine if ACHP comment was required. The Park Service regarded the

impact of quarrying as adverse, necessitating a response from ACHP. Yet in October 1976,

more than one year after the NPS began to evaluate its actions at Pipestone, the ACHP had

not yet heard from the NPS. With a little prompting from ACHP officials, the Park Service

quickly produced initial documentation. [27]

The reticence on the part of the Park Service resulted from a natural fear of dealing with a

new agency that had the power to behave in a capricious manner. The 1974 directives

changed the rules within the Park Service for administering historic and cultural resources. In

the view of agency officials, the ACHP was an unknown factor. The NPS had offered a

potentially damaging assessment of its legally mandated activities at Pipestone. Although the

ACHP had only the right to comment, if it disagreed with the contention that quarrying was a

significant historic activity and its impact could be mitigated through careful management,

the Park Service faced a complex legal situation at Pipestone.

Some sort of memorandum of agreement was the likely solution. In response to the NPS, the

ACHP offered a proposal that moved toward an accord. The ACHP disagreed with the Park

Service, for it did not regard quarrying as an adverse impact. Quarrying was the principal
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reason that the monument was reserved, and ACHP officials recognized the importance of the

activity and believed that the Park Service should continue to encourage quarrying in the

future. They also expressed concern about the loss of information that resulted from

continued quarrying and recommended a resources management plan to address such

questions. [28]

Yet there were some aspects of the comments of the ACHP that disturbed the Park Service

officials. Such areas usually reflected an intensive and expensive degree of management that

the NPS regarded as more effort than necessary. In one example, the ACHP report noted the

importance of the tailings piles of quarried and discarded pipestone material as a source of

information. ACHP officials suggested an ongoing program of research into this and other

areas as part of the mitigation process. They felt this would add measurably to knowledge

about the quarries. NPS officials regarded such ongoing activities as costly and unnecessary.

Prior archeological studies by Beaubien, Sigstad, and Reaves did not reveal stratigraphic

information in the tailings piles, nor was any other evidence of ordering apparent. The Park

Service previously compiled more information than the ACHP was willing to recognize, and

implementation of the suggestions of the ACHP seemed likely to deprive the park of

resources necessary for the management of other aspects of the monument.

The two agencies had different focuses. In an ironic maneuver in the aftermath of Utley's

contention about the importance of preservation, NPS officials reminded the ACHP that they

had other responsibilities as well. The perspective of the two differed as well. The NPS

regarded historic activities as more important, while the ACHP wanted more effort expended

on evaluating modern cultural resources practices. [29]

The difference in opinion sprung from an obvious inconsistency in the position of the NPS.

Although the Park Service insisted that ongoing quarrying activity was the most important

facet of cultural resources management at Pipestone, its response suggested that in fact,

historic quarrying was the primary value of the monument. NPS officials stressed mitigation

for the reopening of areas of historic quarrying, with lesser emphasis on the cultural resources

related to modern activity. The ACHP suggested a route, though expensive, that elevated

modern quarrying to a position of prominence at the monument.

The result of this disagreement moved the Park Service toward a systematic kind of resources

management at Pipestone National Monument. By November 1977, NPS officials had not

heard from the ACHP and assumed ACHP acquiescence to the counterproposal the Park

Service offered. The NPS proceeded with research to determine the extent of pipestone

deposits and their distribution at the monument as a prelude to resources management

planning. ACHP officials were willing to accept a resources management plan as a Section

106 compliance document, and the Park Service assembled what became the catalyst for

another change in the philosophy of resources management at the monument. [30]

The debut of the resources management plan for Pipestone in 1981 revealed that management

priorities and procedures had again changed. Included in the document was an overview and

assessment of natural and cultural resources management needs, project statement and

programming sheets, and an environmental assessment. In natural resources management, the

plan suggested that basic research had been accomplished and present needs in interpretation,

management, and preservation were being met. Some problems, such as the appearance of

domesticates such as stray cats and dogs and occasional other feral animals, had no easy

solution, while a major issue, water pollution, was beyond agency jurisdiction. Cultural

resources management presented a different range of management issues. Further

archeological research was necessary, as was a "general museum exhibit overhaul," not the

first time that the inadequacy of static interpretation at the monument attracted attention. The

plan served as a means to develop long-range programming for Pipestone, as well as to
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summarize and evaluate the goals and objectives of prior activities. [31] It was a watershed,

the first comprehensive look at resources management practices and plans at the monument.

It also inaugurated a new style of resources management. The resource management plan

took precedence over any individual project, centralizing goals and driving every facet of

research and resource management. Resources management plans became common

throughout the agency in the late 1970s, and they had vast impact on the way parks

functioned. Priorities and revisions of lists of significant needs came to replace ad hoc

management throughout the system.

The change in policy and process required that staff members acquire different skills than

their predecessors. Park officials began to search for people who could implement the

programs they recommended in their management plans. Some parks were able to secure

permanent resource management either by hiring new personnel or converting existing staff

through retraining. At Pipestone, funding from the Natural Resources Preservation Program

[NRPP] for a comprehensive prairie management and exotic species eradication program

supported only a temporary staff member, Denise Boudreau. Ecologist Gary Willson of the

regional office designed the program in coordination with Boudreau. The park tried

unsuccessfully to find permanent funding for Boudreau's position, and she left the NPS in

1991. In September 1991, Willson transferred to a global climate change coordinator position

at the University of Missouri-Columbia. The departure of the two primary people involved in

the natural resources management program created a large gap for Pipestone. The regional

office recognized the value of the work accomplished by Boudreau and Willson and

coordinated the recruitment of Pamela Benjamin, a natural resources management specialist

from the service-wide training program. In the spring of 1992, she arrived at the monument.

The regional office also agreed to fund the program until it became permanent. [32]

Pipestone accomplished much research in both cultural and natural resources management

during the 1980s. Without a park archeologist, basic fieldwork fell to the Midwest

Archeological Center of the NPS, located in Lincoln, Nebraska. The center provided field

archeological work, excavating the bones of a large mammal found during trail work,

monitoring capital development work such as the installation of underground powerlines, and

performing in lieu of a park archeologist. This model had become common throughout the

agency. Prior examples included the Navajo Lands Group, which provided the smaller park

areas of Navajoland with archeological and maintenance support, the Western Archeological

and Conservation Center in Tucson, which provided archeological work after the demise of

the Navajo Lands Group in 1983, and the Submerged Cultural Resources unit in Santa Fe,

which handled much of the underwater archeological work throughout the agency. Such

entities spared small park areas from supporting a permanent staff member in a field they did

not need on a full-time basis.

Because of the increased demand for specialization at the park staff level, contract work

became an important part of the resources management process. These studies became the

basis for a significant portion of resources management decision-making. A prairie

management study by Roger Q. Landers, Jr., of Iowa State University, revealed that most of

the trees at the monument dated from the beginning of fire suppression about 1880 and

recommended that the Park Service continue to use fire to manage wooded areas of the

monument. By burning even the area near the circle trail, Landers believed that the

monument could move towards presenting a natural setting similar to that described by early

Anglo-American observers of the area. The program had gained much ground since Landers'

previous work in 1975 and even more since Lyle Linch began to think in that direction in

1950. Further work published in 1986 by Donald A. Becker outlined the actions necessary to

restore a vegetation scene that resembled the historic period at Pipestone. In addition, Becker

identified stream and prairie wetland degradation as the most critical resources management
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problem at the monument, with extirpation of native prairie plants a close second. The

remedies for these problems required long-term commitment of agency resources at the

regional office-level and the cooperation of other agencies as well as short-term measures

that reflected the capabilities of the staff at the monument. [33] Yet the research itself was

directed toward developing an ongoing strategy to manage long-term issues. From an overall

perspective, such work promised solid management for the future.

Work in other areas also continued. An evaluation of the Catlinite resources of the monument

in 1980-81 yielded information about the distribution and quantity of pipestone within the

boundaries of the monument and identified eight sites with high potential to contain large

deposits of the stone for future quarrying. A mineralogical characterization of the material in

1991 added new perspective, filling gaps in scientific knowledge and asking new questions

about the nature of pipestone. [34]

Cultural resources management also underwent a similar process of standardization in the

1980s. While more issues process to be addressed, new directions suggested that the

comprehensive planning process would also encompass even the peripheries of cultural

resources management. Inadequate museum interpretation remained a primary issue. The

1971 interpretive prospectus recommended comprehensive changes but had never been

implemented. The story told in the museum had become an embarrassing anachronism, and

park staff anxiously awaited funding to revise interpretation. In addition, a new collections

management policy was drafted in 1987 in an effort to establish collecting policy, set goals

and limits for collecting, and enhance the procedure for describing the object categories in

the collection. By 1988, the park had a new scope of collections statement that established

clear boundaries for the monument. [35]

With direction established through the planning process, new priorities for the monument had

been developed. In the late 1980s and early 1990s, archeology was low on the list for

Pipestone and seemed likely to remain there for the foreseeable future. There was no park

archeologist, and the Midwest Archeological Center, which had responsibility for archeology

in the Midwest Region, was inundated with the needs of new park areas. In comparison to

other parks in the region, Pipestone had been thoroughly studied. As a result, despite a longterm need for additional field work, particularly in the northern part of the monument, the

archeological component of cultural resources management had been delayed. In an effort to

achieve some progress in this area, the park sought cooperating agreements for field research

with accredited universities. [36]

By the early 1990s, the climate in which natural and cultural resources management occurred

had come to reflect the professionalism of the Park Service. Resources management had

become a sophisticated, science-based field that helped allow for standardization of

management practices at Pipestone. In a future of limited allocations, careful management of

natural and cultural resources will become an increasingly important responsibility for park

staff. As they are required to do more of the management with less financial support, policy

recommendations in planning documents will become increasingly important ways of

programming the future needs of the monument. But if the experience of the museum at

Pipestone is indicative, even the most worthy of programs may take a very long time to

implement.

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Pipestone

Administrative History

CHAPTER VIII:

THE PARK AND ITS NEIGHBORS: THE HIAWATHA

CLUB

The annual presentation of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's classic poem, The Song of

Hiawatha, as a dramatic performance has become an important link between Pipestone

National Monument, the town of Pipestone, the surrounding region, and a public interested in

history and culture. Each summer, the pageant recurred, bringing visitors, media attention,

and a sense of vitality to the Pipestone area. The pageant provided a tremendous boost for the

local economy. People from all over the northern plains attended, staying in town, spending

money, and contributing to an enlivened cultural and economic environment. The park

received thousands of extra visitors as a result of the pageant. But The Song of Hiawatha is a

complicated endeavor that requires much cooperation and compromise and has entailed

significant management issues.

The roots of the pageant predated the creation of the national monument. It was first

performed during the 1930s by children from the Pipestone Indian School in an area to the

east of Winnewissa Falls along Pipestone Creek. Mrs. Omar Rains, the wife of the principal

of the Indian School who also taught in the school, served as director. The story was narrated

by an older student, usually a ninth-grader, and to carry the storyline, the cast floated a crude

raft down the creek when necessary. [1]

The first incarnation of the pageant was short-lived. After a few seasons of the performance, a

drought dried up the creek. During World War II, the Indian School had no more resources

than any other similar institution. The Rains family moved to Fort Smith, Arkansas,

eliminating another catalyst for the performance, and as the Indian School became subject to

closure after the Second World War, enthusiasm for the activity diminished. The pageant

became a memory. [2]

But one local man carried the idea of the pageant onward. An avid reader of Longfellow

since childhood, Robert S. Owens was determined to recreate the pageant. He selected a spot

near the Three Maidens, purchased the land, and sought the support of his friends in the

community. The founding of the local Exchange Club helped the project. It had been formed

to promote the pageant. But national exchange clubs were dinner gatherings, a format that did

not suit the needs of a community with a show to produce. The local club stopped having

dinners, leading to a rift with the national organization. The local incarnation of the

Exchange Club ceased to exist and was replaced by the Hiawatha Club, the sole purpose of

which was to put on the pageant. [3]

The initial pageants were "weird," as Gilbert Backlund, who along with Lyle Linch was one

of the first new members to join after the club was chartered, recalled. The stage was a

narrow little strip in front of the Three Maidens. Owens remembered that the first show had

"a basketful of mishaps." A narrative tape had been recorded in advance, and the day of the

performance, Owens sat down to listen to it to make sure it would work. The tape was blank,

necessitating a 45-mile drive to nearby Marshall to find another announcer. As Owens
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returned at the end of the day, storm clouds gathered to the west. On the night the show was

set to debut, a cloudburst washed out the performance. [4]

Other problems were more mundane. At the beginning, there was no seating, and people

brought their own blankets. The only place to spread them out was a long way from the stage.

The audience used field glasses to see the activities. Many remembered the bugs as being

awful, and insecticide became standard equipment. The first lighting came from car

headlights. The crowds were small and mostly local, and the director rounded up people for

the show. Often the audience consisted of family members and few others. At its beginning,

the pageant was an amateur affair. [5]

Despite such travail, the pageant continued. Robert Owens and his wife, Mary, were

instrumental in its growth, and the community rallied around the idea of the show. Many

people contributed time and effort to keep the project going, and as in any similar

production, the skills of nearly every professional and tradesperson in town were necessary.

Newcomers also participated, as the pageant became a way to become part of the community.

One such person was Kay Gillott, who with her husband, Chet, came to Pipestone during the

first summer of the pageant. Gillott had been a teacher in Minneapolis and had an interest in

poetry and literature. She was also close to the literary and theater communities in the state

and became a valuable resource. Her contribution became evident the second summer, when

she directed the pageant. [6]

Initially, the Park Service paid little attention to the pageant. Despite the involvement of

Linch, NPS officials regarded the pageant as a largely local event. Linch's participation may

have inspired more worry than confidence. By 1950, the regional office was well aware of

his idiosyncratic sense of significance. Many regarded the pageant as a "stunt out of keeping"

with agency objectives for the monument. In the first years of the pageant, no regional office

personnel attended, prompting at least one typical outburst from Linch. "I was bitterly

disappointed that even the added inducement of the unique and classic 'Song of Hiawatha'

pageant failed to attract any of our supervisory superiors," he wrote with great sarcasm in the

summer of 1950. "I strongly feel that the pageant is destined to be a rapidly growing Siamese

twin attraction for this great grain basket area." [7]

In this respect, Linch was correct. During the following decade, tremendous growth in the

pageant and its facilities occurred. In 1952, Philip J. Smith of the drama department at the

University of Minnesota became director of the pageant. He was charged with making the

performance professional. Smith retained the vocal solos by local performers and the

gestures, pronunciations, and voice inflection taught to the performers by Charles Morrison, a

teacher at the Indian School, but reshaped the rest of the program. He used music

departments at universities to assist in finding appropriate music, selected the best voices

among his students as narrators, coached local performers, and improved the staging.

Although he stayed only two years, Smith helped shape the pageant into something more than

a local event. [8]

Professionalization helped make the popularity of the pageant grow. Other faculty members

followed Smith, and the pageant became a regional theater kind of performance. By the late

1950s, the club had more than $20,000 invested in a range of equipment and capital facilities.

Bleachers and opera-style seating had been constructed, as had light towers and a building

with communications equipment to run the show. In a decade, the pageant had become an

important institution. [9]

Yet the pageant reflected only some aspects of the mythic past. Although the pageant and the

poem on which it was based presented a positive if romanticized view of Native Americans,

few of the participants in its activities were Indian. A number of people with close ties to the
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park and the town, most notably Bea Burns and George and Winona Bryan, were involved,

but generally, area Native Americans avoided the pageant. The heritage they saw presented

seemed foreign to their experience. [10]

Leaders of the pageant made some attempts to include more Indians in the pageant. In the

early 1960s, club members drove to Nebraska to hire Native Americans to participate in the

pageant. The Indians danced in costume at the festivities in what some remembered as a

caricature of their traditions. But the lack of Indian participation remained notable. It was as

if local Native Americans sought to demonstrate their discomfort by refusing to participate.

[11]

During the 1950s and 1960s, the pageant had grown into a regional tradition that the Park

Service had come to enthusiastically support. Linch's sarcasm piqued the interest of the

regional office, and some from the staff visited the pageant. Regional Historian Merrill J.

Mattes was the first; on his initial trip in 1952, he was "agreeably surprised." The pageant

was far more professional than he anticipated. Throughout the 1950s, Pipestone remained an

outpost in the park system, and with its new visitor center, the park had attributes the agency

sought to showcase. Increasingly, agency officials believed that the presence of the pageant

supported the objectives of the Park Service, bringing visitors to the area without the

commitment of agency resources. It became a "real asset" for the monument, as Mattes noted

in 1951. In the 1960s, the pageant took on a celebratory character, as Regional Office

officials attended, accepting accolades for the role of NPS in supporting the project. [12] By

1970, the Park Service had become a major supporter of the pageant.

The change in the Park Service view of the pageant stemmed from a number of sources. The

developments of the MISSION 66 program helped bring Pipestone National Monument more

into the mainstream of the agency. After MISSION 66, the monument got more attention

from the regional office than ever before, and events such as the pageant became worthy of

notice. The growth of the pageant and its impact on visitation at the monument were also

noteworthy. So was the effort to professionalize the presentation of a classic poem to the

public. While NPS officials might not always approve of such an event, the Park Service

understood the importance of good public relations and community relations. Agency

personnel also recognized an asset when they saw one.

Nor was their confidence misguided. By the middle of the 1960s, the pageant had become a

local tradition and a fixture of the cultural landscape. Foreign visitors became common, with

Europeans, themselves overwhelmingly interested in the experiences of Native Americans,

predominating. Local businesses anticipated the coming of the pageant in the way that

merchants in a college town await homecoming. There was little to object to in the pageant.

Everyone made money, the town of Pipestone had a unifying event, and the portrayal of

Native Americans was benign, if a little patronizing. In an era that prided itself on an

increasing liberalism regarding minority groups, the pageant fulfilled many socio-cultural

needs.

But like nearly everything else in the United States, the changing cultural climate of the late

1960s affected The Song of Hiawatha pageant. After nearly two decades of trying to

eliminate Indian tribal structure, the federal government adopted a policy that allowed Native

Americans greater autonomy than they had since the beginning of the reservation system. In

the aftermath of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and Voting Rights Act of 1965, a spate of new

legislation that formalized Indian control over their lives and customs continued for more

than a decade. A cultural awakening seized the nation. For Native Americans, a movement

that challenged the romantic view of native experiences closely followed. [13] In a time of

increased militance, the pageant was vulnerable to charges that its very nature exploited

Native American culture.
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At Pipestone, this culminated in an incident at the pageant in 1970. Although the Native

Americans who lived in Pipestone were generally conservative, Minneapolis became a center

of activism. Urban Indians faced more bleak and trying conditions, and Native American

support groups formed to help newcomers from the reservations adapt to city life. These

groups became increasingly militant, spreading their message not only to other Indians, but to

the larger world as well. At the 1970 pageant, a number of activists disrupted the

performance as an expression of their discontent, stamping their feet, shouting epithets and

briefly drowning out performers. Aggressive and strident, these groups temporarily focused

their animosity on the pageant. [14]

Yet, as one former superintendent noted, such expressions were short-lived because of the

genuinely benign nature of the pageant. The Song of Hiawatha shared little with the offensive

stereotypes of Native Americans that permeated nineteenth-century American literature. The

poem "did the Indian quite a bit of justice," former Superintendent Cecil D. Lewis, Jr.,

remarked, dispelling the fears of the militants. [15] Romanticized characterizations of Native

Americans were the least of their worries, for they engaged in a form of romanticism tinged

with direct action that differed more in degree than kind from that embodied in Longfellow.

Their actions were symbolic, an effort to disrupt a symbol of that to which they objected. To

many Native Americans, a pageant about Native American culture that included few Native

Americans represented the worst side of American popular culture to Native Americans. In

this, the pageant differed little from all the bad western movies of yesteryear.

Despite the fact that Lewis was called back to the monument to help diffuse the situation, the

protests ceased before his return. Planning to continue their protest, the militants stayed in the

area to observe the situation of Native Americans in the community, park, and pageant. By

the next week, they discovered that Pipestone offered Native Americans many positive

opportunities. The superintendent at the time, Clarence N. Gorman, was a Navajo, and the

man sent in to help, Cecil Lewis, was Sac and Fox, Delaware, and Potowatomi. The two had

gone to grade school together in Chinle, Arizona, and together made up a strong Indian

presence at the monument. There, Native Americans had positions of leadership. The

monument worked to convey a comprehensive approach to the history of the people of the

northern plains, the Pipestone Indian Shrine Association created economic opportunity, the

Native Americans of the town were generally positive about local institutions, and the

pageant, at the very worst, was benign. Although the militants stayed in town, they ceased to

protest. [16]

In the aftermath of the incident, relations between the Native American community in

Pipestone and the pageant improved. The increased involvement started during Lewis'

superintendency and continued throughout Gorman's tenure and that of his successor, Don

Thompson. As a result of what Lewis characterized as a number of "misunderstandings," the

local Indian community felt that the pageant had discriminated against its members. With

Lewis's leadership and the close relations between the park and the local Native American

community, the problems were slowly rectified. Bea Burns continued to play Nicomus in the

pageant, and Chuck Derby and his daughter also participated. [17] New bonds were formed

that furthered the goals of pageant, the Native American community in Pipestone, and the

monument.

The outburst at the pageant in 1970 signified one kind of change at the monument, but other

far more ominous forces have affected the pageant. The decline of American education and

the subsequent lack of inclination to teach poetry or any other subject with real content to

American school children has limited the potential for growth of the pageant. Poems such as

The Song of Hiawatha used to be the common currency of anyone who graduated from

eighth grade in the United States. By the 1990s, they were no longer part of the common

experience, nor really was any other basic educational document. As the U.S. hesitantly
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embraced the concept of multicultural education, the presentation of Native American

experience made Longfellow and his views anachronistic. The combination of these factors

deprived the pageant of much of its younger audience, complicating the future of the pageant.

Few young people were exposed to The Song of Hiawatha, and each year, the audience at the

pageant became more gray.

The Park Service took an active role in the affairs of the Hiawatha Club, for the people of the

monument had an investment in the public perception of the program. Visitation increased

dramatically during the pageant weekends, and because of its themes, the public evinced a

much stronger interest in the history of the quarries and the people that used them. The park

also liked to keep track of the activities of the Hiawatha Club. In many areas with similar

kinds of privately run events that reflected the themes of nearby park areas, the NPS found

itself combating substandard interpretation, anachronistic and inappropriate costuming, and

other problems that affected the ability to interpret within park boundaries. Close ties were

essential.

The Park Service had no control over the pageant, but its officials were valued members of

the Pipestone community. The boundary issue was still alive, and the Hiawatha Club needed

the cooperation of the Park Service to assure the smooth operation of the pageant. Park

personnel became a fixture on the Hiawatha Club Board. For many years, the superintendent

and the chief of interpretation and resources management were members as a result of their

position at the monument. Their presence gave the Park Service the opportunity to influence

the decisions of the Hiawatha Club.

Yet administrative control and consistency in relations still escaped the Park Service.

Following the incident in 1970, park officials sought to more clearly define the relationship

between the club and park. In the middle of the decade, Superintendent Don Thompson

negotiated a memorandum that governed the relationship. While this effectively established

the parameters of interaction, there were a number of ongoing issues. At the end of the

1980s, the Park Service determined that the old memorandum no longer sufficed.

Superintendent Vincent J. Halvorson sought a special use permit for the Hiawatha Club that

more clearly delineated obligations and responsibilities. By the early 1990s, this goal had

been achieved. [18]

The main point of potential contention between the monument and the Hiawatha Club was

the uncertainty of physical boundaries between park and club land. Since the 1940s, the issue

had been confused and convoluted; on more than one occasion, Park Service officials thought

they secured the Three Maidens and the area around it, yet were frustrated by the lack of

purchase money, city council decisions, inaccurate description of the land in question, and

longstanding local custom. Superintendents recognized that the monument had little to gain

from forcing the issue, and the loosely constructed relationship continued unimpeded, with

people on both sides alternately chafing and chafed.

Yet by the 1980s, Pipestone National Monument had become a different kind of park. In

response to the changing tenor of the agency, many of the informal procedures that long

characterized the agency were clarified and formalized. Young park superintendents

recognized that the future depended on their ability to execute the policies of the agency.

When Halvorson arrived at Pipestone in 1982, he placed resolving the boundary issue at the

top of his list of priorities. He researched the land descriptions, determined where the

boundary was located, brought in a surveyor who marked the exact line, put up boundary

markers, and made sure the boundaries were clear. Then Halvorson brought Robert S.

Owens, recorder of deeds of Pipestone County as well as inspiration behind the Hiawatha

Club and its pageant, to view the boundary lines marked by the surveyor. Halvorson

demonstrated that the land had never been removed from the public domain, and Owens
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agreed. The Park Service in fact owned part of the land to which the club lay claim. [19]

This was a disconcerting reality for the members of the Hiawatha Club. Long used to

autonomy and a sense of proprietary control of the land, they were compelled to face

different realities. Although some of the members of the club feared that the NPS would use

the situation to put the pageant out of business, park officials had little desire to do so. The

pageant clearly expressed the interdependent relationship of the town and the park.

Terminating the pageant would be "like committing suicide in this town," Superintendent

Halvorson remarked in 1991. [20] The adjustment of formal boundaries reflected internal

agency objectives much more than any relationship with the pageant. In the first decade

following resolution, there was little impact on the pageant.

Close ties between the Park Service and the pageant persisted in the public mind. NPS

officials at the park and regional office recognized that much of the public perceived the

pageant as a function of the agency. In the early 1990s, Pipestone National Monument still

received telephone calls from people who wanted to purchase pageant tickets or find out

when it occurred. More vexing were the slow but steady stream of inquiries about the

characterization of Native Americans presented by the pageant. While the performance had

come a long way in its sensitivity since the days when Indians were hired to dance as a

sideshow, the tone of militance and the growing trend toward multiculturalism assured that

such presentations would be carefully scrutinized. Yet at the beginning of the 1990s, the Park

Service remained committed to the pageant. Only serious and persistent objections from

Native Americans could compel NPS to reconsider the relationship. [21]

The story of the Hiawatha Club pageant at Pipestone National Monument reflected much of

the changing nature of Park Service administration. Like many remote park areas, Pipestone

functioned more as part of the local community than the national park system during much of

its early history. The result was the codification of practices that could not be initiated in an

era of more strict adherence to the policies of the agency. Yet at Pipestone and many other

park areas, these vestiges of a more fluid and less structured past remain, creating a number

of management issues for agency administrators and compelling close and careful

management.

Events such as the Hiawatha Club pageant add much to a community and lay the basis for

close cooperation between park areas and surrounding communities. At Pipestone, the

pageant also reflects the themes of the park, drawing the two entities closer than they

otherwise might be. The result has been a complicated set of interactions that has helped both

the park and the club, while simultaneously causing the leadership of both many sleepless

nights. In the early 1990s, the relationship appeared to work well. In the changing cultural

climate of the United States, maintaining that close and mutually beneficial interaction may

become more difficult.

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Pipestone

Administrative History

CHAPTER IX:

THREATS TO THE PARK

In the late 1970s and early 1980s, external threats to national park areas became a central

administrative issue for the National Park Service. At Pipestone National Monument, this had

typical ramifications. Like many park areas, Pipestone was surrounded by private land over

which the agency could exert varying degrees of influence. The area reserved for Yankton

access under the 1858 treaty was 640 acres, in itself not large enough to eliminate threats

from beyond the park borders. In 1937, 115 acres were deeded to NPS, a minuscule size to

protect from encroachment. Even the addition of 164 acres to the monument during the 1950s

and the creation of the 100-acre state game refuge did little to insulate the park. The General

Services Administration sold the remaining portion of the original 640-acre reserved area to

the state of Minnesota and the city of Pipestone with a covenant that the land be used for

educational purposes, but even this caveat did little to assure the kind of land use that would

protect the monument. The small size of Pipestone National Monument enhanced its

vulnerability.

As a result, Pipestone National Monument remained an island, surrounded by other types of

land use and susceptible to encroachment from a number of different sources. To the east,

roughly half of the original reserved area that passed to the city and state became Southwest

Technical College. One private development, a KOA facility, and a Good Samaritan Society

project, a home for retired people, were also located in that area. The rest of the area was

contracted out to farmers. To the south lay the Hiawatha Club land and facilities and a parcel

of private farm land. To the west, private farmland dominated the boundary, and in the

northwest corner of the monument an historic cemetery added another dimension to potential

management problems surrounding the monument.

With its 283-acre landbase, Pipestone National Monument faced problems that were even

more severe than those of many larger national park areas. Many of the western national

parks were surrounded by federal land in other jurisdictions, allowing the Park Service a

measure of input in decision-making that private landowners were unlikely to consider. Other

parks had such vast land bases that while encroachment of various kinds was a problem, it

did not present an overwhelming threat to the management of park areas.

The importance of the management of land outside park boundaries to the NPS and the park

system was a phenomenon of the post-World War II era. Because of the nature of the

selection process that limited most early national park areas to tracts of federal land in largely

unsettled areas, the first generation of national parks rarely faced significant encroachment.

Inholdings, land claims that were perfected before the founding of the park, were the worst

threat to these parks. A general lack of access was a greater problem to the growing agency

and its mission than was the proximity of other activities. Postwar development, better

transportation systems, and more leisure time and money for the middle class spurred

dramatic increases in visitation. Instead of being ignored into oblivion, the park system faced

the prospect of being overrun. [1]
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Capital development to accommodate visitors was the NPS response, but such programs did

little to address a parallel issue: the growing dependence of local economies such as that of

the town of Pipestone on their regional national park area. As the nature of the American

economy began to change, small towns held fewer opportunities for young people. The

tourism industry, with its emphasis on bringing in revenue generated in other places, held

tremendous appeal. National park areas offered genuine advantages for this quest, for the

brown sign that indicated a national-caliber attraction influenced the choices of travelers far

more than did any similar local and state feature. In towns such as Pipestone, the presence of

the park became an important part of the local economy.

Yet the Park Service only slowly recognized the implications of this gradual shift. Well into

the 1970s, the NPS took a narrow view of its responsibilities, regarding events within park

boundaries as its primary and many times exclusive focus. The development of exploitive

ticky-tacky businesses on park boundaries, while a nuisance, was seen as beyond the purview

of agency officials. Most took the same response when faced with changes in private land

management beyond park boundaries. [2]

The changing cultural climate of the 1960s and 1970s propelled the Park Service towards a

new view of its responsibilities. In the 1960s, the conservation/environmental movement took

a more holistic approach to preservation. This approach meshed with changes in scientific

thinking, creating a stronger understanding of natural science that suggested the dire

consequences of encroachment. Such concerns stretched beyond the protection of the park

system, elevating the importance of unreserved landscapes to the management of the islands

that many national park areas had become. By the 1970s, this perspective dominated policy in

the Park Service, and a broader view of management followed. [3]

In resources management, this translated into a concern for lands outside park boundaries.

The Park Service began to develop a strategy to combat this category of threats of growing

importance. In the early 1970s, allied organizations such as the National Parks and

Conservation Association and the National Parks for the Future study group expressed

concern about activities beyond park boundaries. By the middle of the decade, NPS Director

Gary E. Everhardt determined that threats to the parks were the most severe problem the

system faced. An agency report to Congress, The State of the Parks, 1980, became the

catalyst for translating concern into policy. According to the study, the greatest and most

comprehensive threats the park system faced came from beyond park boundaries. After its

publication, the NPS fashioned a response. Each park was required to assess the nature of

threats it faced and their potential for damaging the natural and cultural features of the area.

[4]

Pipestone National Monument faced threats that were different from many other national

park areas. Commercial enterprise, extractive resource use, and industrial development posed

problems throughout the nation. Air pollution presented a growing threat in other places. But

few parks other than Pipestone had to address problems associated with the changes in

American agriculture.

At Pipestone, a study mandated by The State of the Parks, 1980 report determined that

pollution of Pipestone Creek by runoff of pesticides, herbicides, and fertilizers from area

farms as well as waste from feedlots was the primary threat to the integrity of the monument.

Polluted runoff resulted from the industrialization of American agriculture and the changes in

practice and land use designed to facilitate greater crop yield. Much of this began in the

1930s. Like many other states, Minnesota gained infrastructure as a result of the New Deal.

One of these projects, a drainage ditch system, "channeled" rivers to provide better

distribution of water and runoff for agriculture. No one foresaw the increase in pesticide use

that began after the Second World War and increased exponentially in 1950s and 1960s. As
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such use increased, the very system designed to help farmers became the means that spread

the toxic runoff of agricultural progress. [5]

At Pipestone National Monument, a "fish kill" that occurred in the fall of 1982 illustrated the

gravity of the problem. The Park Service set out to identify the culprit. It quickly ascertained

that an agricultural drainage ditch that entered Pipestone Creek east of the monument had the

potential to be a source of pollution. Pipestone Creek also served as storm sewer drainage for

parts of the town. An old landfill just off the eastern boundary offered another potential

source of pollution. Industrial or agricultural pollutants could have caused the kill, and after

some study, farm chemicals and fertilizers draining from a culvert appeared to be the most

likely cause. For aesthetic and health reasons, the issue had to be addressed, and the NPS

embarked on a program of regular monitoring. [6]

Park staff brought the matter to the attention of the Minnesota Pollution Control Agency

(MPCA), where the reputation of the creek preceded it. "Pipestone Creek, the dirtiest little

stream in Minnesota," one MPCA scientist in St. Paul remarked when informed of the

problem. Water samples first taken in August 1983 indicated higher-than-normal levels of

chloride and sulfate in the creek. Resource management ranger Denise Stocks assumed

responsibility for monitoring the creek. Other park personnel were asked to watch for

obvious signs of pollution. One park official remembered that "suds below the falls" were

considered the most typical visual clue. A sampling and testing program was set up as a

response. MPCA identified two point-source polluters, and for the immediate future, the

problem was resolved. [7]

By the early 1990s, a consistent monitoring program was in place and there had been clear

improvement, but agricultural and urban pollution required constant vigilance. Heavy rains

often washed pollution through the monument before it could be monitored, suggesting that

the overflow of ditches could have serious environmental consequences throughout

southwestern Minnesota. Some observational accounts from 1991 indicated that the problems

persisted. Occasionally debris such as paint cans, herbicide containers, and lumber washed

out of the landfill and into the monument. One NPS official reported that sometimes when

approaching the Winnewissa Falls, the smell of pesticide was overwhelming. [8]

There were other kinds of threats to national park areas. With a battle over the vistas of

Manassas battlefield looming in the late 1980s, visual intrusions on park areas became a

primary threat. [9] As development threatened many parks, securing scenic easements and

preventing development in the sight lines of park areas became an agency objective.

Pipestone faced this particular problem. Located adjacent to a city, its accouterments such as

power and gas lines, a cemetery, and city buildings intruded on the historic scene.

Understanding the spirit of the quarries and seeing George Catlin riding up on his horse in

the visitor's mind's eye became more difficult when the view included power lines and

modern homes. Yet particularly on this issue, the Park Service could do little other than urge

that adjacent landowners and others remain sensitive to park values. As in similar situations

throughout the nation, some of them sought to help preserve the visual integrity of the park

and others were ambivalent.

With a city as a neighbor, Pipestone National Monument faced a number of threats similar to

those of many urban park areas. Domesticates such as dogs and cats were often found within

its boundaries, and the noise of the city frequently intruded on the park. On some occasions,

the spread of the community threatened the park. In the late 1970s, the City of Pipestone and

a local development company, Brower-DeVries Estates, developed plans for a low-income

housing area on the south boundary of the monument. Park officials found themselves in a

difficult situation, arguing against the interests of a needy constituency for largely aesthetic

reasons. The economic arguments about the value of tourism had yet to be widely accepted.
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After some negotiating, the two parties reached an agreement to put in a shelter belt of trees

to conceal the buildings and protect the view from the park. [10] While a less than optimal

situation, the compromise reflected the difficulty of park management in the proximity of an

urban area. In the end, construction of the housing did not take place.

Preserving the historic character of the grasslands at the monument also required constant

NPS vigilance. Beginning in the 1940s, agency personnel made a concerted effort to recreate

as much of the natural setting of the mid-nineteenth century as possible. The introduction of

controlled burning in the 1970s helped restore prairie areas to a semblance of their historic

character, but protecting these areas from the incursion of exotic plants and in some

instances, aggressive native plants, required a sizable investment of time and resources. The

fire-generated prairie areas at the monument supported interpretation, for they allowed

visitors to experience the feel of an earlier time. Controlled burning and the use of approved

herbicides formed much of the agency response to what will remain a constant threat to the

historic character of the monument.

Another classic problem for national park areas also appeared at Pipestone. The appearance

of ticky-tacky souvenir and curio shops near the entrances of park areas had been an agency

problem since the 1910s. Places such as Yellowstone, Zion, and Carlsbad Caverns also

experienced this affliction, but for a long time, the existence of the town of Pipestone

insulated the monument from such activity. The souvenir shops remained downtown, not far

at all from the monument. [11] In the early 1980s, a modern souvenir shop in the shape of a

historic blockhouse was constructed directly across from the entrance to the park. Called

"Fort Pipestone," this unlikely structure appeared historic to the uninitiated. This posed a

classic NPS problem. At many parks, visitors had to run a gauntlet of souvenir shops before

they reached the entrance, leaving some visitors feeling as if they had just experienced a

carnival. Such an eventuality reflected poorly on the parks, for some visitors could not

distinguish between NPS attractions and those of exploitive promoters. When such attractions

were pseudo-historical, the Park Service faced a significant educational problem. At

Pipestone, park personnel reported that some visitors mistook the structure for the monument.

[12]

Ironically, outside threats to the cultural resources of the monument were limited. The unique

mandate of the park offered inherent protection for its resources, and the consistent activity

associated with quarrying and the close management necessary to assure that it continued in a

traditional manner allowed the Park Service greater control than was typical. Other parks with

cultural resources faced the potential for great damage from the outside, but at Pipestone, the

real threats were to the natural features of the monument.

An even greater threat loomed on the horizon at the start of the 1990s. Throughout the park

system, funding limitations placed expanded programming in jeopardy, and in some cases,

base budget cuts threatened existing levels of service. An extraordinary federal budget deficit,

the aftermath of the savings and loan scandals, and a prolonged recession in the early 1990s

meant that the situation was likely to grow far worse before it improved. Every penny

became valuable as the funding for a range of kinds of programs disappeared, with little hope

of base budget increases to offset the change.

Changes in the philosophy of national park management at the Cabinet level aggravated the

situation. Throughout the 1980s in the Reagan-era Department of the Interior and particularly

during the tenure of Secretary of the Interior James Watt, funding was almost exclusively

directed toward providing amenities for park visitors. With a lack of respect for the

preservation side of the mission of the Park Service, Watt held a vision of the national parks

as playgrounds and expected them to cater to the sedentary with the kinds of facilities

available in suburban America. Hotels, roads, and other trappings of convenience dominated
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his approach to national park management, and with a zealousness designed to infuriate and

fragment the traditional bipartisan support for national parks, he focused on his selfproclaimed mission to turn the parks back to the people. Other kinds of programming

suffered or were maintained through "soft money," funds not included in the base budget of

park areas, and the concern of individuals and organizations at the national, regional, or park

level. [13]

Watt's policies limited the chances for growth at Pipestone. As a result of declining or

constant numbers of visitors since the mid-1970s, Pipestone did not qualify for the type of

development the new leadership emphasized. Most people within and outside the agency felt

that the physical plant at Pipestone was sufficient. The monument needed resources

management and protection from external threats more than new buildings. With its claim on

new funding declining along with visitation totals, park staff had to wait for an era with a

different set of priorities.

With the return of high-level departmental leadership more in tune with the historic priorities

and balance of objectives in the agency, the climate for supporting other kinds of activities

improved. In the mid- to late-1980s, managers across the system readied new plans for all

kinds of activity in an effort to accumulate the kind of baseline data necessary for long-term

decision-making. About the same time, the combined burdens of the American economy

slowed growth that could allow for increased expenditures on park protection and

management. Many in the Park Service embraced a cautious optimism.

Despite the sense of Watt and his subordinates that places such as Pipestone needed little, the

monument faced major funding needs at the dawn of the 1990s. The exhibits in the museum

dated from 1958 and required a complete overhaul. Interpretation reflected the standards of

the 1950s, and the language, terminology, and ideas reflected the values of American society

before the cultural turmoil that began in the 1960s. For the Park Service, which among

federal agencies prided itself on its sensitivity to culture, the museum became an

embarrassment. Native Americans in particular found the portrayal of their heritage

offensive, and many complained. [14]

The tightening of the federal budget in the aftermath of the national election of 1988 made

remedying the problems of the monument more problematic. An estimate for refurbishing the

museum suggested that the project would cost approximately $125,000, with a

comprehensive overhaul of interpretation that provided on-site facilities for curator and

conservation closer to $300,000 in cost. By the early 1990s, the U.S. was mired in a long

recession that resisted numerous attempts to resuscitate the economy, and funding remained

tight for federal agencies. An outlay such as that necessary for the museum at Pipestone

seemed unlikely.

The funding situation left other principal needs at the monument unattended. A resources

management initiative to remove and control exotic plant species was as necessary as the

rehabilitation of the museum. At an estimated cost of $20,000 per year, this was projected as

a $200,000 project over ten years. The Natural Resources Preservation Program funded three

years of the program, and in its aftermath, a resources management specialist to implement

the plan was funded through the regional office. Without a permanent resources management

person in place, the program would continue in a haphazard manner. [15] The commitment of

the regional office to the program reflected the importance of the program, but as was

characteristic of the 1990s, a program essential to the management of the monument required

significant resources.

The realities of funding threatened other areas of management at the monument. Across the

federal government, many administrators found themselves facing a recurring predicament.
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Each year, the salaries of their staff were increased by law, but rarely did specific

appropriations to fund these increases follow. As a result, money had to be reallocated from

other areas. In the park system and particularly at smaller areas, this problem was

exacerbated because individual parks handled every facet of their budgets. At Pipestone, if

the park had to continue to absorb the cost of annual pay increases, at least two seasonal

positions on which the monument depended for visitor service in the summers could be

jeopardized. [16]

The 1990s will be a difficult decade for park managers. They will be asked to do more with

less, to build constituency sometimes at the expense of established management priorities. At

Pipestone, the developed physical plant and the relatively short primary visitation season help

mitigate against limits on available resources. Yet at the beginning of the 1990s, the

monument reflected a major issue facing the entire national park system. The public expected

more of the park system and the National Park Service while agency standards required more

expensive, more comprehensive programming and management. At the same time, the budget

to administer park areas such as Pipestone remained constant or decreased. If doing more

with less becomes the motto of the agency, serving the public and protecting the resources at

places such as Pipestone National Monument will entail mutually exclusive choices that

support one part of the NPS mandate while threatening another. For the park system and the

public that loves it, this is a chilling prospect.

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Pipestone

Administrative History

ENDNOTES

Chapter 1

1Richard Ojakangas and Charles L. Matsch, Minnesota's Geology (Minneapolis: University

of Minnesota Press, 1982), 223-24.

2Patricia Comdon Johnson, Minnesota: Portrait of the Land and its People (Helena, MT:

American Geographic Publishing, 1989), 16-19.

3Ojakangas and Matsch, Minnesota's Geology, 225-27; George M. Schwartz and George A.

Thiel, Minnesota's Rocks and Waters: A Geological Story (Minneapolis: University of

Minnesota Press, 1963), 289; Johnson, Portrait of the Land, 19.

4Ojakangas and Matsch, Minnesota's Geology, 225-27.

5Schwartz and Thiel, Minnesota's Rocks and Waters, 288; Johnson, Portrait of the Land, 68.

6Ojakangas and Matsch, Minnesota's Geology, 223; Schwartz and Thiel, Minnesota's Rocks

and Waters, 286-87.

7Ojakangas and Matsch, Minnesota's Geology, 227-28; George A. Thiel, The Geology and

Underground Waters of Southern Minnesota (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press,

1944), 348-53.

8Ojakangas and Matsch, Minnesota's Geology, 47.

9Schwartz and Thiel, Minnesota's Rocks and Waters, 286-87.

10Ibid., 287; James N. Gunderson, "The Mineralogical Characterization of Catlinite from its

Sole Provenance, Pipestone National Monument, Minnesota," (Omaha: National Park

Service, 1991).

10Research/Resources Management Report MWR-17, 5; G. N. Delin, "Occurrence of

Catlinite in the Southern Half of Pipestone National Monument, Minnesota," (Minneapolis,

Minnesota: U.S. Geological Survey, 1980); Johnson, Portrait of the Land, 69.

11Johnson, Portrait of the Land, 69.

12Ojakangas and Matsch, Minnesota's Geology, 226, 229-30; Johnson, Portrait of the Land,

22.
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13Thiel, The Geology and Underground Waters of Southern Minnesota, 348; Gunderson,

"The Mineralogical Characterization of Catlinite," 3.

14Thiel, The Geology and Underground Waters of Southern Minnesota, 349-50.

15John S. Sigstad, "The Age and Distribution of Catlinite and Red Pipestone," (Ph.D. diss.,

University of Missouri, 1973), 49, 155; Arrell Morgan Gibson, The American Indian:

Prehistory to the Present (Lexington, MA: D. C. Heath,1980), 249, 262.

16Richard White, "The Winning of the West: The Expansion of the Western Sioux in the

Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries," The Journal of American History 65, no. 2 (September

1978): 319-43; Richard White, The Middle Ground: Indians, Empires, and Republics in the

Great Lakes Region, 1650-1815 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 1-49.

17White, "The Winning of the West," 322-23; Anthony McGinnis, Counting Coup and

Cutting Horses: Intertribal Warfare on the Northern Plains 1738-1889 (Evergreen, CO:

Cordillera Press, Inc., 1990), 6-9.

18Ibid., 323-32; interestingly, George Catlin attributed Sioux domination of the quarries to

"the instigation of whites, who have told [the Sioux] that by keeping off other tribes . . . they

can acquire much influence and wealth." See George Catlin, North American Indians: Being

Letters and Notes on Their Manners, Customs, and Conditions Written During Eight Years'

Travel Amongst the Wildest Tribes of Indians in North America, 1832-1839 (Edinburgh:

John Grant, 1926), 190.

20McGinnis, Counting Coup and Cutting Horses, 16-23.

21White, The Middle Ground, 6; William P. Corbett, "A History of the Red Pipestone Quarry

and Pipestone National Monument," (unpublished M.A. Thesis, University of South Dakota,

1976), 5-8.

22White, The Middle Ground, 149; Corbett, "History of the Red Pipestone Quarry," 8.

23Corbett, "History of the Red Pipestone Quarry," 8-9; H. H. Sibley, to the Minnesota

Legislative Council, Journal of the Council for the Territory of Minnesota, 1849, Minnesota

Historical Society, 30; Major Lawrence Taliferro, "Journal," August 15, 1831, Pipestone

National Monument.

24Donald D. Parker, ed., The Recollections of Philander Prescott, Frontiersman of the Old

Northwest 1819-1862 (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1966), 137; Robert Murray,

"Administrative History of Pipestone National Monument, Minnesota," manuscript,

Pipestone National Monument, Minnesota, 3; McGinnis, Counting Coup and Cutting Horses,

71-85.

25Parker, Philander Prescott, 136.

26Corbett, "History of the Red Pipestone Quarry," 10-12; Earl Arthur Shoemaker, The

Permanent Indian Frontier: The Reason for the Construction and Abandonment of Fort Scott,

Kansas, During the Dragoon Era (Omaha: National Park Service, 1986), 37.

27Catlin, North American Indians, 189-90.
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28Michael McDonald Mooney, George Catlin: Letters and Notes on the American Indians

(New York: Clarkson N. Potter Inc., 1975), 60-65.

29Leo Marx, The Machine in the Garden: Technology and the Pastoral Ideal in America

(New York: Oxford University Press, 1964), is the clearest articulation of this set of ideas.

Curtis M. Hinsley, Jr., Savages and Scientists: The Smithsonian Institution and the

Development of American Anthropology, 1846-1910 (Washington: D. C.: Smithsonian

Institution Press, 1981) looks at many of the ramifications.

30Roderick Nash, Wilderness and the American Mind (New Haven: Yale University Press,

1983), 3rd edition, 44-66.

31Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, The Song of Hiawatha (Boston: Ticknor and Fields, 1855),

11-19.

32William H. Goetzmann, Army Exploration in the American West 1803-1863 (New Haven:

Yale University Press, 1959), 58, 69-74; Corbett, "History of the Red Pipestone Quarry," 16-

17; U.S. Congress. Senate. Report Intended to Illustrate a Map of the Hydrographical Basin

of the Upper Mississippi River. 26th Congress, 2nd session. Senate Document 237.

33Corbett, "History of the Red Pipestone Quarry," 20-21.

Chapter 2

1White, The Middle Ground , 1-93; John Opie, The Law of the Land: Two Hundred Years of

American Farmland Policy (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1987); E. Louise Peffer,

The Closing of the Public Domain: Disposal and Reservation Policies 1900-50 (Stanford:

Stanford University Press, 1951).

2Gibson, The American Indian, 249; White, "The Winning of the West," 319-43.

3William P. Corbett, "The Red Pipestone Quarry: The Yanktons Defend a Sacred Tradition,

1858-1929," South Dakota History 8, 99-116; Charles J. Kappler, Indian Treaties: 1778-1883

(New York: Interland Publishing, 1972), 588-93; McGinnis, Counting Coup and Cutting

Horses, 85-108.

4Murray, "Administrative History," 9.

5Murray, "Administrative History," 10-11; Corbett, "Red Pipestone Quarry," 101.

6Corbett, "Red Pipestone Quarry," 101-02.

7Murray, "Administrative History," 12-15.

8Murray, "Administrative History," 20-21; Corbett, "Red Pipestone Quarry," 102.

9Murray, "Administrative History," 22; Corbett, "Red Pipestone Quarry," 102-03; see also

Daniel J. Boorstin, The Americans: The Democratic Experience (New York: Vintage Books,

1974), 3-37.
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10Murray, "Administrative History," 22-23; Corbett, "Red, Pipestone Quarry," 102-03.

11Murray, "Administrative History," 22.

12Ibid., 22-25.

13Ibid., 25-26.

14Ibid., 25-27.

15William M. Ridpath to Commissioner of Indian Affairs, November 14, 1883, Letters

Received, RG 75, NA.

16Brian W. Dippie, The Vanishing American: White Attitudes and U. S. Indian Policy

(Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press, 1982), 175-190; Frederick Hoxie, The Final

Promise: The Campaign to Assimilate the Indians, 1880-1920 (Lincoln: University of

Nebraska Press, 1984), 41-81.

17United States Department of the Interior, Annual Report of the Secretary of the Interior for

1886 (Washington, D. C.: Government Printing Office, 1887) v. 1, 40-41.

18Murray, "Administrative History," 30.

19Ibid., 30-31.

20Ibid., 31-33.

21Dippie, Vanishing American, 199-270.

22Murray, "Administrative History," 33-37.

23Murray, "Administrative History," 37-38.

24Ibid., 38-40.

25Ibid., 46-49.

26Ibid., 49.

27Ibid., 49-50.

28Ibid., 49-51.

29Robert M. Utley, The Last Days of the Sioux Nation (New Haven: Yale University Press,

1963), 40-59.

30Ibid., 40-59; Dippie, Vanishing American, 158-62, 199-242.

31Murray, "Administrative History," 50-52.

32Corbett, "Red Pipestone Quarry," 110-11; Murray, "Administrative History," 53.
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33Corbett, Red Pipestone Quarry," 111; Murray, "Administrative History," 53.

34Corbett, "Red Pipestone Quarry," 111-12; Murray, "Administrative History," 55-57.

35William E. Unrau, Mixed Bloods and Tribal Dissolution: Charles Curtis and the Quest for

Indian Identity (Lawrence: University of Kansas Press, 1989).

36Murray, "Administrative History," 58; Corbett, "Red Pipestone Quarry," 112-13.

37Corbett, "Red Pipestone Quarry," 113-14; Murray, "Administrative History," 59-61.

38Hoxie, The Final Promise, 83-114, 189-210; Murray, "Administrative History," 62-63.

39Corbett, "Red Pipestone Quarry," 113; Murray, "Administrative History," 63-64.

40Murray, "Administrative History," 65-67; Corbett, "Red Pipestone Quarry," 114-15.

Chapter 3

1Murray, "Administrative History," 46-49.

2Alfred Runte, National Parks: The American Experience, 2d. ed. (Lincoln: University of

Nebraska Press, 1987), 55, 62-63; Hal Rothman, Preserving Different Pasts: The American

National Monuments (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1989), 12-14.

3Runte, National Parks, 11-22, 33-47; Rothman, Preserving Different Pasts, 53-54.

4Murray, "Administrative History," 48-51, 75-76; Corbett, "Red Pipestone Quarry," 42-43.

5Pipestone County Star, June 30, 1916.

6Corbett, "Red Pipestone Quarry," 43; Murray, "Administrative History," 78.

7Murray, "Administrative History," 78; Thomas R. Cox, The Park Builders: A History of

State Parks in the Pacific Northwest (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1988), 3-5;

Robert Shankland, Steve Mather of the National Parks, 3d. ed. (New York: Alfred A. Knopf,

1970), 185-88.

8"Proposed Development for Pipestone State Park, Pipestone, Minnesota, Prepared Under the

Direction of the Commissioner of Highways, 1924, By Order of the Governor," Box B,

Folder B-1973, Pipestone National Monument.

9Murray, "Administrative History," 79.

10Murray, "Administrative History," 79-81.

11Corbett, "Red Pipestone Quarry," 45; Murray, "Administrative History," 81.
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12______, "Winifred Bartlett: Monument Maker," H14: Area and Service History, Pipestone

National Monument.

13Ibid.

14"Minutes of Meeting of Pipestone National Park Association, January," January 14, 1932;

"Executive Committee Meeting," February 11, 1932; "Minutes, March 15, 1932," Box P,

P196, PISA, Pipestone.

15William P. Corbett, "Pipestone: The Origin and Development of a National Monument,"

Minnesota History, Fall 1980, 83-92; Murray, "Administrative History," 82; "Minutes, April

27, 1932," Box P, P196, PISA, Pipestone.

16Runte, National Parks, 97-102; Rothman, Preserving Different Pasts, 89-93.

17Horace M. Albright as told to Robert Cahn, The Birth of the National Park Service: The

Founding Years, 1913-33 (Salt Lake City: Howe Brothers Press, 1985), 278.

18Rothman, Preserving Different Pasts, 68-72, 224-32; Albright as told to Cahn, The Birth of

the National Park Service, 276-78.

19Donald C. Swain, "The National Park Service and the New Deal 1933-1940," Pacific

Historical Review 41 (August 1972): 312-32; Barry Mackintosh, "Harold Ickes and the

National Park Service," Journal of Forest History 29 (April 1985): 78-84; Murray,

"Administrative History," 84; Corbett, "Origin and Development of a National Monument,"

87; ______, "Winifred Bartlett: Monument Maker;" for Ickes' personal view of these issues,

see Harold L. Ickes, The Secret Diaries of Harold L. Ickes: The First Thousand Days, 1933-

1936 (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1954). Ickes' personal feelings about people often

clouded his judgment. His antipathy for Albright's successor, Arno B. Cammerer, did

volumes to damage the rapport to which Albright devoted himself.

20Rothman, Preserving Different Pasts, 224, 232.

21Rothman, Preserving Different Pasts, 170-72; Hal Rothman, "`A Regular Ding-Dong

Fight': Agency Culture and Evolution in the NPS-USFS Dispute, 1916-1937," Western

Historical Quarterly 20 (May 1989): 141-61.

22Harlan D. Unrau and G. Frank Williss, Administrative History: Expansion of the National

Park Service in the 1930s (Denver: Denver Service Center, 1983), 1-25; Rothman, Preserving

Different Pasts, 162, 169, 187-90, 202-04.

23Corbett, "A History of the Red Pipestone Quarry," 48; Conrad L. Wirth, Parks, Politics,

and the People (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1980).

24Victor E. Shelford to H. C. Bryant, November 7, 1933, Pipestone, Series 7, RG 79, NA; for

more on Shelford, see Robert A. Crocker, Pioneer Ecologist: The Life and Work of Victor

Ernest Shelford 1877-1968 (Washington, D. C.: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1991).

25Corbett, "History of the Red Pipestone Quarry," 47.

26Corbett, "A History of the Red Pipestone Quarry," 48.
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27Ibid., 48-49; Murray, "Administrative History," 86.

28Murray, "Administrative History," 86-87; Corbett, "A History of the Red Pipestone

Quarry," 49; Shankland, Steve Mather of the National Parks, 304, John Ise, Our National

Park Policy: A Critical History (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press, 1961), 441. The Region II

office in Omaha was established along with ones in San Francisco, Santa Fe, and Richmond,

Virginia, in 1937. Region III, located in Santa Fe, had an additional administrative problem.

The Emergency Conservation Work (ECW) program for Region III was located in Oklahoma

City, creating split jurisdiction that was only joined in 1939.

29Murray, "Administrative History," 87; Corbett, "A History of the Red Pipestone Quarry,"

49.

30Rothman, Preserving Different Pasts, 197-202.

31Ibid., 214-22; Robert W. Righter, Crucible for Conservation: The Creation of Grand Teton

National Park (Boulder: Colorado Associated University Press, 1982) chronicles the

aggressive use of executive power that created Jackson Hole National Monument and

subsequent response from western legislators. The result set the stage for the post-war era, in

which Congress routinely refused to fund national monuments that it had not approved by

legislation. Once again, the limitations of the Antiquities Act of 1906 were made clear.

32Swain, "National Park Service and the New Deal," 312-32; Rothman, Preserving Different

Pasts, 163-74; Unrau and Williss, Expansion of the National Park Service, 43-74.

Chapter 4

1Rothman, Preserving Different Pasts, 187-90; Unrau and Willis, Expansion of the Park

System, 75-105; Superintendent, Pipestone National Monument to Regional Director, Region

II, July 27, 1950, Box 194, Folder 501, Kansas City Federal Records Center.

2Rothman, Preserving Different Pasts, 196-207.

3Carroll H. Wegemann, Memorandum to Mr. Brown, August 5, 1938, Pipestone National

Monument, File 204, Kansas City Federal Records Center.

4Acting Assistant to the Commissioner of Indian Affairs to Director of the National Park

Service, Attention A. E. Demaray, October 7, 1938, Pipestone, Series 7, RG 79, NA;

Rothman, Preserving Different Pasts, 89-139.

5Assistant Commissioner of Indian Affairs to Arno B. Cammerer, May 3, 1938, Pipestone,

Series 7, RG 79, NA.

6J. W. Balmer to J. R. White, Acting Director of the National Park Service, August 16, 1939,

Pipestone, Series 7, RG 79, NA; Rothman, Preserving Different Pasts, 75-86.

7Murray, "Administrative History," 95-96; Pipestone County Star, December 26, 1939;

Pipestone County Star, January 12, 1940.

8
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Murray, "Administrative History," 97; Pipestone County Star, October 13, 1941.

9Edward A. Hummel, "Preliminary Historical Development Report of Pipestone National

Monument," Ca. 1940, Pipestone, Series 7, RG 79, NA; Thomas J. Allen, "Memorandum for

the Director," December 28, 1940, Pipestone, Series 7, RG 79, NA; Herbert E. Kahler to

Acting Regional Director, Region II, March 15, 1941, Pipestone, Series 7, RG 79, NA.

10Ronald A. Foresta, America's National Parks and Their Keepers (Washington, D. C.:

Resources for the Future, 1984), 49-51; John Ise, Our National Park Policy, 447-53.

11Albert F. Drysdale, "Custodian's Report," June 3, 1944, Pipestone, Series 7, RG 79, NA;

Stanley C. Joseph, "Memorandum for the Director," June 28, 1944, Pipestone, Series 7, RG

79, NA.

12Eric Goldman, The Crucial Decade—and After: America 1945-1960 (New York: Random

House, 1961), 4-5, 12-15.

13Runte, National Parks, 170-3; Ise, Our National Park Policy, 534-37.

14Runte, National Parks, 156-61.

15Bernard DeVoto, "The National Parks," Fortune 35 (June 1947) 120-21; Bernard DeVoto,

"Let's Close the National Parks," Harper's Magazine 207 (October 1953), 49-52.

16Pipestone County Star, October 3, 1941; "Master Plan Development Outline, Pipestone

National Monument," February, 1952, Box E, E 1501, Pipestone National Monument;

Superintendent's Monthly Narrative, July 1, 1948; Superintendent's Monthly Narrative,

October 1, 1948, Pipestone, Series 7, RG 79, NA.

17H. Carl Andersen to Newton B. Drury, May 11, 1946, Pipestone, Series 7, RG 79, NA.

18Lawrence C. Merriam, "Memorandum for the Director," May 24, 1946, Pipestone, Series 7,

RG 79, NA; Albert F. Drysdale, "Memorandum for the Regional Director, Region II," April

22, 1947, Pipestone, Kansas City Federal Records Center.

19Herbert E. Kahler, "Report on Trip to Pipestone National Monument," July 12, 1946,

Pipestone, Kansas City Federal Records Center.

20Minneapolis Morning Tribune, April 27, 1947.

21Superintendent's Monthly Narrative, April 1, 1948, Pipestone, Series 7, RG 79, NA;

Rothman, Preserving Different Pasts, 222.

22Stanley C. Joseph, "Memorandum for the Custodian, Pipestone National Monument" and

attached press release, "Full Time Custodian Appointed at Pipestone National Monument,"

April 1, 1948, Pipestone, Kansas City Federal Records Center.

23Paul Beaubien, "Report of an Archeological Reconnaissance, Pipestone National

Monument," unpublished manuscript, 1949; Murray, "Administrative History," 99-103;

Corbett, "History of the Red Pipestone Quarry," 56.

24Gordon Backlund interview with Dan Holder, November 22, 1991, Pipestone National
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Monument.

25Acting Regional Director Stanley C. Joseph to Superintendent, Pipestone National

Monument, "Confidential Memorandum," July 17, 1950; Regional Historian and Regional

Chief of Land and Recreational Planning, Report on Visit to Pipestone National Monument,

August 14 (1950), September 11, 1950; Regional Historian to Superintendent, Pipestone

National Monument, September 21, 1950; Jerome C. Miller to Superintendent, Pipestone

National Monument, Pipestone, Kansas City Federal Records Center; Chief Historian Ed

Bearss conversation with Hal Rothman, March 13, 1992, Columbia, South Carolina.

26Lyle K. Linch, Memorandum for the Regional Director, September 5, 1949, Pipestone, 620,

Kansas City Federal Records Center.

27Weldon W. Gratton, Park Planner, "Resume of 'Three Maidens Area,' Pipestone National

Monument," February 16, 1949, Pipestone, 610, Kansas City Federal Records Center.

28Ibid.; George F. Ingalls to Regional Director, September 2, 1949; Charles A. Richey to

Regional Director, September 2, 1949; Weldon W. Gratton to The Files, February 7, 1950,

Pipestone, 610, Kansas City Federal Records Center.

29Lyle K. Linch to Regional Director, March 25, 1950; Howard Baker to Superintendent,

Pipestone National Monument, April 11, 1950; Harold Gilmore, April 18, 1950; R. S. Owens

to Lyle K. Linch, April 19, 1950, Pipestone, 610, Kansas City Federal Records Center.

30Dippie, The Vanishing American, 304-21.

31Ibid., 336-43; Alvin M. Josephy, Jr., "Modern America and the Indian," 260-65, and W.

Richard West, Jr., and Kevin Gover, "The Struggle for Indian Civil Rights," in Frederick E.

Hoxie, ed., Indians in American History (Arlington Heights, IL: Harlan Davidson, Inc.,

1988), 280-82.

32Dippie, Vanishing American, 336-53.

33Lyle K. Linch to Regional Director, October 20, 1948; Lyle K. Linch to Regional Director,

October 20, 1948, Pipestone 620, Kansas City Federal Records Center.

34Lyle K. Linch to Regional Director, February 4, 1949; Lyle K. Linch to Regional Director,

February 23, 1949; Howard W. Baker, Memorandum for the Superintendent, Pipestone

National Monument, February 24, 1949, Pipestone 620, Kansas City Federal Records Center.

35Lyle K. Linch to Regional Director, September 5, 1949; Acting Regional Director to

Director, September 8, 1949, Pipestone 620, Kansas City Federal Records Center; Murray,

"Administrative History," 107.

36 Lawrence C. Merriam, Memorandum for the Superintendent, Pipestone National

Monument, October 29, 1948; Acting Director to Commissioner, Bureau of Indian Affairs,

December 16, 1948; Lyle K. Linch, Memorandum for the Regional Director, January 21,

1949; Associate Director to Associate Commissioner, Bureau of Indian Affairs, March 31,

1949; Regional Director to Director, November 18, 1949; Howard W. Baker to the Director,

February 16, 1951; Region Two, National Park Service, "Recommendations for Boundary

Adjustments, Pipestone National Monument," February 14, 1951, Pipestone 602, Kansas City

Federal Records Center; Harvey B. Reynolds to Regional Director, February 3, 1956, L1419,
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Pipestone National Monument.

37Ronald F. Lee to Regional Director, June 14, 1951; Acting Regional Director to Director,

August 24, 1951; Secretary of the Interior to Speaker of the House, August 31, 1951;

Director to Commissioner, Bureau of Indian Affairs, September 21, 1951; Commissioner,

Bureau of Indian Affairs to Director, October 5, 1951; Regional Director to Superintendent,

Pipestone, November 30, 1951; Assistant Regional Director to Superintendent, Pipestone,

April 1, 1952, Pipestone, 602, Kansas City Federal Records Center.

38Paul Beaubien, "Report of an Archeological Reconnaissance, Pipestone National

Monument," unpublished manuscript, 1949; Dillon S. Myer to Associate Director, National

Park Service, May 21, 1951, Pipestone 602, Kansas City Federal Records Center.

39Murray, "Administrative History," 103.

40Murray, "Administrative History," 105-06.

41Murray, "Administrative History," 106; Betty Zorich interview by Dan Holder, Pipestone

National Monument, November 22, 1991.

42Murray, "Administrative History," 107.

Chapter 5

1Foresta, America's National Parks and Their Keepers, 53-54, 70-71, 100-07.

2Edward A. Hummel, "Preliminary Historical Development Report of Pipestone National

Monument," ca. 1940, Pipestone 207, Series 7, RG 79, NA.

3"Master Plan Development Outline, Pipestone National Monument, Minnesota," February

1952, Box E, E 1501, Pipestone National Monument, Minnesota; Acting Regional Director to

the Custodian, Pipestone National Monument, March 21, 1940; Regional Chief of Planning,

Memorandum for the Files, April 18, 1941; Edward A. Hummel, Memorandum for the

Acting Regional Director, August 22, 1941; Chief of Planning, Memorandum for the

Regional Director, June 3, 1942; Acting Supervisor of Historic Sites, Memorandum for the

Director, June 5, 1942; Acting Regional Director to the Director, December 1, 1949,

Pipestone 600-01, Kansas City Federal Records Center.

4Archeologist to Regional Historian, October 19, 1955, Box E, E 1495, Museum Displays,

Pipestone; MISSION 66 for Pipestone National Monument, Box G, G 1519, Pipestone.

5Paul L. Webb and Paul L. Beaubien, "Museum Prospectus for Pipestone National

Monument," February 1957, Box G, G 2031, Pipestone.

6Ibid.; Ron Cockrell to Hal K. Rothman, August 2, 1992.

7Ibid.; Paul L. Beaubien to Superintendent, Pipestone National Monument, March 6, 1957;

Ralph H. Lewis to Chief, EODC, May 15, 1957; Ronald F. Lee to the Director, April 15,

1957; H. Raymond Gregg to Director, July 8, 1957; H. Raymond Gregg to the Director,

February 28, 1958, D6215, Pipestone National Monument.
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8MISSION 66 for Pipestone National Monument, 1957, Box G, G 1519, Pipestone.

9Conrad L. Wirth, Address at Dedication of New Visitor Center, Pipestone National

Monument, July 26, 1958, Box E, E 1490, Pipestone.

10Hal K. Rothman, On Rims and Ridges: The Los Alamos Area Since 1880 (Lincoln:

University of Nebraska Press, 1992), 191-98.

11Murray, "Administrative History," 107; MISSION 66 for Pipestone National Monument,

1957, Box G, G 1519, Pipestone.

12Regional Director to Superintendent, Pipestone National Monument, April 17, 1959, Box

G, G 1519, Pipestone.

13Pipestone National Monument, Visitor Comments Regarding MISSION 66 Improvements,

1959, Box G, G 1519, Pipestone.

14Helen Schmidt, "Many National Park Superintendents Guests in Pipestone Tomorrow,"

Pipestone County Star, November 23, 1959.

15Management Review Team, Region Two, to Regional Director, "Report of Management

Review, Pipestone National Monument," June 26, 1959; Regional Director to Superintendent,

Pipestone National Monument, June 29, 1959, Box B, Folder B-1552, Management Review1959, Pipestone National Monument.

16Carl Stoddard, telephone interview with Hal K. Rothman, April 24, 1992.

17Todd Gitlin, The Sixties: Years of Hope, Days of Rage (New York: Bantam Books, 1987),

offers an insightful look at the cultural issues of the 1960s; for a contemporaneous but

idiosyncratic view, see William O'Neill, Coming Apart: An Informal History of the 1960s

(New York: Quadrangle New York Times Book Company, 1971).

18Foresta, National Parks and Their Keepers , 145-47; Conservation Foundation, National

Parks for the Future (Washington, D. C.: Conservation Foundation, 1972); Clarence N.

Gorman, interview with Hal K. Rothman, January 5, 1991.

19Cecil D. Lewis, Jr., interview with Hal K. Rothman, February 18, 1992.

20Ibid.

21Lewis interview.

22Acting Regional Director to the Director, June 18, 1969, L1817, Pipestone National

Monument; Lewis interview.

23U.S. National Park Service, "Indian Cultural Center to be Constructed at Pipestone

National Monument, Minnesota," K 1817, Pipestone.

24Superintendent, Pipestone, to Regional Director, June 17, 1969, K 1817, Pipestone.

25Regional Director to the Director, September 17, 1969, K 1817, Pipestone.
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26Upper Midwest American Indian Cultural Arts Center, Pipestone National Monument,

Minnesota, ca. 1969, K 1817, Pipestone.

27U.S. National Park Service, "Indian Cultural Center to be Constructed at Pipestone

National Monument, Minnesota," K 1817, Pipestone; Cecil Lewis interview.

28Cecil D. Lewis, Jr., to Gene Schrader, February 25, 1970, K1817, Pipestone; Pipestone

National Monument Interpretive Prospectus, January 1971, K1817, Pipestone.

29Pipestone National Monument Interpretive Prospectus, January 1971, K1817, Pipestone.

30Lewis to Schrader, February 25, 1970; Interpretive Prospectus, January 1971; Raymond

"Chuck" Derby, interview by Dan Holder, November 22, 1991, Pipestone National

Monument.

31Betty McSwain, "When Past is Present: Cultural Perspectives," Interpretation, (Fall 1990)

9-15; Betty McSwain interview.

32Don Thompson interview with Hal Rothman, February 25, 1992; Betty McSwain interview.

33Pipestone National Monument, Interpretive Prospectus, February 12, 1971; Corbett,

"Pipestone: The Origin and Development of a National Monument," 83-92; Joseph Epes

Brown, ed., The Sacred Pipe: Black Elk's Account of the Seven Rites of the Oglala Sioux

(Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1953), 3-9, describes the gift of the pipe to the

Lakota people.

34Foresta, America's National Parks, 85-89.

35Don Thompson interview.

36Cecil Lewis interview.

37Barry Mackintosh, National Park Service Administrative History: A Guide (Washington, D.

C..: National Park Service, 1991), 112-13; Don Thompson interview; Ron Cockrell to Hal K.

Rothman, August 1, 1992.

38Foresta, National Parks and Their Keepers, 84-91; Runte, National Parks, 259-65.

39John C. Freemuth, Islands Under Siege: National Parks and the Politics of External Threats

(Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1991), 23-26; Runte, National Parks, 259-63.

40Bernard Shanks, "The Endangered Ranger," National Parks 65 no. 1-2 (January-February

1991): 32-36.

41NPS-32, Cooperating Association Guideline, Release No. 2, September 1986, 6-3; Betty

McSwain interview.

42Vincent Halvorson, interview by Dan Holder, November 22, 1991, Pipestone National

Monument.

43Ibid.
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44Ibid.

45Vincent Halvorson interview; Josephy, "Modern American and the Indian," in Hoxie, ed.,

Indians in American History, 251-72.

46"Statement for Management, Pipestone National Monument," January 10, 1984, Basement

Storage, Planning and Environmental Quality, Box 40, Statements for Management file,

Midwest Regional Office.

Chapter 6

1Lyle K. Linch to Regional Director, Region II, August 22, 1950, Box 194, Folder 600-01,

Kansas City Federal Records Center.

2Carroll H. Wegemann, Memorandum to Mr. Brown, August 5, 1938, Pipestone 204, Kansas

City Federal Records Center; Edward A. Hummel, "Preliminary Historical Development

Report of Pipestone National Monument," ca. 1940; Howard W. Baker, Memorandum for the

Director, November 27, 1939, Pipestone, Series 7, RG 79, NA.

3David M. Brugge and Raymond Wilson, Administrative History: Canyon de Chelly

National Monument (Santa Fe: National Park Service, 1976); Hal K. Rothman, Navajo

National Monument: A Place and Its People (Santa Fe: National Park Service, 1991)

Southwest Cultural Resource Management Series #40.

4Assistant Commissioner of Indian Affairs to Director, May 3, 1938, Pipestone 621; Director

to Assistant Commissioner of Indian Affairs, June 9, 1938, Pipestone 621; Acting Regional

Director to Director, November 27, 1939, Pipestone 000, Kansas City Federal Records

Center.

5Acting Regional Director to Director, November 27, 1939, Pipestone, Series 7, RG 79, NA.

6Director, Memorandum for the General Manager, Indian Arts and Crafts Board, January 8,

1940; Acting Regional Director to Director, June 5, 1940; Acting Regional Director to

Custodian, June 6, 1940; Assistant Director to Assistant. Commissioner of Indian Affairs,

June 14, 1940; Acting Director to Regional Director, November 19, 1940, Region Two

office, "Regulations to Govern Quarrying of the Red Pipestone . . .," September 16, 1944;

Regional Director to J. W. Balmer, November 20, 1945; J. W. Balmer to Regional Director,

November 23, 1945; Regional Director, Memorandum for the Director, November 29, 1945,

Pipestone 208, Kansas City Federal Records Center; Federal Register 11 40, February 27,

1946, 2044.

7National Park Service, Special Use Permit for George Redman of Pipestone, Minnesota,

Pipestone 208, Kansas City Federal Records Center; see also Special Use Permit for Nelson

Jones, August 30, 1946; Special Use Permit for Robert Wilson, August 30, 1946; Special Use

Permit for George and Clara Bryan, October 1, 1948; Special Use Permit for Joe Wabasha,

September 9, 1950, Box 195, Folder 901, Kansas City Federal Records Center.

8Gilbert Backlund, interview by Dan Holder, November 22, 1991; Betty Zorich interview.
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9Betty Zorich interview.

10Murray, "Administrative History," 103.

11Josephy, "Modern America and the Indian," in Hoxie, ed., Indians in American History,

265-70.

12Gibson, The American Indian: Prehistory to the Present, 569-70; W. Richard West, Jr. and

Kevin Gover, "The Struggle for Indian Civil Rights," in Hoxie, ed., Indians in American

History, 290-91; Robert E. Schmidt, "The American Indian Movement," (unpublished M.A.

thesis, Wichita State University, 1976), 10-14; Richard White, It's Your Misfortune and None

of My Own: A New History of the American West (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press,

1991), 586-88.

13West and Gover, "The Struggle for Indian Civil Rights," in Hoxie, ed., Indians in

American History, 290-93.

14Raymond L. "Chuck" Derby interview.

15Cecil Lewis interview; Vincent Halvorson interview; Betty McSwain interview; Don

Thompson interview.

16Betty Zorich interview; Cecil Lewis interview.

17Francis Paul Prucha, The Great Father: The United States Government and the American

Indians (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1984), 2:1139-70; see also Donald L.

Parman, "Indians of the Modern West," in Gerald D. Nash and Richard W. Etulain, The

Twentieth-Century West: Historical Interpretations (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico

Press, 1989), 147-72.

18Betty McSwain interview.

19File, park ranger, "Evolution of Language on Yankton Issue, no date; Victor Provost to Sen.

Daniel K. Inouye, June 7, 1987, Pipestone.

20Gibson, The American Indian, 569.

21Adalbert Zephier to Superintendent, Pipestone, July 7, 1987, A38, Pipestone.

22Ibid.; Raymond L. Derby to Adalbert Zephier, July 22, 1987, A 38, Pipestone.

23Raymond L. Derby to Adalbert Zephier, July 22, 1987, A 38, Pipestone.

24"Sioux Complete Pipestone Journey," Sioux Empire, July 17, 1988.

25Melissa Jordan and Deann Holland, "Indians Seeking Return of Quarry at Pipestone," The

Independent, July 18, 1988; File, park ranger, "Evolution of Language on Yankton Issue,"

Pipestone; Jerry Reynolds, "Pipestone Relay Off and Running," Lakota Times, June 27, 1989.

26File, park ranger, "Evolution of Language on Yankton Issue," no date, Pipestone.

27
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Barry Amundson, "Indian Leader says Local Pipemakers Should be Honored," Pipestone

County Star, July 14, 1988; Melissa Jordan and Deann Holland, "Indians Seeking Return of

Quarry at Pipestone," The Independent, July 18, 1988; White, "The Winning of the West,"

322-25.

28"Policy Statement of Indian Shrine Association," 1988; The Pipestone American Indian

Community to the Editor, Pipestone County Star, May 1988, copies of both at Pipestone

National Monument.

29Jerry Reynolds, "Pipestone Relay Off and Running," Lakota Times, June 27, 1989; Stephen

N. Cournoyer, Jr., Chairman, Yankton Sioux Tribe, to Superintendent, Pipestone National

Monument, June 5, 1989, Pipestone A 38, Spiritual Walk.

30File, park ranger, "Evolution of Language on Yankton Issue," Pipestone.

31Untitled, chronological account of Spiritual Run activities, July 1990, A 38, Pipestone.

32Betty McSwain interview.

33Vincent Halvorson to Wesley Hare, Jr., August 21, 1990, A 38, Pipestone.

34Ibid.

35Robert LaBatte, "Lakota Runners Seek Protection for Sacred Pipestone Quarries," Shaman's

Drum (Summer 1991), 17; Vincent J. Halvorson to Timothy White, editor, Shaman's Drum,

September 4, 1991, A 38, Pipestone.

36State of Minnesota Indian Affairs Council, Resolution 091891-02, September 18, 1991.

37Sundance Committee to the Pipestone Shrine Association (sic), Superintendent of Parks,

Mr. Vince Halberson (sic), May 9, 1991; Vincent J. Halvorson to Chris Leith and Clyde

Bellecourt, May 16, 1991, A 38, Pipestone; Brown, The Sacred Pipe, 67-100.

38Sundance Committee, press release, July 20, 1991; Sundance Committee, "To All Native

People," May 27, 1991.

391991 Sundance, Daily Log, A 38, Pipestone.

40Corbett, "Red Pipestone Quarry," 56.

41Cecil Lewis interview.

42Raymond L. "Chuck" Derby interview.

43Clarence Gorman interview.

Chapter 7

1Memorandum, Assistant Regional Director to Director, August 30, 1939, Pipestone National
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Monument, Series 7, Box 2360, NA, RG 79.

2Hummel, "Preliminary Historical Development Report of Pipestone National Monument."

3Murray, Administrative History, 94-95.

4Pipestone National Monument, Development Outline, D. O. NM-PIP-2000 - 1942,

Pipestone; Albert F. Drysdale to Regional Director, January 23, 1940; Regional Director,

"Memorandum for Custodian Drysdale," Pipestone National Monument, Pipestone 833-05,

Kansas City Federal Records Center.

5Corbett, "History of the Red Pipestone Quarry," 54.

6Corbett, "History of the Red Pipestone Quarry," 53-54; Victor Cahalane to Daniel Beard,

July 1, 1941, Pipestone, Series 7, RG 79, NA; Lyle K. Linch to Regional Director, June 29,

1950, Pipestone 885, Kansas City Federal Records Center.

7Lyle K. Linch to Regional Director, June 29, 1950, Pipestone 885, Kansas City Federal

Records Center.

8Hagan to Joseph, "Office Memorandum, Subject—Linch: Pipestone, Research and Funds,"

November 3, 1948, Box 195, Folder 845; Stanley Joseph, "Memorandum for the Files,"

December 22, 1948, Folder 204, Inspections and Investigations, Kansas City Federal Records

Center.

9Lyle K. Linch, "A Preliminary Study of the Geology of Pipestone National Monument,"

Box 195, Folder 732, Kansas City Federal Records Center.

10Superintendent, Pipestone National Monument to Regional Director, March 21, 1950,

Pipestone 701, Kansas City Federal Records Center; Stephen J. Pyne, Fire in America: A

Cultural History of Wildland and Rural Fire (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1982),

xii.

11Ibid.; Howard W. Baker to Superintendent, Pipestone National Monument, March 3, 1950,

Pipestone 701-01.4, Kansas City Federal Records Center.

12Murray, "Administrative History." Murray's work was typical of administrative histories of

its time. It was narrative in character, parochial in scope, and addressed the era before the

Park Service in far greater detail than it offered for the activities of the agency. Yet the work

remains an excellent reference for specifics in the history of the quarries.

13Foresta, America's National Parks and Their Keepers, 53-54, 70-71, 100-07.

14A. E. Demaray to Walter G. Benjamin, July 28, 1948, Pipestone 833-05, Kansas City

Federal Records Center; "Master Plan Development Outline, Pipestone National Monument,

Minnesota," February 1952, Pipestone; Harvey B. Reynolds and Paul Beaubien, "Museum

Prospectus for Pipestone National Monument, 1957," Pipestone.

15Reynolds and Beaubien, "Museum Prospectus."

16U.S. Department of the Interior, Advisory Board on Wildlife Management, Wildlife

Management in the National Parks, by A. S. Leopold et al., Report to the Secretary of the
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Interior, March 4, 1963; A. Starker Leopold et al., "Wildlife Management in the National

Parks," National Parks Magazine 37 (April 1963). The Leopold report was originally

published by the Department of the Interior, but most of the major conservation journals

reprinted the significant parts of it.

17Samuel P. Hays, Beauty, Health, and Permanence : Environmental Politics in the United

States 1955-1985 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1987), is the most comprehensive

look at the evolution of law and environmental policy and its impact on American society;

see also Walter A. Rosenbaum, The Politics of Environmental Concern (New York: Prager

Publishers, 1973).

18Pyne, Fire In America, 232-255.

19John Lissoway, interview with Hal K. Rothman, February 25, 1987; Milford Fletcher,

interview with Hal K. Rothman, August 21, 1986; Pyne, Fire In America, 261, 290-91, 298.

20Gary Willson, "Prairie Management Perpetuates Historic Scene at Pipestone," Park

Science: A Resource Management Bulletin 3 no. 4 (Summer 1983) 21-22.

21Foresta, National Parks and Their Keepers, 85; Robert M. Utley, "Toward a New

Preservation Ethic," NPS Newsletter 198 (October 15, 1974).

22Executive Order Consultant to Regional Director, Midwest Region, May 30, 1975, File

H1417, Division of Cultural Resources Management, Midwest Regional Office, National

Park Service, Omaha, Nebraska.

23Ibid.

24Ibid.

25Ibid.

26Adrienne Anderson to Regional Chief, Federal, State, and Private Liaison, Midwest

Regional Office, July 15, 1975, H2215-PIPE; Merrill D. Beal to Russell M. Fridley, Director,

Minnesota Historical Society, January 22, 1976, H34, National Park Service, Midwest

Regional Office, Omaha, Nebraska.

27John D. McDermott to Merrill D. Beal, June 18, 1975; Merrill D. Beal to Robert Garvey,

August 5, 1975; Regional Director to Robert Garvey, May 24, 1976, H34 MWR CL, National

Park Service, Midwest Regional Office, Omaha, Nebraska; Acting Regional Director to

Robert Garvey, October 20, 1976; Myra F. Harrison to Merrill D. Beal, October 20, 1976,

Merrill D. Beal to Robert Garvey, November 12, 1976, H30 MWR PE, National Park

Service, Midwest Regional Office, Omaha, Nebraska.

28John D. McDermott to Merrill D. Beal, February 10, 1977; Acting Associate Regional

Director, Planning and Resource Preservation to Chief, Midwest Archeological Center and

Superintendent, Pipestone National Monument, March 11, 1977, H30 MWR PE, National

Park Service, Midwest Regional Office, Omaha, Nebraska.

29Merrill D. Beal to John D. McDermott, April 26, 1977, H30 MWR PE, National Park

Service, Midwest Regional Office, Omaha, Nebraska.
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30Regional Director to Central File, Midwest Region, August 9, 1979, H4217 MWR(PE);

Regional Chief Scientist, Operations, Midwest Region to Don Albin, District Chief, U.S.

Geological Survey, July 30, 1979, K3035 MWR(MN); Acting Chief, Midwest Archeological

Center to Chief, Cultural Resources Management, July 28, 1980, H2215-PIPE, National Park

Service, Midwest Regional Office, Omaha, Nebraska.

31Resources Management Plan and Environmental Assessment, Pipestone National

Monument, December 21, 1982, D18, Pipestone National Monument.

32Vincent Halvorson interview; Steve Cinnamon to Ellen Foppes, August 1, 1992.

33Roger Q. Landers, Jr., "A Report on Management of Native Prairie Areas, Pipestone

National Monument," February 1, 1979; Donald A. Becker with Thomas B. Bragg and David

M. Sutherland, "Vegetation Survey and Prairie Management Plan for Pipestone National

Monument," August 1986, National Park Service, Midwest Regional Office, Omaha,

Nebraska.

34G. B. Morey, "Evaluation of Catlinite Resources, Pipestone National Monument,

Minnesota," National Park Service, Midwest Region, Research/Resources Management

Report MWR-4, April 1983; Gundersen, "The Mineralogical Characterization of Catlinite."

35Betty McSwain interview; Betsy H. Bradley, "Pipestone National Monument Collection

Management Plan," June 1987, D6215, Pipestone; "Pipestone National Monument Scope of

Collection Statement," November 17, 1988, K18, Pipestone.

36Vincent Halvorson interview; Resources Management Plan, Pipestone, 1982.

Chapter 8

1Wanita Beal, I Have a Story to Tell About Pipestone (Pipestone, MN: Wanita B. Beal,

1991), 54.

2Ibid.

3Gilbert Backlund interview.

4Beal, Pipestone, 54-58; Gilbert Backlund interview.

5Gilbert Backlund interview.

6Beal, Pipestone, 55.

7Superintendent, Pipestone National Monument to Regional Director, Region Two, July 27,

1950; Regional Historian to Acting Assistant Regional Director, August 30, 1951, Box 194,

Folder 501, Kansas City Federal Records Center.

8Beal, Pipestone, 56-57.

9Ibid., 55.
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10Cecil Lewis interview; Raymond L. "Chuck" Derby interview.

11Gilbert Backlund interview; Cecil Lewis interview; Raymond L. "Chuck" Derby interview.

12Regional Historian to Acting Assistant Regional Director, August 30, 1951, Box 194,

Folder 501, Kansas City Federal Records Center; Don Thompson interview.

13Prucha, The Great Father, 2:1139-70; Parman, "Indians of the Modern West," in Nash and

Etulain, The Twentieth-Century West, 165.

14Cecil Lewis interview.

15Ibid.

16Ibid.

17Ibid.

18Statement for Management, Pipestone National Monument, revised March 30, 1984;

Statement for Management, Pipestone National Monument, December 30, 1988.

19Vincent Halvorson interview.

20Ibid.

21Ibid.

Chapter 9

1Ise, Our National Park Policy, 534-36; Foresta, America's National Parks and Their

Keepers, 223-58.

2Conservation Fund, National Parks for the Future.

3Runte, National Parks, 197-208; Foresta, America's National Parks and Their Keepers, 223-

58.

4John C. Freemuth, National Parks and the Politics of External Threats (Lawrence:

University Press of Kansas, 1991), 5-21; Foresta, America's National Parks and Their

Keepers, 225-28, 232-37; Runte, National Parks, 261-63.

5Opie, The Law of the Land, 161-99.

6Denise Stocks, Park Technician, "Water Quality Study Proposal SP 6540-4-0001," May 2,

1984, Pipestone, D18, Planning Program.

7Ibid.; Betty McSwain interview; "Resources Management Plan and Environmental

Assessment, Pipestone National Monument," revised February 27, 1989, 6.
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8Vincent Halvorson interview; Betty McSwain interview; Ellen K. Foppes to Hal K.

Rothman, November 4, 1991; "Resources Management Plan," February 27, 1989.

9Among the many newspaper and magazine accounts of what is now called "the Third Battle

of Manassas," is Robert A. Webb, "The Third Battle of Manassas," Washington Post Weekly

Edition, March 28-April 3, 1988; see also Jim Myers, "War Buffs, Builders Draw

Battlelines," USA Today, June 24, 1988; and "What to Preserve and Protect?" U.S. News

and World Report, July 16, 1990. For an interesting perspective on the issue, see Bruce Craig,

"Confessions of a Guerilla Preservationist," in Michael G. Schene ed., The National Park

Service and Historic Preservation (Malabar, FL: Krieger Press, forthcoming).

10Pipestone National Monument, 1977 Annual Report, Pipestone National Monument,

A2621-PD.

11Ise, Our National Park Policy, 232-38, 608-14.

228

12Betty McSwain interview; Vincent Halvorson interview.

13Runte, National Parks, 259-61.

14Betty McSwain interview.

15"Resource Management Plan," February 27, 1989, 19-21; Becker, et al., "Vegetation

Survey and Prairie Management Plan," 28-31, 119-20.

16Vincent Halvorson interview.

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Pipestone NM: Administrative History (Bibliography)

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Pipestone

Administrative History

BIBLIOGRAPHIC ESSAY

In recent years, the National Park Service and its holdings have been the subject of a

growing number of important studies. Still first among these is Alfred Runte, National Parks:

The American Experience, 2d. ed., (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1987), an

excellent study that covers the evolution of the park system since its inception. Ronald A.

Foresta, America's National Parks and Their Keepers (Washington, D.C.: Resources for the

Future, 1984) is a close look at NPS policy in the modern era. Although dated and marred by

inconsistent footnotes, John Ise, Our National Park Policy: A Critical History (Baltimore:

Johns Hopkins Press, 1961), remains a seminal work. Packed with narrative detail, it offers

the most comprehensive chronology of the evolution of policy and decision-making in the

agency. The only extant biography of Stephen T. Mather, Robert Shankland, Steve Mather of

the National Parks 3d. ed., (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1970), also has stood well the test

of time. Hal Rothman, Preserving Different Pasts: The American National Monuments

(Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1989), tells the story of the Antiquities Act of 1906 and

the national monuments it spawned.

Growing numbers of park areas have been the subject of individual histories; among the best

of the genre are Alfred Runte, Yosemite: The Embattled Wilderness (Lincoln: University of

Nebraska Press, 1990), and Duane A. Smith, Mesa Verde National Park: Shadows of the

Centuries (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1988). Other notable studies are Lary M.

Dilsaver and William C. Tweed, The Challenge of the Big Trees: A Resource History of

Sequoia and King's Canyon National Parks (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 1991), and

Susan R. Schrepfer, The Fight to Save the Redwoods: A History of Environmental Reform,

1917-1978 (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1983).

More specialized studies of current topics have also begun to appear. John C. Freemuth,

National Parks and the Politics of External Threats (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas,

1991) is the first of what will be a significant genre. Nonetheless, the National Park Service

and the park system remain among the least thoroughly studied of federal agencies.

American Indian or Native American history has undergone a revolution in the past two

decades. Numerous scholars have contributed to this, not the least of whom is Richard White.

Two of his books, The Roots of Dependency: Subsistence, Environment, and Social Change

Among the Choctaws, Pawnees, and Navajos (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1983)

and The Middle Ground: Indians, Empires, and Republics in the Great Lakes Region, 1650-

1815 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991) reveal much about the nature of

Indian-white relations across the continent. White's seminal article, "The Winning of the

West: The Expansion of the Western Sioux in the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries," The

Journal of American History, 65 no. 2 (September 1978), redefined the way in which

westward expansion and growth on the northern plains was understood. Anthony McGinnis,

Counting Coup and Cutting Horses: Intertribal Warfare on the Northern Plains, 1738-1889

(Evergreen, CO: Cordillera Press, 1990), is the best look at intertribal warfare and territorial

expansion among the Indians of the northern plains. Other valuable works include Frederick

E. Hoxie, The Final Promise: The Campaign to Assimilate the Indians, 1880-1920 (Lincoln:
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University of Nebraska Press, 1984), Brian W. Dippie, The Vanishing American: White

Attitudes and U.S. Indian Policy (Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press, 1982), and

James S. Olson and Raymond Wilson, Native Americans in the Twentieth Century (Urbana:

University of Illinois Press, 1984). Robert M. Utley, The Last Days of the Sioux Nation

(New Haven: Yale University Press, 1963), has stood the test of time. Utley's work remains

the most readable history of the end of the story of which Pipestone is an early chapter. A

standard reference for Indian treaties is Charles J. Kappler, Indian Treaties: 1778-1883 (New

York: Interland Publishing, 1972).

Perhaps the area about which least has been published is natural resources management. The

lead book in the field is Stephen J. Pyne, Fire in America: A Cultural History of Wildland

and Rural Fire (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1982). Pyne's work established the

groundwork; unfortunately few have followed his lead. R. Gerald Wright, Wildlife Research

and Management in the National Parks (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1992), is

another pioneering work. In contrast to some of the more strident assessments of national

park wildlife policy, Wright has set a scholarly and considered tone and standard for others

to follow.

Two unpublished works about Pipestone National Monument were invaluable in this study.

Robert Murray, "Administrative History of Pipestone National Monument," (unpublished

typescript, 1961), offers a clearly documented history of the process that led to the creation

of the monument. William P. Corbett, "A History of the Red Pipestone Quarry and Pipestone

National Monument," (M. A. thesis, University of South Dakota, 1976) offers a broad-base

of the history of the monument. Corbett is particularly adept at Indian history. In addition,

two of his articles, "The Red Pipestone Quarry: The Yanktons Defend a Sacred Tradition,

1858-1929," South Dakota History 8, 99-116, and "Pipestone: Development of a National

The Origin and Development Monument," Minnesota History, Fall 1980, 83-92, refine his

earlier work.

As always, primary sources are the guts of any good administrative history. Record Group 79,

the Records of the National Park Service, in the National Archives in Washington, D. C.,

provided essential documentation, as did records in the Federal Records Center in Kansas

City. Pipestone National Monument also contains a fine collection of documents pertaining

to the history of the park. Of equal importance was the willingness of present and former

park staff to discuss the many issues of Pipestone National Monument. Superintendent Vince

Halvorson, Chief of Interpretation and Resource Management Betty McSwain, and

Maintenance Supervisor Raymond L. "Chuck" Derby all added perspective and insight.

Former Superintendents Carl Stoddard, Cecil D. Lewis, Jr., Clarence Gorman, and Don

Thompson also answered questions. As is always the case in the National Park Service, the

people of each individual unit make that place what it is. The willingness of these and many

other people to share their insights has made this a better history.

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Pipestone NM: Administrative History (Appendix A)

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Pipestone

Administrative History

APPENDIX A:

IMPORTANT EVENTS IN THE HISTORY OF

PIPESTONE NATIONAL MONUMENT

1858—Yankton Sioux cede their lands in Minnesota, with the exception of the right to

quarry on a 640-acre tract surrounding the pipestone quarries.

1880s—U. S. Army forces out illegal white settlers on the reserved area.

1890—First mention of the Pipestone area for national park status.

1890s—Yankton seek compensation for unauthorized use of the quarry area. U. S.

government seeks to buy out the Indians. The case continues for more than thirty years.

1892—Pipestone Indian School founded.

1910s—First efforts for a park develop.

1924—State park proclaimed, but because of the court case over Yankton rights, no land for

it is secured.

1928—U. S. Supreme Court rules on Yankton claim; awards the tribe $100,000 and interest

from 1890, more than an additional $200,000, for the 640-acre area. Indian legal claim

extinguished.

1932—Pipestone National Park Association founded; Winifred Bartlett is instrumental in the

process.

1933—Department of the Interior official E. K. Burlew visits Pipestone to assess its merits as

a park area. He decides that it had greater regional than national significance and does not

merit inclusion in the park system.

1935—First National Park Service study of the area by Edward A. Hummel.

1937—115 acres of the former reserved area proclaimed as Pipestone National Monument

proclaimed. NPS officials recognize natural as well as cultural potential of the new area.

Superintendent of the Pipestone Indian School, J. W. Balmer, is enlisted as volunteer

custodian.

1940—Seasonal custodian Albert F. Drysdale begins work at Pipestone.

1941—First plans to change the entrance road are conceived.

1941-1945—World War II puts growth and development aside.

1946—Initial NPS improvements compelled by local complaints about conditions at the
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monument.

1946—First regulations to govern quarrying established.

1948—First permanent, full-time employee, Lyle K. Linch, arrives. Within months, his title

is upgraded from custodian to superintendent.

1948—George "Standing Eagle" Bryan serves as first American Indian seasonal interpreter at

Pipestone.

1949—First Song of Hiawatha pageant begun by local Exchange Club. The pageant became

a tradition. Later the club changed its name to the Hiawatha Club.

1953—Pipestone Indian School closes. Attempts to close it began in 1948, but local

opposition delayed its demise. Closure paves the way for transfer of additional land to the

monument.

1954—Pipestone National Park Association reconstituted as Pipestone Indian Shrine

Association. Winifred Bartlett remains a leading influence.

1956—164 acres of the formerly reserved area are formally transferred to the monument. The

transfer of the Three Maidens area on the south boundary of the monument closely followed,

bringing the total area of the park to 282 acres.

1957—Second permanent staff member arrives.

1958—MISSION 66 program for Pipestone implemented; new Visitor Center constructed and

dedicated.

1966—National Historic Preservation Act passed.

1968—Cecil D. Lewis, Jr., becomes first American Indian to serve as superintendent at

Pipestone.

1968—Raymond L. "Chuck" Derby becomes first full-time American Indian employee at

Pipestone.

1970—American Indian Movement protesters disrupt Hiawatha pageant.

1971—Upper Midwest American Indian Cultural Crafts Center completed.

1973—experimental controlled burning program begins at Pipestone. The program was

developed as a result of the knowledge gained from an accidental fire in 1971.

1975—Pipestone faces preservation-use dichotomy in cultural resources management.

Officials can not allow quarrying to continue and be in compliance with Section 106 of the

amended National Historic Preservation Act of 1966. Nor they can stop quarrying, for it

would place the monument in violation of treaties, proclamations, and the organic legislation

of the park. A resources management strategy is developed as part of the solution.

1978—American Indian Religious Freedom Act becomes law.

1981—First comprehensive resources management plan for the monument developed.

1982—Fish kill in Pipestone Creek illustrates pollution problems at the monument.
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1988—First Spiritual Run/Walk to protest inappropriate uses of Pipestone begins. A rift in

the Native American community develops, with the Park Service in an uncomfortable

position. The run/walk continued through 1991.

1991—Sundance ceremony occurs at Pipestone; close cooperation between organizers and

park personnel make for a successful event.

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Pipestone NM: Administrative History (Appendix B)

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Pipestone

Administrative History

APPENDIX B:

CUSTODIANS AND SUPERINTENDENTS AND THEIR

TENURE

Custodians:

J. W. Balmer, volunteer January 1, 1939-January 1, 1940

Albert F. Drysdale, seasonal January 2, 1940-November 10, 1947

Lyle K. Linch March 1, 1948-December 4, 1948

Superintendents:

Lyle K. Linch December 5, 1948-July 17, 1954

Harvey B. Reynolds July 18, 1954-September 29, 1956

Paul L. Webb September 30, 1956-April 30, 1960

W. Dean McClanahan June 1, 1960-December 8, 1962

Carl L. Stoddard December 16, 1962-July 18, 1965

Ralph K. Shaver August 1, 1965-April 20, 1968

Cecil D. Lewis, Jr. April 21, 1968-June 13, 1970

Clarence N. Gorman June 14, 1970-August 21, 1971

Don R. Thompson September 5, 1971-January 5, 1974

David Lane March 31, 1974-September 4, 1982

Vincent J. Halvorso November 28, 1982-

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Pipestone NM: Administrative History (Appendix C)

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Pipestone

Administrative History

APPENDIX C:

VISITATION (calendar years except where noted)

1948 (FY) 5,143 1969 146,393

1949 (FY) 21,435# 1970 157,466

1950 (FY) 42,443 1971 156,803

1951 (FY) 70,895 1972 169,706

1952 (FY) 91,137 1973 143,568

1953 (FY) 97,894 1974 147,963

1953 114,042* 1975 164,128

1954 82,642 1976 198,907

1955 52,182 1977 188,544

1956 61,001 1978 180,595

1957 64,459 1979 143,995

1958 126,604 1980 136,358

1959 136,814 1981 149,172

1960 155,451 1982 134,782

1961 164,411 1983 133,831

1962 157,277 1984 129,064

1963 178,500 1985 131,204

1964 111,271 1986 138,993

1965 92,091 1987 117,053@

1966 102,773 1988 105,190

1967 114,198 1989 109,198

1968 102,010 1990 106,623

1991 118,149

Various multipliers were used to compute the visitation totals at Pipestone.

#Totals from Lyle K. Linch's tenure (1948-1954) are highly suspect. Linch was

known to inflate his numbers.

*The change from fiscal to calendar year created two totals for 1953.

@Fee collection was initiated in 1987. This significantly decreased the number

of local people who entered the Visitor Center.

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