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Mom & Dad...Grandma & Grandpa.....Dori & Dick

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Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Deadwood, Lead & Red Ass Rhubarb 7/20/2010


















































































This morning we left a little earlier than normal as we were going to drive the 60 miles north to Deadwood and Lead 2 old towns with lots of history. We did some caching on the way as well as in each town and on the way back. We did a few caches on the way up to Deadwood the first was at a pull off 500' back in the woods, next cache was at the Pactola Visitor's Center on the Pactola Reservoir and the last cache before we hit Deadwood was at Custer Crossing an old state picnic area.

Then it was on into Deadwood and our first cache there which was at the Adams House Museum. The Historic Adams House was built in 1892 by Deadwood pioneers Harris and Anna Franklin. Local contemporary press described the home as "the grandest house west of the Mississippi." The elegant Queen Anne-style house heralded a wealthy and socially prominent new age for Deadwood, a former rough and tumble gold mining town. Harris and Anna Franklin’s son Nathan bought the house for $1 in 1905. In 1920, Nathan Franklin sold the house to W.E. and Alice Adams for $8,500. Adams' second wife Mary closed up the house in 1936, two years after W.E.'s death, leaving the contents and furnishings intact. By 1987, an infirm Mary Adams Balmat sold the mansion to a couple who renovated the house and operated it as a bed and breakfast inn until 1992 when they sold the home to the City of Deadwood’s Historic Preservation Commission.
The Adams Museum’s leadership in historic preservation led naturally to its involvement in restoring the Victorian home of two of Deadwood’s founding families, including the Adams Museum’s founder W.E. Adams. Built in 1892, the Queen Anne-style home with its oak interiors, hand-painted canvas wall coverings, stained glass windows, thoroughly modern 19th century plumbing, electricity and telephone service and original furnishings sat silent for almost 60 years after W.E. Adams’ death in 1934, when his second wife Mary Adams closed the doors. Mrs. Adams left everything intact from the sheet music in the piano bench, the books in the library, the china in the pantry, to the patent medicines in the bathroom, the gilded settee in the parlor and even the cookies in a cookie jar.

Then it was on up the hill to Mt Moriah Cemetery which is the burial site for Wild Bill Hickok, Calamity Jane and Potato Creek Johnny. Mount Moriah Cemetery on Mount Moriah in Deadwood, Lawrence County, South Dakota is the burial place of Wild Bill Hickok, Calamity Jane and Seth Bullock, and other notable figures of the Wild West. By tradition, the American flag flies over the cemetery 24 hours a day, rather than merely from sunrise to sunset.
In the early years of Deadwood, there were two graveyards: The Ingelside Cemetery, which was part of the way up Mount Moriah and was filled quickly in the first few years it was open, and the Catholic Cemetery. Many prospectors, miners, settlers, prostitutes and children were buried within the Ingelside Cemetery, alongside Wild Bill Hickok and Preacher Smith.
In the 1880s it was determined that the land where Ingelside Cemetery was located could be better used for housing. Most of the bodies there were moved up the mountain to Mount Moriah and re-interred. However, since many graves were unmarked or unknown some were not moved. Today it is not uncommon for people working in their garden or remodelling a basement or shed to find human bones as a left over from the Ingelside Cemetery days.
The Cemetery has many different distinct sections in it. There are four different sections in the grave yard labelled Potter's field, where the graves of unknown people or settlers that came from Ingelside were buried without a stone or marker. There is a Jewish section of the graveyard as there was a large Jewish community in early Deadwood and they were afforded more rights and equality in the rough frontier town than other places in the country at the time. Many of the inscriptions are written in Hebrew. Sol Star, a partner of Seth Bullock, was a member of this early Jewish community.
One section is labelled that Mass Grave site. A fire burned down a lumber mill killing eleven men sleeping there at the time. Another section is labelled the children's section, due to the large number of children buried in Mount Moriah that died from the typhus, cholera and small pox outbreaks.
There is only two Chinese graves left in the cemetery, for Hui ta Fei-Men and a child of Fee Lee Wong, as all the other Chinese buried there were disinterred and sent back to China to be reburied.
In addition there is a veterans section, where many Civil War and Indian War veterans are buried with gravestones supplied by the United States government at the request of their families.


WILD BILL HICKOK
James Butler Hickok was born in Troy Grove, Illinois, on May 27, 1837, and was shot dead in a saloon in Deadwood, Dakota Territory, on August 2, 1876. Famous for his lethal gun skills, as well as his professional gambling, he was a U.S. town marshal who unsuccessfully tried show business for a while after he got fired from his marshal job for shooting more than just bad guys.
As a boy in rural Illinois, young James was reliable enough, lean and wiry, and at the same time inordinately interested in guns, shooting, and combative bravado. For what it was worth in that context, he became recognized locally as an outstanding marksman with a pistol (at the initial mortal expense of indigenous squirrels and similar small creatures, and the chagrin of his family). His parents, Abner and Eunice Hickok, were God-fearing Baptists who obligated him to wear a stiff and uncomfortable suit to church on Sundays; a practice with which he wrestled considerably each and every week of his youth. He was not close to either of his parents, especially his father, who expressed little interest in anything young James did or aspired to as he considered him to be a lay-about dreamer. Nevertheless James did his chores correctly to maintain the family's sustenance farm, but this was not a life for a young man with romantic notions of the wild west frontier, and upon his eighteenth birthday he took his leave and migrated to Monticello, Kansas. There he got a job driving a stage coach on the Santa Fe and Oregon trails.
In 1855, highwaymen were real threats to stage coaches laden with relatively well-heeled travelers with cash in their pockets, and as a driver young James had many a violent encounter with ruffians of every stripe, thereby putting his marksman's skills to profitable use immediately. In his own mind it was instantly clear that he was rather good as a gunfighter, and he began to develop a ready belligerence which quickly earned him the nickname "Wild Bill." Where the "Bill" came from is not known, but it appears that he saw no need to correct the misnaming, so it stuck.
As a cross-country stage driver it was frequently necessary to spend the night camped under the stars when the unreliable coaches would break axles or other mishaps -- such as run-ins with Indians -- would destroy schedules which were dubious in any case. On one such occasion, to the west of Wetmore, Colorado, Wild Bill was asleep under some creosote bushes near his disabled but customer-filled coach. He was dressed in his one and only suit of clothes which, since he had been wearing them continuously for over eight months, had become rather saturated with various pungent odors, not the least of which was bacon grease from daily encounters. So, he gave a wandering local cinnamon bear the impression that he likely was delicious. Not one to ignore such an opportunity, the bear inspected Bill much more closely and then enthusiastically took a generous bite on what he judged to be the fleshiest part. Wild Bill awoke.
According to the later report by the coach patrons, who lit a kerosene lantern to illuminate the spectacle, the bear and Wild Bill were rather closely matched. Wild Bill had taken off his guns for the night, but still had a six-inch knife stuck in his belt, while the bear was equipped with numerous claws and a spectacular set of perfect teeth. The ruckus was tremendous, and when the dust finally settled Wild Bill was nearly fatally wounded, while the bear was fatally wounded by means of that knife and Wild Bill's single-handed efforts. While Bill was laid up for a while healing, all this did nothing to diminish Wild Bill's growing reputation as a very tough frontier customer in the most romantic contemporary version of the concept.
He was, after all, right for such a job given that he had all the proper traits: a sharpshooter's eye, a peerless appreciation of his own ferocity, and reasonably good looks as he estimated. Embellishing his image, he grew his hair to an inordinate length, largely, he said, as a (contemptuous) challenge to those scalp seeking Indians he had been fighting so often -- though others offered the opinion that the hair was more a vain and nugatory affectation than anything else.
But, having recovered from the altercation with the forlorn bear, the occupation of stage driver no longer seemed to have much gloss on it, and so Wild Bill applied for, and was given, the position of constable in a small town in Nebraska. Violent confrontations with various thieves and other ne'r-do-wells were the order of the day, but occasionally some real desperadoes would appear making the employment worth his meager pay. His job there also obliged him to collect overdue bills, and to keep the village idiot quiet on Sunday mornings -- which he usually did by throwing a cowhide over the man and pegging it to the ground until the church services were over.
The McCanles outlaw gang was wanted for train robbery, murder, bank robbery, cattle rustling, and horse theft. In 1861 word came to Wild Bill that they had set up a camp at Rock Creek Station, in Jefferson County -- just outside his limited jurisdiction. Now catching those jokers would be a task worthy of his considerable skills and sure to put another feather in his cap. The only small detail which could cause a bit of an annoyance was the fact that taking the gang outside the range of his authority might prove to be an embarrassment to his badge to the extent that he'd wind up in the hoosegow as quickly as the bad guys. He calculated he'd get them, nevertheless.
It would be learned of Wild Bill Hickok in later years that he had a certain bent toward straining the truth now and then when it was to his advantage to do so. Of course in this situation he figured that it was right and proper to get creative in the service of upstanding justice, so he devised a little ruse in order to coax the McCanles boys just a smidgen over the line so he could constrain their freedom, or otherwise put them out of circulation with a reduced threat to his good name and future employment prospects.
Back in town as he enjoyed a second tumbler of Sam Gleason's best Rye and a respectable cigar in the Black Bull Saloon, Wild Bill found the inspiration which brought a most uncharacteristic grin across his mustachioed face to the confusion of the rest of the regular patrons who knew him by another form of presentation altogether. They thought he looked absolutely demonic, which may have been a reasonable assessment as the plot would later demonstrate.
Six-Toed Pete was a now-and-then gun slinger of no particular accomplishment, except that he made considerable contributions to the good fortunes of Sam Gleason whenever he had a coin in his pocket and a thirst to go with it. Pete's accomplishments were there, it's just that they were principally negatives rather than things other more normal people generally aspired to. For example, Pete had given up smoking for a while as his mustache and left eyebrow grew back after the incident on Easter when his breath ignited along with his cigar, and Joe Colbert had put out the blaze with the contents of one of the saloon's spittoons. He gained a little notoriety from that event, but it was not something he wanted to write home about, assuming that he would ever learn to write that is.
Anyway, Pete was one of the more obvious members of a large underclass of town drunks, and Wild Bill had occasionally bought him a shot or two during the odd moment when a generous impulse would overtake his better judgment. Wild Bill called Pete to his table and inquired if he would like a little employment, offering to pay him four dollars for barely a day's work to deliver a simple message over in Jefferson County. Disbelieving this exaggerated generosity, Pete immediately inquired about the state of Wild Bill's mental health, which almost blew the whole deal for him right there -- which could have been the least of it if Bill had lost his temper, which he did not.
Rather, Wild Bill told Pete that some old friends, the McCanles boys, who were hard working cowhands from the Pecos, had finished a cattle drive and were resting, but lonely, over at Rock Creek Station. Bill said that he would like to do a little favor for his old buddies, but he didn't want to reveal himself for fear that they would feel obligated to him and he didn't want them to spend their hard-earned money on some return gift which he likely had no need for anyway. No, he said, he'd rather send Pete as a messenger, to offer a small treat from an anonymous friend and admirer, to be enjoyed to their heart's content for as long as it pleased them. Pete, Wild Bill cautioned, would find it necessary to watch his back for the rest of his (very short) life if he ever breathed a word to anyone about this plan.
"My God", Pete thought, "Wild Bill is a saint right here on this earth." "Imagine such kindness." etc., etc. Pete, on his own, could not imagine much beyond the bottom of the shot glass which he stared into for such a large portion of his existence; and he had never heard of the McCanles gang, which is exactly what Wild Bill estimated.
Tell them, Bill said to Pete, that on Saturday night a whole wagon load -- six to be exact -- of "soiled doves" from the finest parlor house in town would be sent to the old Daisy Pearl Inn, just this side of the county line. Tell them that the doves will be perfumed and a little bit plump. Tell them that the piano is even getting tuned, and that enough bottles of decent whiskey will be there free for them to take as much as they like. Tell them that the ladies are seasoned pros who know how to show a man a good time, and that they will be there for the whole of the night, and that no other patrons will frequent the place to interrupt their celebrations. No need to bring guns, he said.
Wild Bill said to Pete that he'd pay him the four dollars when he learned that the message had caused the correct result.
So, off Pete rode on a borrowed mule, ecstatic in the understanding that he was doing a good deed for probably the first time in his life. He told the wide-eyed McCanles gang everything he was instructed to tell them, and they hooted in glee at this announcement of unexpected good fortune -- all except for Jeb McCanles that is, who wondered who in the hell this benefactor was anyway. Never mind, his crew said to him; let's slither up to the ladies and worry about such details later. And so they planned to do just that.
Wild Bill, in the mean time, bought all the .45 caliber cartridges that were available in the general store (see note at bottom), and he even bought a can of fancy patent oil to make sure that his Colt Peacemakers would function silkily when he needed them the most, which he judged would be about sundown on Saturday night. This precaution was probably more than was necessary, since the $17 mail order pistols were only a few months old, but he felt better when all small considerations had been tended to properly.
Saturday arrived, and Wild Bill rented a horse and wagon from the blacksmith; one with seats for at least six people. He left early, and alone, for the old Daisy Pearl Inn, which he knew to be empty since the proprietor was in jail for robbing patrons he had drugged, and Wild Bill had put him there. Parking the wagon directly in front of the place, Bill shot the lock off the door and helped himself to a generous whiskey as he sat down to load his six-shooters and mark time.
Though darkness had begun to fall, there was no question that the McCanles gang had arrived, for they let out a whooping shout as they spotted the wagon out front which proved the truth of Six-Toed Pete's story and invitation to exotic pleasures. Bursting through the door with no customary care, the lot of them halted in puzzled silence as they found an empty saloon, lit but abandoned. Before the hapless bunch could form an appraisal of the meaning of this peculiar situation, Wild Bill rose from behind the bar with a broad smile on his face and both pistols blazing.
The story which circulated later said that Wild Bill Hickok had confronted the entire McCanles gang single-handedly, and in the shoot-out which followed had killed Jeb McCanles and two of his men, and had taken the rest as prisoners. The bare bones of this story is true, but Wild Bill made no effort to add any more details to it. When he collected the $175 reward, he paid the $4 he owed to Six-Toed Pete, reminded him once again to keep his mouth shut, and added the whole affair to his expanding reputation as a paradigm of the ruthless western lawman: fearless, tough, skilled, cunning.
Meanwhile the Civil War had broken out, and although Nebraska didn't immediately leap into the fray to provide any form of inspiration, Wild Bill was somehow smitten by a sense of patriotic duty and volunteered his services to the Union as a scout. At the same time, since a disproportionate percentage of cowhands and others in the wild west were Blacks, he knew and respected a fair number of them, and considered that the South had never given them any semblance of a fair break, to say the least. Besides, he never liked those funny Southern accents anyway, figuring that most of the world's affected fops had somehow drained down there by a form of natural selection.
So, Wild Bill engaged himself in the war efforts with an enthusiastic dedication and courageousness which some say occasionally came close in performance to the claims he made about his own deeds, but others weren't so sure. For example, in response to some eastern journalists (who sought him out later) he said that he had shot 50 Confederates with exactly 50 bullets while using a miracle rifle of some specious description, which must have been able to fire faster than any of those confined by the conventional technology of the day. He also said that he had out-shot one man in front of him with the pistol in his left hand, and plugged a second man behind him by shooting over his shoulder with his right hand, both at the same time.
It is true that he made some daring forays behind the Confederate lines, but no monumental accomplishments of actual record -- that is, confirmed by the objective observation of others -- have been accredited to him in the war. Perhaps he did solid work in the interest of the Union, however his descriptions of the activities dilute acceptance of the reality of the enterprise.
Shortly after the war, in 1867, he was tracked down by Henry M. Stanley, a journalist and adventurous reporter, and that same Stanley who later, when in Africa, uttered the famous declaration, "Dr. Livingstone, I presume." It seems that Wild Bill had a fully developed and somewhat intimidating presence about him, and the normally unflappable Stanley became absolutely flustered as he met Wild Bill, and perspiring, asked wide-eyed questions which immediately offered the poker-faced Wild Bill an opportunity to employ poetic license.
"Mr. Bill, that is Mr. Wild, or rather Mr. Hickok, are you willing to mention how many men you have killed, to your precise and certain knowledge?" Flatly, Wild Bill said, "I assume you mean white men, after all nobody counts Indians, or Mexicans and so forth. Well, I am perfectly willing to swear a solemn oath on the Bible, tomorrow, that I have killed substantially over a hundred."
Abandoning every vestige of journalistic skepticism and impartial judgment in the face of such inflation, Stanley immediately reported this claim as gospel fact, and added the comment that, "[Mr. Hickok] is endowed with extraordinary power and agility. He seems naturally suited to perform daring actions." Wallowing in hero worship of the most lurid dimension actually did not contribute much to the reputation of Wild Bill among more jaded students of the affairs of the West, but this is unfortunate, because there are some instances of true heroic deeds on the part of Wild Bill.
Employed as a U.S. Army scout in 1868, in Colorado, Wild Bill and 40 men from the 3rd infantry battalion out of Fort Russell were surrounded by over 350 braves of the Kiowa Indian tribe, led by Chief Tilgha-ma and his son, Moh-ka-na. After a two day siege of the soldiers' solid position, army ammunition was running low, and six of the soldiers had been killed; two by arrows, three by rifle fire, one by a spear. Reinforcement was not far afield, but how to summon help before all was lost?
A lull in the battle supervened as the afternoon of the second day began to develop long shadows, but the parched troops knew that they could not last the approaching night with the resources at hand, and that desperate measures needed to be explored more than promptly. True to form, the soldiers commenced a conventional examination of their battle strategies, but Wild Bill understood that a more immediate action was the only deed which could hope to rescue them from certain death, scalping, and God knows what else. Mounting his very fast horse, an Appaloosa, Hickok surprised the troops as well as the Indians as he broke into a full racing gallop, directly into the midst of the not quite wary Kiowa fighters, who were in repose, regaining their wind for the final suffocating action.
Before the disbelieving Kiowas could regain their equipoise, Wild Bill had blasted through their ranks and was high-tailing it back to the fort, where he successfully summoned overwhelming aid which drove the Indians from this encounter, and permanently removed them as an obstacle to further White expansionism in Colorado.
Hickok's career as an Army scout did not last very long, however. The requirement of the job that he be on location in remote and dusty reaches of the territories necessitated the man's removal from any proper saloon, or innocent moment's gambling, which constituted hardship beyond what little reward the occasional notoriety could offer as a balance. He quit.
Always interested, especially, in an engaging game of cards on the side, Wild Bill surmised that a little money could be found if he were to perfect his skills just a bit, as he also honed his ability to size up a mark while keeping a distant cool. As a professional gambler -- cardsharp is a negative term and we have no solid proof -- Wild Bill operated on the very edge of propriety, doubtless taking a sucker when the pot was worth the effort. There were many competitors in this shifty and nefarious trade, and the bulk of them operated on the wrong side of any form of law. Such a man was one James "Dog" Kennedy, a cardsharp of the slickest description who, since he knew what he was talking about, could spot a cheat from across the room. Ignorant of whom he was accusing, he fingered Wild Bill as playing a bad fast game, thereby anticipating getting rid of some competition; he got more than he guessed he would.
The confrontation escalated as accusations passed back and forth, the result being that a classic duel with six-guns was demanded in the public square of Springfield, Missouri, on September 21, 1869. At high noon, as was romantically dictated in such events, the two of them faced each other from a distance of 50 paces. Hickok had his pair of Colts, while Kennedy had a single Smith & Wesson double-action. Though it was dangerous, Hickok had cocked both his single-action revolvers as they sat in their holsters.
Kennedy drew first and fired, but he missed Hickok and his bullet hit the dust 30 yards beyond Hickok's left shoulder. At almost the same moment Hickok drew both his guns at once and fired them simultaneously. One hit Kennedy just above the right knee, but the other shot struck his upper chest, killing him instantly. Since it was seen that Kennedy had drawn first, Hickok was judged by those present (who were sober enough to take notice) to have acted in self-defense and no charges were laid. Actually, he was congratulated.
Such employment was not very steady however, and so in taking an appointment as U.S. marshal in Hays City, Kansas, Hickok's life returned to the normal routine of keeping the peace and pursuing reasonable diversions in the local saloon, which was the main point.
At the same time, nearby Abilene, Kansas was developing as the earliest of the great staging places for the eastern rail shipment of Texas longhorn cattle. The growth had begun in 1867, in the summer, as the first animals arrived for shipment. Before that, Abilene had been a dusty and slow little "town" consisting of about a dozen log huts, and three or four sod shelters on the edges. But soon the village's streets were swarming with cow pokes and cattle dealers -- and with gamblers who were ready and willing to relieve them of their hard-earned cash. Within four years Abilene had reached its peak of prosperity, notoriety, and infamy. A fast town for a fast clientele, it was wide open; in walked U.S. Marshal Wild Bill Hickok to a home in which he belonged. He was not to call it home for long.
At first Wild Bill tended to routine business. For example, John Wesley Hardin, who was the worst killer the wild west produced, arrived in Abilene, where, of course, he sought out the most agreeable saloon. Hardin met Wild Bill Hickok there, and for some reason Wild Bill took an indulgent and parent-like attitude toward the nasty little murderer. They drank together, they whored together. Hickok gave him advice and even helped Hardin's friends out of trouble. Hardin enjoyed being seen with the celebrated gunfighter, but he knew at the same time that Wild Bill would add him to his reputation if he got seriously out of line.
Hardin took a room at the American House Hotel in Abilene. At about one o'clock in the morning, Hardin was awakened by snoring coming from some stranger in the next room. Incensed that his rest was being disturbed, Hardin took his pistol and fired a shot through the wall, then he fired a second. The man in the next room lay slain, and the deathly silence told Hardin that he was about to come into deep trouble with Marshal Hickok.
Guessing that a quick exit was the most prudent, Hardin crawled out of his window and onto the roof above the hotel's promenade. Dressed only in his undershirt, Hardin spotted Wild Bill approaching from the Alamo Saloon, so he dove from the roof into a hay stack, where he hid for the rest of the night. As dawn was breaking, Hardin emerged, stole a horse and rode wildly out of town still dressed only in his undershirt. Wild Bill had not added Hardin to his reputation, but he had caused him to get out of Abilene.
The Alamo Saloon was the most posh place in town, with etched glass swinging doors, shining brass, polished mahogany, ferns, waiters in actual uniforms with gold braiding on them, and every gambling device a person could imagine. It was Wild Bill's favorite. The second most popular spot was the Bull's Head Saloon, which was expensive beyond belief. It did an excellent profitable business for its two Texas gambler owners, Phil Coe and Ben Thompson, but this was soon to end, as was Abilene.
The trouble seems to have started when Marshal Hickok demanded that the sign outside the Bull's Head be modified to eliminate certain portions of the bull's portrait which Hickok considered to be "indelicate." This was an interesting perspective in a rough gambling town, especially taking into account that Wild Bill preferred to hold court in the Alamo Saloon, which was filled with paintings of naked women -- the largest of which was a portrait of a local Jezebel, named Lucy, done up as Cleopatra with a huge Peacock standing at each side of her.
Thompson refused the demand, and Hickok then hired a couple painters to cover up the offending parts of the bull.
Coe escalated the argument by claiming that Hickok was exhibiting a brash prejudice against Texans (so as to spoil their business, and promote that of his friends). To this Hickok responded that Coe was running rigged games at the Bull's Head. Coe was not amused.
Seeking to drown these sorrows, Coe went out on the town with a batch of fellow Texans who were about to hit the long trail back home. Although they had been relieved of a good portion of their money through gambling, the men still had enough left to whoop it up and raise a little hell, and Coe was in the mood to raise hell. Drunk, the Texans, plus Coe, roared up and down the street, oblivious to all obstacles, breaking windows, knocking people about, and otherwise creating a general ruckus. Coe, who was no gunslinger and didn't even carry a gun usually, pulled out a pistol and fired a wobbly shot as the bunch approached the Alamo Saloon.
Marshal Wild Bill Hickok, who was drinking at another bar down the street with his friend and fellow lawman, Mike Williams, rushed over to the Alamo and entered it through its back door. Emerging at the front, he confronted the mob of Texans, asking, "Who fired that shot?" Coe, pistol still in hand, replied that he had fired at a stray dog. Hickok leveled his Colts at Coe, demanding that he cease and desist, but instead Coe drew a bead on Hickok.
Who fired the first shot there in the darkness is not known, but when the powder smoke cleared, Mike Williams -- who had run to Hickok's aid -- lay dead, and Coe was mortally wounded. Both were shot by Hickok.
Considering pressures from local farmers, real estate speculators, townspeople who were fed up with rowdyism, churchgoers and other groups, the mayor and his council told Wild Bill that they were no longer in need of his services, and that they no longer needed all this gaming either. Hickok was fired, and Abilene was dead as a gambling town. The business moved elsewhere.
Unemployed, Wild Bill was a bit relieved, in a way, because while he enjoyed being a lawman, he decided that he liked being a gambler just as much, and so now he had an opportunity to follow that bliss. He packed up his reputation and a couple decks of "special" cards, and headed off toward Deadwood, Dakota Territory. There was a gold rush going on there and, likely, miners ready to relinquish their money. Besides, in Abilene Hickok had been obliged to keep the streets free of litter as well as rowdy cowboys, but he did get 50¢ for every unlicensed dog he shot within the city limits.
It wasn't a quick trip. On the way there were too many saloons with too much whiskey; too many sweet smelling soiled doves; too many suckers with ready cash in their sweaty hands. Journalists had become interested in Wild Bill's adventures, but were hard pressed to pin down just where he was, so some began to guess.
In 1873, the Kansas City Examiner/Herald reported that Wild Bill had been killed in Galveston, Texas. The next day, it reported that he was visiting relatives in Springfield, Missouri. A week later the paper reported that Hickok was "airing his long hair" in New York City. The following Tuesday they reported that he had killed three Indians somewhere west of Omaha, Nebraska. In the following week it was written that he was shot to death in a gun duel, but this time at Fort Dodge, Kansas.
Taking an appraisal of all this, Hickok sent a curt note to the paper, pointing out that he remained in sound health and was leading the life of a solid citizen. The paper responded with this promise, "Wild Bill, or any other man killed by mistake in our columns, will be promptly resuscitated upon application by mail."
Actually, some resuscitation would have been useful. In his escapades as a "professional gambler," what Wild Bill had really accomplished was to become a profound drunk, for he turned out to be unremarkable as a cardsharp. There was a bit of romance however. In Deadwood Wild Bill met a bartender who shared a good number of his traits: brash; vain; fiercely individual; alcoholic; and available for hire as a woman of relaxed virtue when times were lean. Her name was Calamity Jane.
The two of them hit it off marvelously, for basically they were much alike. Both were liars; both were outrageous; neither had any moral scruples, etc. They carried on in a grand fashion, and Calamity Jane (Martha Jane Cannary) even announced that they were married -- although no one had noticed any ceremony taking place. In this alcohol sodden, but celebratory state, Wild Bill became optimistic for a change, which was not a disposition he had ever displayed before. Having a caring relationship with another human being was an experience absolutely unknown to him previously. He decided to take a proper job, instead of just shooting and swindling people; it was a painful change of pace.
At least something interesting presented itself. Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show was in Nebraska seeking new recruits for its repertoire of performers, and a scout had been sent to inquire if Wild Bill had an interest in joining the show as a sharpshooter, plus he was offered the princely sum of $192 per month and accommodations. Absolutely, Wild Bill said, and he accepted the job.
Unfortunately, this didn't last for very long either. Since the bulk of Wild Bill's deeds were fabrications cooked up in his head, and since copious alcohol had softened his sharp edge (such as it ever was), and since he still had a taste for a "medicinal" bottle of spirits each day, his performance in the Wild West Show was dismal on its better days, and nonexistent when he was "under the weather." He was fired, again.
In the downward spiral which overtook him then, he tried vainly to resume a career as a gambler, but no longer possessed the requisite skills and just barely was able to keep himself properly suited and situated so as to hold on to the reputation and the illusion. He was repeatedly arrested for vagrancy; he was seldom sober; he was 39.
Back in Deadwood, at Sweeney's Silver Dollar Saloon, Wild Bill was playing a game of low stakes poker at his usual table in the corner near the door. Jack McCall, who was drinking heavily at the bar, saw him there and his face turned a deep crimson, but he said nothing.
McCall believed that Hickok had killed his brother back in Kansas. This probably was correct, considering that Lew McCall was a thief and a loud-mouth, and had met his end in Abilene in a gunfight with a "lawman." Remaining quiet and unobtrusive, McCall slowly walked around to the corner of the saloon where Hickok was playing his game. Under his coat, McCall's hand was on his double-action pistol, a .45. He came up slowly behind Hickok, attempting to create the impression that he was a casual observer of the game, and in this attempt watched several hands being played. As everyone's attention was focused on the player opposite Hickok, as that man placed his bet, McCall withdrew his revolver and shot Wild Bill Hickok in the back of the head, killing him instantly.
Wild Bill held a pair of eights, and a pair of Aces, which ever since that moment have been known as a "dead man's hand."
James Butler Hickok was buried in the cemetery outside Deadwood. Calamity Jane insisted that a proper grave be built in honor of the man she still loved, and an enclosure 10'x10' was built around his burial plot. On top of that little encircling stone wall was placed a 3' fence which had fancy cast iron filigree on top, and a small American flag was stuck into the ground in front of the tombstone in honor of his service in the War.
14 years later, in 1900, an aging Calamity Jane arranged to be photographed next to this now overgrown burial site. Elderly, thin and poor, her clothes were held together with safety pins and were ragged. She still had a spunky style to her as she posed with a flower in her hand, and she said that when she died she wanted to be buried next to the man she loved. Three years later, she was.


Calamity Jane
Martha Jane Cannary Burke, better known as Calamity Jane (May 1, 1852 – August 1, 1903), was a frontierswoman, and professional scout best known for her claim of being an acquaintance of Wild Bill Hickok, but also for having gained fame fighting Native American Indians. She was a woman who also exhibited kindness and compassion, especially to the sick and needy. This contrast helped to make her a famous and infamous frontier figure.
Calamity Jane was born on May 1, 1852, as Martha Jane Cannary in Princeton, Missouri, within Mercer County. Her parents, Robert W. and Charlotte Cannary, were listed in the 1860 census as living about 7 miles further northeast of Princeton in Ravanna. Martha Jane was the eldest of six children, having two brothers and three sisters. In 1865, Robert packed his family and moved by wagon train from Missouri to Virginia City, Montana. Charlotte died along the way in Black Foot, Montana in 1866 of "washtub pneumonia". After arriving in Virginia City in the spring of 1866, Robert took his six children on to Salt Lake City, Utah. They arrived in the summer, and Robert supposedly started farming on 40 acres of land. They were there only a year before he died in 1867. Martha Jane took over as head of the family, loaded up the wagon once more, and took her siblings to Fort Bridger, Wyoming Territory. They arrived in May 1868. From there they traveled on the Union Pacific Railroad to Piedmont, Wyoming.
In Piedmont, Martha Jane took whatever jobs she could to provide for her large family. She worked as a dishwasher, a cook, a waitress, a dance-hall girl, a nurse, and an ox team driver. Finally, in 1874, she found work as a scout at Fort Russell. During this time period, Jane also began her on-and-off employment as a prostitute at the Fort Laramie Three-Mile Hog Ranch.

From her autobiography of 1896, Martha Jane writes of this time

"In 1865 we emigrated from our homes in Missouri by the overland route to Virginia City, Montana, taking five months to make the journey. While on the way, the greater portion of my time was spent in hunting along with the men and hunters of the party; in fact, I was at all times with the men when there was excitement and adventures to be had. By the time we reached Virginia City, I was considered a remarkable good shot and a fearless rider for a girl of my age. I remember many occurrences on the journey from Missouri to Montana. Many times in crossing the mountains, the conditions of the trail were so bad that we frequently had to lower the wagons over ledges by hand with ropes, for they were so rough and rugged that horses were of no use. We also had many exciting times fording streams, for many of the streams in our way were noted for quicksands and boggy places, where, unless we were very careful, we would have lost horses and all. Then we had many dangers to encounter in the way of streams swelling on account of heavy rains. On occasions of that kind, the men would usually select the best places to cross the streams; myself, on more than one occasion, have mounted my pony and swam across the stream several times merely to amuse myself, and have had many narrow escapes from having both myself and pony washed away to certain death, but, as the pioneers of those days had plenty of courage, we overcame all obstacles and reached Virginia City in safety. Mother died at Black Foot, Montana, 1866, where we buried her. I left Montana in Spring of 1866, for Utah, arriving at Salt Lake City during the summer."

Accounts from this period described Martha Jane as being "extremely attractive" and a "pretty, dark-eyed girl." Martha Jane received little to no formal education and was literate. She moved on to a rougher, mostly outdoor adventurous life on the Great Plains.
Martha Jane was involved in several campaigns in the long-running military conflicts with Native American Indians. Her unconfirmed claim was that:

"It was during this campaign that I was christened Calamity Jane. It was on Goose Creek, Wyoming where the town of Sheridan is now located. Capt Egan was in command of the Post. We were ordered out to quell an uprising of the Indians, and were out for several days, had numerous skirmishes during which six of the soldiers were killed and several severely wounded. When on returning to the Post we were ambushed about a mile and a half from our destination. When fired upon Capt Egan was shot. I was riding in advance and on hearing the firing turned in my saddle and saw the Captain reeling in his saddle as though about to fall. I turned my horse and galloped back with all haste to his side and got there in time to catch him as he was falling. I lifted him onto my horse in front of me and succeeded in getting him safely to the Fort. Capt Egan on recovering, laughingly said: 'I name you Calamity Jane, the heroine of the plains.' I have borne that name up to the present time."

However, it may be that she exaggerated or completely fabricated this story. Even back then not everyone accepted her version as true. A popular belief is that she instead acquired it as a result of her warnings to men that to offend her was to "court calamity". One verified story about "Calamity Jane" is that in 1875 her detachment was ordered to the Big Horn River, under General Crook. Bearing important dispatches, she swam the Platte River and traveled 90 miles (145 km) at top speed while wet and cold to deliver them. Afterwards, she became ill. After recuperating for a few weeks, she rode to Fort Laramie, Wyoming, and later, in July 1876, she joined a wagon train headed north, which is where she first met Bill Hickok, contrary to her later claims.
Calamity Jane accompanied the Newton-Jenney Party into the Black Hills in 1875, along with California Joe and Valentine McGillycuddy.

In 1876, Calamity Jane settled in the area of Deadwood, South Dakota, in the Black Hills. There, she became friends with, and was occasionally employed by Dora DuFran, the Black Hills' leading madam. She became friendly with Wild Bill Hickok and Charlie Utter, having travelled with them to Deadwood in Utter's wagon train. Jane greatly admired Hickok (to the point of infatuation), and she was obsessed with his personality and life. After Hickok was killed during a poker game on August 2, 1876, Calamity Jane claimed to have been married to Hickok and that Hickok was the father of her child (Jane), who she said was born on September 25, 1873, and who she later put up for adoption by Jim O'Neil and his wife. No records are known to exist which prove the birth of a child, and the romantic slant to the relationship might have been fabrication. During the period that the alleged child was born, she was working as a scout for the Army. At the time of his death, Hickok was newly married to Agnes Lake Thatcher. However, on September 6, 1941, the U.S. Department of Public Welfare did grant old age assistance to a Jean Hickok Burkhardt McCormick (name of her third husband), who claimed to be the legal offspring of Martha Jane Cannary and James Butler Hickok, after being presented with evidence that Calamity Jane and Wild Bill had married at Benson's Landing, Montana Territory, on September 25, 1873, documentation being written in a Bible and presumably signed by two reverends and numerous witnesses. The claim of Jean Hickok McCormick was later proved to be spurious by the Hickok family. (Rosa, Joseph- "They Called Him Wild Bill" Jane also claimed that following Hickok's death, she went after Jack McCall, his murderer, with a meat cleaver, having left her guns at her residence in the excitement of the moment. However, she never confronted McCall. Following McCall's eventual hanging for the offense, Jane continued living in the Deadwood area for some time, and at one point she did help save several passengers in an overland stagecoach by diverting several Plains Indians who were in pursuit of the stage. The stagecoach driver, John Slaughter, was killed during the pursuit, and Jane took over the reins and drove the stage on to its destination at Deadwood. Also in late 1876, Jane nursed the victims of a smallpox epidemic in the Deadwood area.
In 1881, she bought a ranch west of Miles City, MT, along the Yellowstone River, where she kept an inn. After marrying the Texan Clinton Burke, and moving to Boulder, she again tried her luck in this business. In 1887, she had a daughter, Jane, who was given to foster parents.
In 1893, Calamity Jane started to appear in Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show as a horse rider and a trick shooter. She also participated in the Pan-American Exposition. At that time, she was depressed and an alcoholic. Jane’s addiction to liquor was evident even in her younger years. For example, on June 10, 1876, she rented a horse and buggy in Cheyenne for a mile-or-so joy ride to Fort Russell and back, but Calamity was so drunk that she passed right by her destination without noticing it and finally ended up about 90 miles away at Fort Laramie.
By the turn of the century, Madame Dora DuFran was still going strong when Jane returned to the Black Hills in 1903. For the next few months, Jane earned her keep by cooking and doing the laundry for Dora’s brothel girls in Belle Fourche. In July, she travelled to Terry, South Dakota. While staying in the Calloway Hotel on August 1, 1903, she developed pneumonia and died at the age of 51. It was reported that she was on board a train where she had been drinking heavily, and became very ill. The train's conductor carried her off the train and to a cabin where she died soon after. In her belongings, a bundle of letters to her daughter were found, which she had never sent. Some of these letters were set to music in an art song cycle by 20th century composer Libby Larsen called Songs From Letters.
Calamity Jane was buried at Mount Moriah Cemetery (South Dakota), next to Wild Bill Hickok. Four of the men who planned her funeral (Albert Malter, Frank Ankeney, Jim Carson, and Anson Higby) later stated that since Hickok had “absolutely no use” for Jane while he was alive, they decided to play a posthumous joke on Wild Bill by giving Calamity an eternal resting place by his side.


POTATO CREEK JOHNNY
Potato Creek Johnny’s real name was John Perrett. In 1883, when he was 17, he immigrated to the Black Hills from Wales. Potato Creek Johnny had various jobs in the area but at 25 decided that he would become a gold prospector. He began a claim on Potato Creek (part of Spearfish Creek), which gave him his nickname and eventually led to his claim to fame. In 1929, Potato Creek Johnny made history when he purportedly found one of the largest gold nuggets in the Black Hills. The weight of the leg-shaped nugget was 7-3/4 troy ounces. In later years W.E. Adams bought the nugget for $250 and put it on display in the Adams Museum. A replica of the nugget is on display at the Adams Museum and the original is stored in the museum safe deposit box. The nugget made Potato Creek Johnny famous in Deadwood and in the late 1930’s, early 1940’s visitors would watch Johnny pan gold, hear him tell tales, get his autograph, or visit him at his cabin on Potato Creek. He was a particularly big attraction for children because Johnny was only 4 feet 3 inches tall. Potato Creek Johnny died at the age of 77 in Deadwood in February 1943. The funeral procession passed by the Adams Museum and carillon chimes tolled 77 times.


We found our 2 caches in the cemetery and walked around for a little while looking at some of the other graves. The cemetery was built on a very steep hillside so we didn't spend much time there. It was nice to see the graves of 3 of the old west's most colorful characters. Then it was off back down the hill into the downtown area and a cache located behind the Deadwood Museum. Then we walked around a little seeing some of the downtown area seeing places like the Iron Horse Inn, Deadwood Gulch Saloon, Butch Cassidy & The Sundance Kid Restaurant, Fremont, Elkhorn & Missouri Vally Passenger Terminal, Franklin Hotel, Bullock Hotel, Miss Kitty's, Saloon 10, and some of the 33 gambling casinos in Deadwood, yes 33 that is right.


Saloon 10's most important event is the poker game in on August 2, 1876, where the sniveling coward Jack McCall snuck up and shot Wild Bill Hickok in the back of the head. Hickok had arrived in Deadwood only a few weeks earlier, played a succession of card games, and never in his life sat with his back to the door.



The historic Bullock Hotel is located at the corner of Wall and Main Street in Deadwood, South Dakota. It was built by Seth Bullock, the first sheriff of Deadwood, and his business partner Sol Star, in around 1895 at a cost of $40,000[1] and is the oldest hotel in Deadwood boasting a Casino, Restaurant, and 28 of its original 63 rooms.
The Bullock Hotel was built by Seth Bullock between 1894 and 1896 from a converted warehouse to a 3-story hotel shortly after the Deadwood fire of 1894, which destroyed the original 2-story wood-frame building and devastated much of the town of Deadwood. It is believed that the hotel was originally constructed and decorated in an "Italianate" and Victorian style with the first floor of the hotel boasting a large dining room in the rear, a kitchen and pantry, a sample room where salesmen could store their cases, a grand hotel lobby, and offices in the front.
The second and third stories are said to have held 63 luxury sleeping rooms with baths down the halls and two large banks of skylights for lighting the inner rooms with natural light. It's also believed that all rooms were furnished with iron and brass beds and oak furnishings.
The Hotel was sold to the Aryes family who in 1976 converted the building to a hardware store up until around 1991 when the building underwent subsequent renovation by the new owners, Bullock Properties, to convert it back into a hotel. The original furnishings had been sold at auction by the Aryes family in 1976, so in 1991-1993 the hotel underwent extensive renovation to re-create the original atmosphere and decor. The current owners state that the hotel has been "carefully restored based on the best available information regarding the late 1800's and by uncovering details that gave clues as to the original decor."[3] Some changes included lowering some ceilings (due to heat accumulation at the ceilings), paint stripping and re-staining of most woodwork, and a re-papering and decorating of ceilings which was thought to reflect the hotel's original Victorian designs. 48-inch solid brass chandeliers were also introduced as light fixtures, chosen from replicas of the period. The kitchen and pantry were further converted into a restaurant and bar, Bully’s, named for Seth Bullock’s lifelong friend, Teddy Roosevelt.
All in all, even with reported attempts to retain original floor plans as much as possible, the former 63 rooms were reduced to 28 in the restoration. This supposedly resulted in some rather unique rooms with odd shapes and angles and a larger version of the original rooms from 1895. Modern plumbing and renovation brought the baths in from the hallway, and all rooms are equipped with private baths. Some luxury rooms are reported to have jacuzzis and wet bars as well.
t is said that the original owner of the Hotel, Seth Bullock died on the premises of the Hotel on September 23, 1919 in room 211. It is possible that his demise at the Hotel propagated reports of Mr. Bullock's "ghost" being sighted at the hotel, which continue to this day.

Following are claims from the Bullock Hotel about it being haunted:

1. Strong feelings of presence felt inside rooms and in hallway areas on 2nd and 3rd floors. Also same feelings felt in the restaurant area (Bully’s).

2. Rooms 211, 205, 209, 305, 315, 313, 207, and 302 have all had some sort of paranormal activity reported in them. The staff informed me that room 211 is where Sheriff Seth Bullock died in 1919.

3. Apparition of Seth Bullock helped a lost child in the hotel back to his room.

4. Items often moved from one place to another by unseen forces.

5. Many guests and staff members have reported hearing their name called out by a male voice when no one is visibly present. Also whistling has been heard in various rooms.

6. Lights and major appliances turn on and off seemingly by themselves.

7. Apparition identified as Seth Bullock seen by guests and staff in various areas of the hotel. A staff member saw the most complete apparition of Seth near the restaurant in 1989. (see photo in evidence section, resembles Seth Bullock)

8. Reports of people being tapped on the shoulder by unseen hands.

9. Sounds of footsteps heard through out the hotel by staff and guests.

10. Some photographs that have been taken in the hotel by guests have produced anomalies. One particular photo was taken in room #211 and shows a white cloudy figure hovering over the bed. Again this room is where Seth supposedly died in 1919.

11. Plates and glasses shake and take flight of their own accord in the restaurant area.

12. The apparition of a young girl has been seen in the hotel as well.

13. A staff member witnessed movement of several barstools while in the basement dining area.

14. Paranormal activity seems to increase whenever a staff member whistles hums or stands idle.

15. Cleaning carts have moved on their own.

16. Shower turned on in room #208 by itself and sprayed a staff member.

17. An antique clock that no longer functions in room #305 will chime at times when staff members enter to clean the room. This room is named the Bullock Suite.

18. Toilet paper unrolled to floor by unseen hands right after staff had replaced a new full roll.

19. Water turned on and off by unseen hands.

20. Shadows witnessed by various people on walls or out of the corner of their eye.

21. Psychic Sandy Bullock (no proven relation to Seth) who has lived in England all his life claims to have received messages from Seth Bullock in 1991 and 92 with concerns about Deadwoods future.

22. In room 314. The bed has been moved as if someone gets in followed by cold spots reported. The blanket get's tugged. Pennies on the desk moved around.

The Girls of the Gulch @ The Green Door Brothel & Miss Kitty's

Raid!

They've arrested the girls! The houses are padlocked!
The news spread up and down Deadwood streets that sunny spring morning, rapidly conveyed via phone calls, over coffee cups, across store aisles.
Rumors were rampant; facts few. And the question everyone asked was "Why?"
Why did federal and state law enforcement agents "grab the girls and dump them vans?" Why were padlocks put on brothels that for endless years occupied upstairs apartments on Main Street? Why were l3 women summoned to testify in Rapid City in a grand jury investigation?
City lawmen didn't have the answers. Deadwood's police chief replied "I haven't the foggiest," when queried about the May 21, 1980 raid. His office was given only five minutes notice before FBI and South Dakota agents raided the houses. His conjecture: "I suppose it was because we hadn't done anything about it before."
Located on second floors of buildings at 610, 612, 614 and 616 Main Street, the brothels, named in court papers as the Pine, Shasta, Cozy and Frontier Rooms, had operated openly as "rooming houses" and were listed that way in telephone directories. They were more commonly identified by colors of their street-level entrances, green, white, purple and beige doors.
Prostitution was, as Tevya sang in Fiddler on the Roof, "tradition" in Deadwood.
Just months after the first big gold strike in the northern Black Hills, the "girls" arrived in Deadwood with Charlie Utter's wagon train, accompanied by those notorious madams of the west, "Madam Mustachio" and "Dirty Em," veterans of California and Nevada mining camps. They were enthusiastically received by lonely miners of the lusty, brawling mining camp.
When the gold rush was over, the girls remained. Upstairs houses on Main Street became as much an integral part of Deadwood as legends of Wild Bill and Calamity Jane.
No city ordinance was ever passed to outlaw the practice, despite state laws forbidding prostitution. Several months before the l980 raid the police chief defended non-enforcement of state law.
On my level I haven't any budget. The judge knows there's whorehouses there and the state's attorney knows there's whorehouses there, but when you go to court, you have to have proof.
Only once before, in 1952, had the houses had been closed for any length of time. An ambitious young attorney, a newcomer in Deadwood, was elected states attorney and was considered to have a bright political future until he raided the houses. They re-opened six months later. A lower court ruling to permanently close them went to the Supreme Court where it was thrown out on a technicality. The young attorney had to run for reelection soon after his abortitive attempt to eliminate prostitution. He lost.
Many, if not most, local residents hoped the l980 closing would end the same way. Support of the girls went beyond simple tolerance. A downtown restaurant owner pointed out how the houses boosted Deadwood's economy.
They contribute to the economic base of the city by the clothes they wear, by their medical expenses, by the cars they drive and by the many other items they spend money on. When deposited in the bank it has the normal turnover rate of five to seven times and that becomes a substantial factor in our economy.
"They're a public service, not a public nuisance," agreed another businessman.
A random sampling of public opinion found 42 percent of area residents interviewed were in favor of leaving Deadwood's brothels alone; 35 percent thought they should be closed for good; 23 percent were undecided. Vocal sentiment expressed at a public forum leaned toward saving Deadwood's century-old tradition.
Even a city council member couldn't find reason to close the cathouses.
"The houses do put us in a spot because we know they're morally wrong, but at the same time, they've been good for business and they've never caused any trouble. ... There are some people...good Christians...who are offended by the houses. But there are business people, also good Christians, who say 'I can't afford to lose that business.'
After so many years of looking the other way, why was legal action finally taken against Deadwood brothels?
On August 5, 1979, the Sioux Falls Argus Leader put Deadwood's age-old "tradition" in the merciless glare of state- wide publicity. Headlines boldly declared "Sex for hire as the law looks away" and "A chat with the madam of the house." Two investigative reporters described in frank detail their experiences in visiting the four houses under the guise of "shopping around."
Federal participation in the raid caused the most speculation. Since prostitution is not a federal crime, the FBI would not have bothered the hookers unless more serious criminal offenses were suspected.
They had apparently been under legal scrutiny for at least two years. An affidavit in court records from the state Department of Criminal Investigation dated back to May 1978.
One source told the Associated Press a federal grand jury was probing organized crime links to prostitution and the 1978 murder of a Kansas City man in Pennington County. Drugs, stolen goods violations and "white slavery" were also mentioned. One prostitute claimed teenage girls, as young as l4 or 15, had been sold by outlaw biker gang members into at least one of the houses.
Many local defenders of the prostitutes may not have been totally aware of some of the more nefarious activities in those upstairs rooms.
A former Lead resident recalls visiting the houses with other underage friends and, on one memorable occasion, being abruptly turned away from the back entrance with the warning, "The boys from Chicago are in." Before the back door was closed in their faces, he clearly recognized the distinctive odor of marijuana in heavy smoke clouds that permeated the back hallway.
After the l980 raid, most of the out-of-work girls faded into obscurity, although Purple Door madam Pam Holliday continued to make national and local news for many months. She briefly cashed in on her celebrity status by loaning her name to a small lounge on Rapid City's tourist corridor, Mount Rushmore Road. As manager of "Pam's Other Door," Ms. Holliday admitted she sometimes had to discourage bar patrons seeking to purchase more than a beer.
They ought to know I wouldn't try and do that again. I just tell them, 'Hey, I don't know where the girls are.' It's a part of my life that's over. If I was supposed to be a madam, I would still be in Deadwood.
Insisting she was just a working girl, trying to pay for mounting legal bills while awaiting trial, Pam commented, "There's not much call for a madam at the local unemployment office."
Her tenure as a legitimate businesswoman ended with a conviction and subsequent prison sentence for tax evasion.
Another "girl" moved to Nevada to continue practicing the profession she knew best. She got out of the business in 1981 and returned to Deadwood where, in the late l980s, she conducted tourists through her former place of employment.

Well that was it for Deadwood as we walked back to the car and drove around a little, stopped at a homemade chocolate shop and bought 4 truffles and headed for Lead, SD.

Lead (pronounced "leed") is a city in Lawrence County, South Dakota, United States. The population was 3,027 at the 2000 census. Lead is located in western South Dakota, in the Black Hills near the Wyoming state line. The city was officially founded in July 10, 1876, after the discovery of gold. It is the site of the Homestake Mine, the largest, deepest (8240 feet) and most productive gold mine in the Western Hemisphere before closing in January 2002. By 1910 Lead had a population of 8,382, making it the second largest town in South Dakota.
Lead was originally founded as a company town by the Homestake Mining Company, which ran the nearby Homestake Mine. Phoebe Hearst, wife of one of the principals, was instrumental in making Lead more livable. She established the Hearst Free Public Library in town, and in 1900 the Hearst Free Kindergarten. She donated regularly to Lead's churches, and provided college scholarships to the children of mine and mill workers.
Lead and the Homestake Mine have been selected as the site of the Deep Underground Science and Engineering Laboratory, a proposed NSF facility for low-background experiments on neutrinos, dark matter, and other nuclear physics topics, as well as biology and mine engineering studies.
In 1974, most of Lead was added to the National Register of Historic Places under the name of the "Lead Historic District." Over four hundred buildings and 580 acres were included in the historic district, which has boundaries roughly equivalent to the city limits.

We drove up to Lead and found a park as Mom had brought a picnic lunch so we sat and ate it. After lunch we had 2 caches located close to the park at the site of the Homestake Mine. We did the 2 caches and looked around some of the exhibits, the site of the mine, and some of the monuments and memorials that are in the pictures.

The Homestake Mine is a deep underground gold mine located near Lead, South Dakota. Until it closed in 2002 it was the largest and deepest gold mine in North America, producing more than $1 billion in gold. The Homestake Mine is famous in scientific circles for being the site at which the solar neutrino problem was first discovered. This became known as the Homestake Experiment. The deep underground laboratory was set up by Raymond Davis Jr. in the mid 1960s to become the first experiment to observe solar neutrinos.
On July 10, 2007, the mine was selected by the National Science Foundation as the location for the Deep Underground Science and Engineering Laboratory (DUSEL), winning out over several candidates including the Henderson Mine near Empire, Colorado. If completed, the DUSEL facility will continue the early work on ultra-low-background experiments on dark matter and neutrinos, as well as providing a site for biology, geology, and mining research.
The Homestake deposit was discovered by Moses Manuel and Hank Harney in April 1876, during the Black Hills Gold Rush. A trio of mining entrepreneurs, George Hearst, Lloyd Tevis, and James Ben Ali Haggin, bought it from them for $70,000 the following year. George Hearst arrived at the mine in October 1877, and took active control of the property. Hearst had to haul in all the mining equipment by wagons from the nearest railhead in Sidney, Nebraska. Arthur De Wint Foote worked as an engineer. Despite the remote location, an 80-stamp mill began crushing Homestake ore in July 1878.
The partners sold shares in the Homestake Mining Company, and listed it on the New York Stock Exchange in 1879. The Homestake would become one of the longest-listed stocks in the history of the NYSE (Con Edison's original name was New York Gas Light and was listed in 1824).
Hearst consolidated and enlarged the Homestake property by fair and foul means. He bought out some adjacent claims, and secured others in the courts. A Hearst employee killed a man who refused to sell his claim, but was acquitted in court after all the witnesses disappeared. Hearst purchased newspapers in Deadwood to influence public opinion, and an opposing newspaper editor was beaten up on a Deadwood street. Hearst himself realized that he might be on the receiving end of violence, and wrote a letter to his partners asking them to provide for his family should he be murdered. In the end, however, Hearst was the one who walked out alive, and very rich.
The gold ore mined at Homestake was always low grade (less than one ounce per ton), but the body of ore was very large. Through 2001, the mine produced 39.8 million ounces of gold and 9 million ounces of silver.[citation needed] In terms of total production, the Lead mining district, of which the Homestake mine is the only producer, was the second-largest gold producer in the United States, after the Carlin district in Nevada.
The Homestake mine ceased production at the end of 2001. The Barrick Gold Corporation (which had merged with the Homestake Mining Company in mid-2001) agreed in early 2002 to keep dewatering the mine as DUSEL negotiations proceeded, but as progress was slow and maintaining the pumps and ventilation was costing $250,000 per month, switched them off on June 10, 2003 and closed the mine completely.
In June of 2009, researchers at Berkeley announced that Homestake would be reopened for scientific research on neutrinos and dark matter particles.


After we looked around the Homestake Mine site, taking pictures we walked back to the car and drove up the main street of Lead and then back down seeing that there wasn't an awful lot of historical buildings in town. Then we headed back toward the campgrounds and stopped and found 2 more caches one on a street sign at an intersection and the other at Pactola Reservoir's Veteran's Point in a pine tree. Then we stopped at an ice cream stand and we each got an soft ice cream cone. Next stop was at a small grocery store for a gallon of milk and then the last stop was at the Prairie Berry Winery to do a little wine tasting. Well that was good wine as we ended up buying 3 bottles one bottle of Calamity Jane a Concord grape wine and 2 bottles of RED ASS RHUBARB wine which just as its name indicates is made from 90% rhubarb and 10% raspberries and it was DELICIOUS. Then it was back to the coach for the rest of the day, which there wasn't much left as it was about 4:00. Well until tomorrow we love and miss you all. Mom & Dad Dori & Dick

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