City of Hustle, page 30
Reed still didn’t move. He looked up at the clock and thought about kissing Katrina again, but it wasn’t 9:45 anymore. Kissing her at the wrong time might reverse all the good luck they’d built up—if his squabble with Grenier hadn’t pissed it all away already. In the time he hesitated, Katrina pulled his keys out of his coat pocket and stomped to the driver’s seat. Even as cold as she was, she didn’t start the engine when he got in.
“You know what’s wrong with you?” she said. “You get into meaningless fights for fun. There wasn’t any reason in the world to call him out for who he kisses.”
“And you know what’s wrong with you?” Reed said back. “You’re so worried about not getting into fights that you won’t stand up for what’s right.”
Katrina put her fingers on the key but didn’t turn it. Would she ever? Reed waited and waited, and every second he didn’t hear the grind of the ignition, he worried more that everything between them was over.
Prude. Grenier’s word hurt, and he heard it over and over inside his head with fifty different intonations. But what really got Reed was what he imagined doing with the gallon can of white paint Grenier talked about, the bucket that could change Sioux Falls if he poured in all of it, not just the two measly drops he congratulated himself for. All he could think of doing with that can of white paint was pouring it over his own damn head. Then somebody—Katrina, Grenier, one of the women Grenier had kissed?—handed him another can, and he poured that one over his head too. Poured it and opened his eyes and saw exactly who he was.
The Nordic Hall
Elinor Nauen
When you walked into the Nordic Hall in the 1950s, what you saw on the floor was a huge wooden medallion with the initials NH. When you left, you (naturally) beheld those letters upside down: HN. My dad, Hans Nauen, an accountant, was the Nordic Hall’s first tenant, and as a kid, it seemed fitting that they honored him by displaying his initials so large and lordly. (He did nothing to set me straight.)
Built by the Sioux Falls lodge of Sons of Norway, a fraternal society for people of Norwegian descent or affiliation, the Nordic Hall was financed by stock subscriptions at $10 per share, “together with some outright contributions,” the Hutchinson Herald of Menno (SD) announced on February 12, 1953. There were members in twenty-two South Dakota counties, and the Nordic Hall Association (NHA) was seeking more in the state’s forty-three other counties, according to Ralph O. Hillgren, NHA finance chairman (whose devotion to the hall once involved him in New Year’s Eve fisticuffs. See Stene vs. Hillgren, SD Supreme Court, 1959).
The NHA did its best to keep the project in the public’s mind with benefit dances and celebrations. State Rep and soon-to-be Governor Joe Foss, head of the “Building Bee” committee, contributed in June 1952, saying, “Nordic Hall, with a museum of pioneer relics, a library, and proper decorations recalling the inspiring story of the pioneers, should do more than anything imaginable to perpetuate the fine character and traditions of the first settlers.” Ricki Sogge Lauritsen, one of several Washington High classmates who told me of Nordic Hall connections at our recent reunion, sent me a clip from the Argus about the Norwegian rosemaling her mother won for naming a new women’s organization—the “Nordettes”—who were to assist in developing the Nordic Hall.
“The Sons of Norway had the resources to build that building and they still own it,” the late Howard Paulson, a local attorney who served on the board of directors for thirty years, told me last summer. “They also donated the land where it was built.”
The Nordic Hall Association was nothing if not frugal. Much of the labor and materials were donated. The steel used to hold up the roof was salvaged from an abandoned construction project in Flandreau. On November 7, 1954, the museum room on the first floor was dedicated, marking the official opening of the building.
“Giants in the Earth”
The Nordic Hall was conceived as a memorial to the Scandinavian pioneers of the area, according to “The Significance of Nordic Hall,” a talk delivered by Ralph O. Hillgren to the South Dakota State Historical Society in January 1953 and placed in the congressional record by then-Senator Karl Mundt:
On the walls will be linear murals depicting the story of the giants in the earth who came by ox-drawn covered wagons and lived in sod huts, in poverty of pocketbook but not of spirit, and laid the foundations for the future life of South Dakotans. . . . Through its museums and mural art, new generations may learn something of the sacrifices of their forebears and catch some of the vision of the pioneers in striving for something better than they had ever known. . . . It is safe to predict that . . . Nordic Hall will be a source of inspiration, and the scene of many significant events as tens of thousands visit its museum, banquet hall, and auditorium in years to come.
The small brick building at 218 West Thirteenth Street, a block from the Washington Pavilion, does not suggest a “source of inspiration” as much as the ordinary office building it is. Over the years, it has been home to a psychiatrist, Junior Achievement, beauty/barber shops, the IRS, a lady selling wigs to women with cancer, goods from Guatemala, a photography studio, and more. The wood floor is now linoleum, and the museum is long gone. “When I joined in the late sixties, they were disbanding it,” Howard Paulson told me. “A big skeleton of a ship was one of the last things I remember seeing them carry out.”
My siblings and I remember the polished natural wood walls, the old-fashioned bathrooms, the cool and dim interior. Dad had an air-conditioner, and in the hot summer, we would sometimes have a picnic dinner there. “His office had a musty business smell,” my brother, Charlie, recalled. “A guy who smoked cigars in his office, that’s what it smelled like.”
“He liked the location,” my sister Lindsay said. “He could walk to clients and the bank, which mattered as he didn’t drive.” A refugee from Nazi Germany, Dad kept the books for several local businesses: clothing and appliance stores, the Indian School in Flandreau, the Arts Council, and other nonprofits. He bartered his services at times, “like for Earl the Barber,” Lindsay said, “who gave Charlie awful haircuts until he finally refused to go there again.”
“My early memories are of the annual Sons of Norway lutefisk dinners in the basement social hall,” Howard Paulson said. “Lutefisk is a staple. Torsk is cod, the poor man’s lobster, boiled and served in chunks, swimming in butter. Torsk is not so much an acquired taste as lutefisk.”
Like me, Michael Paulson (Howard’s son), a Sioux Falls attorney, “grew up at the Nordic Hall. I’ve been a Sons of Norway member since I was born.” The youngest of four, he and his siblings would work the lutefisk and torsk dinners. “Our hair and clothes smelled like lutefisk for weeks from cooking it all day. After every fish dinner, we were always the last ones there, mopping the floor.” These days, the Torsk and Meatball Dinner and Bake Sale is a fundraiser that provides scholarships for young people to attend heritage summer camps or colleges. Along with Joe Foss, among the luminaries honored at these dinners were Lawrence Welk and Myron Floren (Welk’s accordion player and son of immigrant Norwegians). I remember meeting Floren there when I was very young and being prodded to ask for his autograph.
“Everything at the Nordic Hall was a celebration of Norwegian heritage,” Michael Paulson said. “You were Norwegian, you were Lutheran, you were at the Nordic Hall.”
While Scandinavian presence in the Americas began with Leif Erikson a thousand years ago, the largest numbers came roughly from ١٨٢٥ to ١٩٢٥, largely ending with the Immigration Act of ١٩٢٤. All it took to have a farm was the price of passage and a lot of hard work. Howard Paulson was honorary consul for the state of South Dakota to the Royal Norwegian Embassy from 1986 to 2009, followed by his son Michael. These branch consuls served as liaisons for immigrants, helping with correspondence, distributing funds between countries, and these days, managing estate planning and probate.
“When I was a kid, we didn’t have activities four nights a week,” Michael Paulson told me. “Being Norwegian doesn’t resonate as much now. As generations go by, where one’s ancestors came from becomes less compelling.” He paused, then added, “Boy, I’d like to ask Dad about what our parents went through to get to where they were. How hard they worked! It’s respect for what they did that gives you pride in wanting to maintain that heritage. They scraped everything together to make it, and we benefit.”
His father said something similar about mine. “People who came to America really welcomed the opportunity to be here, to work hard, to appreciate the opportunities and freedoms we have in this country.”
“A Lot of Life, Though It Might Not Seem Like It”
I see now that it isn’t the building itself, no architectural marvel, that makes the Nordic Hall vital but the seven decades of memories that stretch back to the earliest Scandinavian presence in the area.
Among those memories, surprising to me, were a few years in the nineties when the hall hosted liquor-free punk concerts, drawing some not-yet-big bands like Green Day. “Going to Nordic Hall for concerts in the basement was a really neat way to spend time,” says Catherine Dekkenga, now an architect in Sioux Falls. “The Nordic Hall was the place to go. It would be packed! There were always people coming in and out of Nordic Hall. It had a lot of life, though it might not seem like it.”
What lies ahead for this piece of local history that’s been around half as long as the state itself? “People have made offers,” Howard Paulson said. “The big stairway is a barrier for older people, and renters are reluctant. They might knock it down and build low-cost housing. Meanwhile, there’s talk about building a new facility down by Falls Park.”
Aundre Myles, who’s had a recording studio at the Nordic Hall for three years, has his own ideas. “I really want to revive the Nordic traditions here,” he said. “People don’t know I love the Nordic Hall as much as I do.” His dream is to buy the building and provide services to homeless people.
And so the Nordic Hall, understated as Norwegians traditionally are, quietly lopes on. Not quite central, not quite beloved, but the secret heart of many lives.
Sioux Falls Railroads
H. Roger Grant
Following the Civil War as the Railway Age matured, Sioux Falls scored victories and experienced disappointments. By the close of the 1880s, this growing city of approximately 20,000 inhabitants proudly claimed five railroads. These were not woebegone short lines. Rather, they were interregional carriers that operated in large portions of the Midwest and Great Plains. Unfortunately, none of these iconic names offered long-distance routes through the Minnehaha capital. Southern Dakota Territory was not a “natural” path from Midwest population centers to the Rocky Mountain West or the Pacific Coast.
Sioux Falls citizens realized early on that if they were to prosper, they must have a railroad, ideally two or more. Completion of the Dakota Southern Railroad, which in 1873 linked Sioux City, Iowa, with Yankton, offered encouragement to the several hundred inhabitants of this gestating community along the Big Sioux River.
In 1874, agitation for rails to Sioux Falls began, and soon it paid dividends. Although there were initial setbacks, the first passenger train steamed into town on August 1, 1878. At last, residents gained rail access to the outside world. “Their ears could hear the whistle of a locomotive,” related an ecstatic commentator, “and their eyes see a train of cars in Sioux Falls.” It would be the Chicago, St. Paul, Minneapolis and Omaha Railway (Omaha Road) that claimed this honor. This sixty-two-mile line connected at Worthington, Minnesota (Sioux Falls Junction), with the Omaha Road’s main stem between the Twin Cities, Sioux City, and Omaha gateways. Later, this Sioux Falls trackage extended west to Mitchell.
Railroad euphoria continued. As 1879 ended, the Chicago, Milwaukee, and St. Paul Railway (Milwaukee), which had absorbed the neighboring Dakota Southern and Sioux City and Pembina Railroads, built the twenty-one miles from Canton north to Sioux Falls. As with the Omaha Road, the public contributed to construction costs, providing in this case right-of-way from Canton and station grounds in Sioux Falls.
The 1880s witnessed a railroad boom in Dakota Territory, and Sioux Falls did not escape the frenzy. The Chicago and North Western Railway (North Western), which controlled the Omaha Road, and the Milwaukee dominated construction during these halcyon years. The former installed 1,096 miles and the latter 744 miles. Neither company, however, considered this mileage to be a springboard to the West. The state ultimately sported a 4,420-mile network.
More railroads came to Sioux Falls between 1886 and 1888. The first was the Burlington, Cedar Rapids, and Northern Railway (BCR&N), a company controlled jointly by the Chicago, Rock Island and Pacific (Rock Island) and the Chicago, Burlington, and Quincy (Burlington) Railroads, but after 1902, it was a wholly Rock Island property. It entered the town from Ellsworth, Minnesota, a distance of forty-two miles. Service, which commenced on November 1, 1886, cost local taxpayers $60,000 in bond subsidies. This line fed the company’s Cedar Rapids, Iowa, to Watertown core, one projected (but never built) to a Northern Pacific (NP) connection in Bismarck.
The Illinois Central Railroad (IC) was the fourth to arrive; December 19, 1887, was the official date of entry. This trackage extended the ninety-six miles from Cherokee, Iowa, and provided an attractive route to the East. “The whole city was soon made aware that Sioux Falls had an air line [direct] railroad connection with Chicago.” Once again, the local citizenry aided financially, providing right-of-way within the city limits and real estate for the station and support facilities.
The final railroad during the 1880s to reach Sioux Falls was the Willmar and Sioux Falls Railway (W&SF). Its arrival occurred on October 25, 1888. The W&SF was not an independent carrier but controlled by James J. Hill’s St. Paul, Minneapolis and Manitoba Railway, which was soon to be renamed the Great Northern Railway (GN). This construction can be considered more than a branch, extending 148 miles to Sioux Falls from Willmar, Minnesota, and forging a direct link to the Twin Cities. At Garretson, Minnesota, the company pushed the Willmar line ninety-seven miles south to Sioux City. Later, in 1893, the GN extended the Sioux Falls trackage to Yankton. Hill expected financial support, and Sioux Falls responded with a $50,000 bond commitment and rights-of-way within the city and county.
Even though Sioux Falls boasted multiple carriers, it was no railroad center. The city never had a union station; each carrier constructed its own depot. Passenger service lacked stellar qualities. Four of the five roads provided only a daily passenger train, and the Omaha Road dispatched two. These were locals—no limited or named trains paid calls. Travelers to Sioux City, including those who attended the Populist Party national convention in 1900 or who wished to take advantage of the state’s “quickie” divorce law, may not have been pleased. Freight service, too, was hardly exceptional. There were no through runs to distant terminals; rather, local or “way” freights handled the traffic. Inbound movements included lumber, manufactured products, and consumer goods. The outbound business involved agricultural-related shipments, granite, bricks, and aggregates.
Happily for Sioux Falls, its railroad map had not jelled in 1893. Although the depression of 1893–1897 stymied construction, the homegrown South Dakota Central Railway (SDC) appeared during the twilight years of railroad building. Launched in 1904 and spearheaded by Iowa industrialist F. L. Maytag, it soon reached Watertown. This 101-mile short line served as a feeder to Sioux Falls businesses, especially those engaged in grain and meatpacking, and as an outlet for jobbers, quarry operators, and others. But the SDC struggled, failing in 1908 and emerging eight years later as the Watertown & Sioux Falls Railway. In 1922, the property entered the orbit of the GN.
Railroads continued to be the transportation lifeline of Sioux Falls. For passengers, this extended into the 1920s with double-daily service having become the norm. At various times, sleepers served the city; the Milwaukee, for example, offered such accommodations to and from Chicago. Freight traffic remained active. Just as automobiles, buses, and the good roads movement cut heavily into local passenger traffic, trucks took a greater share of the less-than-carload (LCL) and livestock business. What evolved into the best known of Sioux Falls-originated freight movements were packing house products from John Morrell & Company. The plant, which opened in 1909, grew into one of the nation’s leading processors of pork. The IC and Milwaukee dominated these expedited meat shipments.
Sioux Falls travelers surely envied comparable midwestern and Great Plains cities that received excellent passenger service. The city, though, had named trains before a major upgrade occurred in 1940. During the post-World War I era, the IC operated the Hawkeye Limited. Yet this Chicago train was merely a poky local between Cherokee and Sioux Falls. During the 1920s, the Milwaukee operated two named trains. The first was the Sioux, which ran from Chicago through southern Wisconsin and northern Iowa via Prairie du Chien and Mason City. The railroad subsequently introduced the Chicago Arrow, which ran over its busier trans-Hawkeye State line via Manilla, Iowa. Both trains, which provided sleeper and dining options, were never fast movers.
On the eve of World War II, Sioux Falls citizens rejoiced when they experienced a sea change in passenger service. They now enjoyed improved access to and from the Windy City. The Milwaukee would be the operator, and the train would be the Midwest Hiawatha. This sleek streamliner, initially steam but diesel-powered after the war, provided all the desired amenities, including dining and sleeper equipment. The route would be that of the former Arrow; the Sioux Falls section connected with the Chicago-Omaha mainline at Manilla. The first run of this double-destination train (Chicago-Omaha, Chicago-Sioux Falls) left Sioux Falls via Canton and Sioux City on December 7, 1940. Patronage was strong and soon surged with wartime traffic. Following the conflict, the Midwest Hi, as it was often called, remained popular, explaining why the company in 1948 added replacement coaches, drawing-room parlors, and diner-lounge cars. But when a radical restructuring of passenger service took place on the Omaha mainline in the mid-1950s, prompted by Union Pacific (UP) switching its Chicago-bound Cities streamliners to the Milwaukee from the North Western, the Midwest Hi disappeared. The not-so-glamorous Arrow returned and operated on a slower schedule. Within a decade, the Milwaukee became the last carrier to provide Sioux Falls with passenger service.
