When the Black Hills Were Still Wild

[RobMancebo]

When the Black Hills Were Still Wild
by Rob Mancebo

Now one of the things that Grandpa did in his lifetime was to be a 4H professor in the Black Hills.  It was the time between world wars.  He was part of the transitional generation.  Although people often still carried guns, he said that he saw the last man shot under open gun law.  Even the wild Black Hills were grudgingly becoming civilized.  Lots of people had cars, but horses were still a transportation mainstay.  He was the first person to ever manage to drive a car up Spearfish canyon.  Heading up to court Grandma, of course.  He broke a spoke on one wheel and had to sit out on the porch and carve a new one with his pocket knife so he could drive back out.  Throughout his life, Grandpa was always a proponent of carrying a good, sharp pocketknife.  Whether to skin game, pith chickens, shape tools, or any of the other 1001 uses, he always had a sharp knife.

Up in the hills, he was a ‘scientist’ amongst an ocean of farmers, ranchers, and cowboys.  At the college, he was one of the people who worked on creating strains of wheat that would do well in the harsh climate of Russia.  Away from the books and labs of the college, out on the Dakota range, he had to display competence in horsemanship and daily ranch and farm work.  Although, yes, as a professor he received his share of ribbing from the cowboys for branding cattle in a white shirt.  His job was mostly to travel around through the hills meeting with families at their farms and ranches and inspecting the conditions and livestock that were the students’ 4H projects.
 
He traveled alone most of the time.  But my mother tells the story of how once, on a trip when he had the kids with him, they were driving down a ranch road when they passed a couple of boys who were out with their .22s, shooting at a feral cat. (Pet cats were kept in the house and barn cats in the barn, roaming feral cats were considered pests like raccoons and coyotes.)  She said that her Dad called to her brother who was in the front seat to, “Hold the wheel!”  Then he proceeded to open his door and step out onto the runningboard with his Winchester.  He shot the cat as the car rolled along and got out and skinned it for the boys while lecturing them on taxidermy and marksmanship.
   
Over the years, the depression hit and salaries were cut. By then he had a family to support so he moved on to teach in the CCC corps.  Then WWII came and he was sent to Alaska where he was the chief timekeeper on the AlCan highway.   When he returned he opened a grocery store in California.
 
He did many things in life, but his best stories and evidently fondest memories were of ranging the roads and trails of the Black Hills in those times when ‘civilization’ was just taking root.