Day 3: Mount Rushmore, World’s Largest Graffiti

By Bob Wire, 7-05-08

	Caption: Always room for one more!

Our tour of the Big Rock Things in the Black Hills continued as we left Sturgis and headed for Mount Rushmore. We’d stopped at a coffee stand so I could snag a double Americano for the road, and Rusty perked up from the back seat when he saw a tip jar on the lip of the drive-through window. We explained how a lot of service-oriented jobs use tips to supplement their base pay. This, to him, was fascinating. At the tender age of 11, he’s already a capitalist at heart.

We drove through Rapid City and onto Highway 16, approaching the Rushmore complex. This particular stretch of blacktop contains the highest concentration of tourist traps on the face of the earth. We kept up a steady stream of “no” as the kids, predictably, begged us to stop at water slides, souvenir stores, putt-putts, rock & fossil shops, you name it. Some of the come-ons were clever, like the Reptile Gardens: a billboard with a cartoon of a boy with his arm in a sling, and the slogan, “This Ain’t No Petting Zoo!”

My favorite was the sad little Wonders of the Western World Freak Show. Their attractions included a guy named Terry, who, at 5’9”, was billed as “The World’s Tallest Midget.” They also boasted of “The Two-Headed Calf, BORN WITH ONLY ONE HEAD!”

Thankfully, we finally made it through the gauntlet and parked in the massive garage at Rushmore. The kids snagged their Junior Ranger booklets from the visitor’s center and went to work. We love the Junior Ranger program, because the kids learn so much more about the place. But it can tend to misplace their focus. (“Look, Speaker, a bald eagle is circling Lincoln.” “Shut up! I have to finish this word jumble!”) Still, when they earn those badges, it’s a proud moment. They don’t just give those things away. Seriously. Even if you offer them $5 and a Bob Wire CD.

We stayed for a couple hours, gazing up at the heads, learning all about the sculptor, the workers, and the official dedication that finally came 50 years after they’d stopped work on it due to lack of funds. But try as I might, I didn’t find any kind of explanation or admission that this was, in fact, the world’s biggest graffiti. In 1970 Russell Means led a well-known protest, hanging huge banners off the monument that stated to the world that this was Indian land, and had been desecrated by the Rushmore carvings. Dig this: of the thousands of people who were there the day we visited, none that I could see were Native Americans.

While I was impressed with the sheer artistry and the complex engineering that had gone into the 14-year carving project, I couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. Seeing the monument so near Independence Day, our sense of patriotism was stirred. But it was tempered by the sordid, brutal history that marked our forebears’ appropriation of the Indians’ sacred land.

Saturated with Rushmore lore and visual wonder, we hit the road and found a nice little spot nearby for a picnic lunch. Just up the concrete path from the picnic tables, the forest opens onto Haney Peak, a breath-taking vista. I walked there alone and stood on an outcropping and took in the stunning panorama of the Black Hills. Lush, dense forest clear to the horizon, punctuated by huge fists of granite rising above the treetops. It was easy to feel the pull that had inspired the Indians to treat this as hallowed ground.

I stood on the rock at the edge of a cliff, arms spread, head back, breathing in the natural splendor of the land before me. The stress and agitation of the visitor’s centers and gift shops and other trappings of “civilization” flowed out of me, and I began to feel stronger, lighter, and more attuned to the land under my feet. Just then my reverie was shattered by an overgrown mosquito—a tour helicopter buzzing into view. It banked in front of me, thwopping loudly, and continued its ascent toward Mount Rushmore.

I sighed, climbed down off the rock, and pulled my camera from my pack to snap a photo of the amazing view. The photo could never do it justice, but it might help remind me of that wonderful feeling, that connection to the earth that’s always there if you let it happen.

Next: Wall Drug, the Badlands, and the power of the Tip Jar.

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