Kempf - Storytelling in stone

My recent experience in the Black Hills left me awestruck -- and I did not leave unchanged.

I have visited the Black Hills several times, and each time we would make the traditional stop at Mount Rushmore followed by a short drive to the front of Crazy Horse Monument. We would gaze from the road, not entering the park and believing we had "seen" Crazy Horse.

Someone would eventually make comments like, "They've been working on this forever," or "Doesn't look any different to me."

In our ignorance, we would make the comparison between the completed Mount Rushmore and the work in progress at Crazy Horse as if the two can be compared. As I entered Crazy Horse to prepare for this article, I expected nothing of significance and was sure I would have to dig hard to find something of interest to pass on to my readers. I have never been more wrong!

What was beyond those gates was a dream bigger than anything I imagined, and I left feeling very small. Crazy Horse Memorial is the changing of a mountain and the carving of a dream that began in 1940 by sculptor Korczak Ziolkowski, who visited the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation in South Dakota to meet Chief Henry Standing Bear.

The story of the pain, suffering and sacrifice this man, his family and the Indian people made to fulfill this dream is overwhelming. One simply must visit the Black Hills of South Dakota and see Crazy Horse Monument. If you just drive by Crazy Horse -- and do not enter its gates -- you have missed the experience of a lifetime.

Admission is about $9 per person; however, admission is free for people of American Indian decent or uniformed military.

I entered the main building greeted by a smorgasbord of activities. The museum is full of history and Indian heritage. Hours could be spent looking at the art, documents and displays. Young and old will especially enjoy the 20-minute film, which is full of live-action day and night dynamite blasts, fire and animals.

As you walk past the life-sized teepee you meet Native Indians and can purchase their wares. Kids will love the hands-on experience of grinding corn and making arrowheads.

There are buses for $3 that take you to the foot of the mountain where you look up in excitement as they blast away at rock, and small yellow machines -- minimized by the size of the mountain -- scratch away to make their mark in time.

But the life-changing experience comes with an optional van ride to the top of the mountain and to the face of Crazy Horse. As I and my children donned our hard hats, our guide began to weave the tale of the mountain as our van wound up the gravel road, passing a graveyard of discarded machinery that had been used to change the mountain.

We stood on the outstretched arm of Crazy Horse, which points off to the horizon. I remembered his words: "My lands are where my dead lie buried." My children seemed to grasp the awesome reality that we were standing on the largest three-dimensional sculpture in the world. "Kodak moment" is an understatement -- I used five rolls of film.

My children giggled with excitement as they were allowed to pick-up granite stones, imprinted with drill marks from dynamite blasts, to take home as souvenirs.

When you visit Crazy Horse, your admission makes you a sponsor of American history. Crazy Horse is not a government project, it is a work totally funded and sponsored by the American people. So strongly did Korczak believe in the dream, he turned down $10 million from the government to ensure it was a gift to the people by the people.

When I read the chronicle of the physical injuries and pain Korczak paid for his dream, I realized he changed along with the mountain. The dream is carried on by his widow, Ruth, and seven of their 10 children who work daily at the memorial.

The sun set as I left the park reading, "When the legends die the dreams end, when the dreams end there is no more greatness."

I pondered the concept of greatness and picked-up the phone to call my parents to tell them of my day. I was surprised to hear from my father a story from his youth when he, as a young pastor, found a man named Korczak injured along the road. My father helped him, and my father's kindness was repaid almost 40 years later unknowingly by Korczak's widow and her staff when they took the young pastor's daughter and grandchildren to the top of the mountain for a small glimpse into a great dream.

Carolyn Kempf is president of Elite Travel in Cape Girardeau. (334-1234 or carolyn@elitetravelinc.com)