Part One of a Longer Black Hills Story
August 2015
The rotund Gordy Hamilton began sweating the moment he shut off the engine and stepped out of his air-conditioned Honda CRV into the Badlands sun. In minutes rivulets of perspiration were flowing off his face, dampening his shirt.
He and Doris had just finished that painfully boring drive across the prairie from Sioux Falls to Wall Drug on their way to a vacation in the Black Hills. They initially found all those billboards amusing: “201 Miles Wall Drug” and “25 Minutes Wall Drug”and “Cowboy Up.” As they drew near the only thing on their minds was finding a restroom.
After a meal Gordy took out his camera for a few photos. They were standing on a small platform in front of the wax museum. He forced Doris to stand next to a rustic-looking doorway while he framed up a shot. Squinting, he made adjustments, then stepped back a half foot — a bad mistake because his heel had no support so that he lost his balance.
Though only a small drop, it’s a hard fall when a 340-pound mass keels backwards head first onto asphalt. By the time Doris reached him his eyes had rolled back into his skull, his white sausage-like arms quivering, a gutteral k-k-sk-ka-ska-k-k clucking from his throat. She screamed.
