By Cindy Card Buchholz

Dr. Reuben Bareis of Rapid City is proof that doctors never truly retire.

In August, Dr. Bareis discussed health care reform on South Dakota Public Radio. He writes occasional letters to newspaper editors about healthcare topics that concern him and has been on a crusade to educate the public about an advanced directive called Comfort One.

“A law was passed in 2004 and amended in 2005 that makes it possible for somebody to declare they don’t want to be resuscitated,” he said. After a person fills out the proper application through South Dakota Emergency Medical Services, he or she receives a bracelet to wear that declares their wish.

At 81 years old, Dr. Bareis wears the bracelet to alert emergency medical service providers, hospitals and other medical personnel about his cardiopulmonary resuscitation directives and protocols. “Almost five years have gone by and there are still lots of people who are not aware of it.” 

He’s also been involved with the Arthritis Association, and he’s regularly asked for free medical advice. Although he retired 10 years ago, neighbors of Dr. Bareis still seek his professional advice when they run into him in the dining hall or elevator at Westhills Village Retirement Community in Rapid City. He says that never gets old.

(Read the rest of this story in FACES Fall ‘09)

By Danie Koskan

There’s a saying around Bob Burke’s office that people fall into one of two categories.

“Either you’re a Beatles fan or you’re an Elvis fan,” said the 36-year-old admirer of the King. “You can’t be both.”

Bob attributes his musical taste to his father, who introduced him to the rock ‘n’ roll legend at a tender age.

“I had to listen to him over and over as a kid,” he said.

It may not have been love at first listen, but his father’s fondness for all things Elvis eventually became his own.

Music was a constant through Bob’s formative years, but so was his dad. His father’s unwavering presence was a gift Bob wishes all fathers could give their children.

“Dads want to be involved with their kids’ lives,” he said. “Sometimes they just don’t know how to do it.”

Bob shows them how.   

(Read the rest of this story in FACES Fall ‘09)

By Danie Koskan

Read profiles of the Primal Quest team in FACES Fall ‘09)

By Kaija Swisher

The black gloves move swiftly, and Markie Scholz is no longer alone on stage.  She shares the spotlight with dragons, talking animals, trolls, and witches, to name just a few of the cast of characters that make up Dragons Are Too Seldom Puppet Theatre.  Entertaining audiences of all ages with stories of good thwarting evil, Markie Scholz reminds people that dragons might be too seldom, but magic is never rare within her puppetry.

Watching Markie create whole worlds with puppetry, her passion for her art is almost palpable.  “I think the key is to remember that you are creating a vehicle to provide entertainment, and unless you are providing entertainment, you are failing,” says Markie.  “I am not in the top million of the greatest puppeteers around, but I do puppetry well, and I am a storyteller, and I do that extremely well.  I combine the two in a way that I think not many people do. I try to combine puppetry as entertainment with storytelling as entertainment—and to make the two mesh so well that you don’t know where one starts and one stops.”

(Read the rest of this story in FACES Fall ‘09)

By Judy Love

Jack Knowles stood on his podium at the Rushmore Plaza Civic Center last May, left arm raised above his head. Barely turning his head, he scanned the orchestra, making sure that all eyes were on him. With a sudden flourish, he forcefully swung his baton, and the orchestra came to life with the first explosive notes of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. It was the last offering of the final concert of the Black Hills Symphony Orchestra’s 74^th season. It was the last piece that Jack would direct in his long reign as its conductor. After leading the group for nearly half of its seasons, he stepped down and passed on his baton to his son, Bruce, then associate director.

Bruce was appointed conductor by the orchestra’s board of directors soon after Jack announced his retirement. That the orchestra would continue to be led by a Knowles was no surprise to Black Hills concertgoers. So many family members have held positions of influence in the group that some have dubbed it the “Knowles family orchestra.” Jack’s wife of 43 years, Deborah, is the principal clarinetist, and Bruce’s wife, Carol, is concertmaster.

(Read the rest of this story in FACES Fall ‘09)

By James Van Nuys

“Blessed are the thin, for they shall inherit the beach.”

It was becoming increasingly evident that I was not thin. The publishers of Black Hills FACES had tried to be nice about it, but they had informed me that the magazine wanted its staff to project an image of youth, health, and vitality. “We realize,” the memo said, “that there is not much you can do about the youth problem, but we feel it’s only fair to notify you that we have interviewed several art directors for whom physical fitness is, perhaps, more of a priority than it is in your case. We have made no decision as yet, and trust that this situation can be resolved in the best interest of all parties.”

I understood corporate-speak well enough to interpret this as: “Lose weight or lose your job,” and in this economy I wasn’t about to leave a lucrative position with one of the nation’s most successful publications without a fight. It was D-Day; the big “D” had to start immediately.  Not tomorrow–today.

(Read the rest of this story in FACES Fall ‘09)

Looking back, it was probably a pretty lame question to ask a trio of champion archers, but I had to start someplace. “So how fast does the arrow travel?” I asked Stu, Scott and Sara Henderson as they gathered bows, arrows and other paraphernalia out of their truck to prepare for our FACES photo shoot in the backyard of their Spearfish Canyon cabin.

It was a warm day, typical of mid-summer in the Northern Black Hills, sun shining one minute and light rain showers the next. I had decided to take advantage of a rainy interlude to get some preliminary questions out of the way.

“I can figure that out,” Stu said. “Can I borrow your pen and a piece of paper?”

I watched in amazement as the retired Navy fighter pilot plotted out a mathematical equation–complete with x’s, fractions and equal signs. The pen scratched across the paper for a few moments and he was done.
”Mine is 191 miles per hour, Scott’s is 204 and Sara’s is 164,” Stu said, with a satisfied nod.

Daughter Sara and son Scott exchanged knowing smiles but kept silent. With four teenagers of my own, I am well versed in the nonverbal communication of teens—the eye-rolling, the head shaking, the here-we-go-again expressions. Which is why I zeroed in on Scott’s and Sara’s expressions.  What was this?  Respect? Admiration?  High schoolers actually thinking their dad was cool?

This exchange provided my first glimpse of the bonds within the Henderson family.  There would be more to come, and collectively they would explain not only why these three would pick a sport they could enjoy as a family, but also why they made the tough decision a couple of years ago to leave the military life and their home in Oregon to move back to the Northern Hills where Stu grew up.  It’s a story of sacrifice and choices.  Mostly, it’s a story about what it means to be a family.

By Beth Palmer

(Read the rest of this story in FACES Fall ‘09)

By Kaija Swisher

Whether running up Spearfish Canyon, disc-golfing around BHSU, or biking to the Crow Peak Brewery, John Williams is familiar with the adventure the area has to offer.  “There’s an abundance here to partake in,” says the 2002 Spearfish High School and 2007 BHSU grad.  “I love to hike, bike, run, camp, backpack, disc golf, rock climb—there are so many activities that I sometimes have to cut some out!”  John keeps on the lookout for anything unique and different, full of fun and adventure, and has set the bar at least twice as high through his most recent activity: tall biking.   

Seated up on a tall bike built of two bicycle frames stacked on top of each other, John finds that most people give second or third looks as they try to figure out what they are seeing.  He has begun to anticipate the four main questions he gets from people about the bike: How the heck do you get on?  How do you get off?  Doesn’t it hurt when you fall off?  Why would you build something like this?  John is ready with the answers, and patiently explains and shows people the basics.  “If you can imagine having to get on a horse, you have a stirrup you have to step into, which is a little over your knee level,” he says.  “When you are getting on the bike, the pedal in down position is at about the same place.”

By Danie Koskan

In love and running, sometimes you have to go the distance.

It was the fall of 1993, and 47-year-old Jerry Dunn was in the thick of a year-long endeavor to run 104 marathons when he found himself at the starting line of the Mount Rushmore International Marathon.

It was just another race. Jerry lived by the same schedule week after week: Work four days back home in Indiana, fly out to the next race, run, fly back and start the whole thing over again.

There was little time for anything else — romance included. Besides, he’d been married before, and marriage hadn’t worked out too well.

South Dakota seemed an unlikely place for second chances. But there she was.

Elaine Doll was something of a local running icon, having earned the name “Wonder Woman” for her post-40 athletic achievements.

The two runners exchanged pleasantries. Jerry was smitten. Sure, geography posed a problem, but he wasn’t about to let Elaine get away.

“I figured it was all or nothing,” Jerry said of his dogged determination to woo Wonder Woman.

Elaine eventually agreed to a date.

The fairy tale ending didn’t immediately follow. Elaine soon learned she had bladder cancer, but she didn’t take the disease lying down. She beat cancer. Jerry, however, wasn’t as easy to shake. He wanted to marry her.

Elaine had been widowed and divorced, raised seven children and now relished her newfound freedom. The single life suited her. Marriage, even to a great guy like Jerry, could change all that.

Jerry persisted and changed her mind.

The promise of unconditional love, Elaine said, “was a big draw.”

Less than two years after their first marathon encounter, the couple wed on the run. In true Dunn fashion, they went the distance and ran the Walt Disney World Marathon on their wedding day. Ten miles into their 26.2-mile undertaking, they stopped to exchange vows in front of Cinderella’s Castle.

(Read the rest of this story in Summer ‘09 FACES)

By Bill Schulz

It was twenty feet, just twenty feet . . .  Wil Collins faced the biggest putt of his life and would soon realize the fulfillment of his lifelong dream, and he didn’t even know it.

Born on August 24, 1978, Wil grew up on Nicklaus Drive in Rapid City just a short distance from Arrowhead Country Club. At age two he would play in the yard with his plastic golf clubs. At age five he would win his first golf tournament using an adult golf club his Dad had sawed down for him. As chronicled in the Rapid City Journal,

Wil Collins of Rapid City was the four-hole champion at Meadowbrook Golf Course. Collins Is only five years old, but captured the eight-to-14-year-olds’ four-hole division at the course on Wednesday…Collins says he’s not quite sure if he likes golf enough yet to turn professional.

The uncertainty ended three years later during the 1986 Masters when Wil realized that he did indeed want to be a pro golfer. “I went to my father’s work with him on Sunday morning. I remember watching Nicklaus make his back nine charge to overcome Greg Norman and others. When Nicklaus won, I had goose bumps cover my body; I still get them now even as I recall that moment.”

Read the rest of this story in Summer ‘09 FACES