After V-J Day, the Black Hills Ordnance Depot no longer shipped out massive amounts of ammunition. Instead, the facility's functions included receiving and storing unused ammunition, disposing of excess military supplies and material, and storing, renovating, and maintaining other supplies. In the years following World War 11, the civilian work force decreased to about seven hundred people. For these people the depot provided jobs and a home without the frantic activity and tensions of the World War II era. Harry and Lanoir Pederson were two of the people who came to the depot after the war and remained to make it their home:

On November 6, 1945, in a Model A Ford coupe, my husband and I left Woodbine, Iowa, after Harry had answered an ad for truck drivers at the Black Hills Ordnance Depot, South Dakota. I had taught school in Iowa and Harry had been discharged from the U.S. Air Force after serving four years and seven months. We had no idea where the Depot was, but the postmark on the letter was 'Provo.' We had visited the Black Hills of South Dakota in 1936 and loved them. With the idea that B.H.O.D. was near the Hills we hoped we'd like the area, could be together, and could work a year or so until we could 'get on our feet.' By the evening of November 7 we were checked in at the Depot. Harry was ready to work the next morning and we were in the furnished one bedroom barracks apartment which was to be our home for several months. My husband's starting salary was 64 cents an hour and rental charges were based on salary, not on the type or size of quarters. (Lanoir Pederson, unpublished manuscript, n.d.)

The Pedersons moved into a two-bedroom apartment the following year; they lived there with their two sons until 1967. Both boys graduated from Provo High School. Upon Harry's retirement in 1967, the couple moved to Provo. For the Pedersons, the Black Hills Ordnance Depot became more than a place to "get on their feet;" it became a home.

Many other people made a life at the Black Hills Ordnance Depot in the years following World War 11. However, any sense of stability was tempered by the fact that they lived on a government installation, an installation that could be closed as a result of federal budget cuts, administrative changes, or any number of other outside factors. Although the depot was designated a permanent installation in 1954, those involved knew that this status was subject to change. As a result, residents were highly aware of the significance of lay-offs, hirings, new construction, or the refusal by officials to approve such construction. As the years passed, workers examined each decision concerning the depot in an attempt to find reassurance.

For the most part, any uneasiness employees felt about their future stayed in the background as they performed their duties. In the post-war years, several events tested their mettle. In 1946, a shipment of phosphorous bombs caught fire, resulting in explosions and small fires on the depot grounds. The fires could be seen from several miles away, and depot firemen were kept busy extinguishing them.

In 1949, a severe blizzard struck during the first week of January. The storm paralyzed traffic in the area, cancelled school sessions, and interrupted mail deliveries, telephone service, and railroad travel. In the wide open, treeless area around Igloo, the winds and snow were particularly merciless. William Knodel, a depot employee, experienced the brunt of the storm when he went out on a rescue mission:

Joe Trotter, a rancher, had his sheep pastured out in the combat area of the depot. The first day of the blizzard Joe and a couple of other fellows came in to get his sheep into a warehouse out there so they would be out of the storm. Joe stopped by the Heavy Equipment Shop and it was really snowing and blowing by then. He said, 'If we aren't in by five o'clock, you guys better start looking for us.' Five o'clock came and they hadn't come in so Howard Zink Sr. and I left the Heavy Equipment Shop with a big V plow with a side wing and took the outside loop road in the combat area. It was snowing so heavy and the wind blowing so hard we could hardly see the road. We decided we would have to take turns walking ahead of the snowplow to stay on the road. The snow and wind kept freezing our eyes shut so we could only walk a short distance and we would exchange with each other but we were determined to find Joe and the other two men. We had driven about a mile and a half when we accidentally stumbled upon their car which was almost covered with snow. They were okay so we had the three men and dog climb into the cab of the snow plow and we continued on the loop road to get back to the heavy equipment shop. As we turned to the northwest and headed into the storm it was impossible to see anything. All we could do was drive by feel. Whenever the plow felt like it was going off the road I would turn the steering wheel the other direction. Probably drove like this for a mile and a half. Finally we saw the red light from the fire station and we drove on to the shop to get the snow plow stored inside. What a good feeling it was to have everyone back to safety. Joe couldn't get his sheep to the warehouse because they drifted with the wind against the fence. He lost about five hundred head of sheep. (William Knodel, unpublished manuscript, n.d. )

The end of the storm did not totally alleviate the emergency conditions. Personnel had to deal with blocked roads and other problems caused by the huge snowfall. A few days after the storm, it became necessary to dig out some ammunition box cars. Because many employees who lived off the depot could not get to work, William Knodel was the only operator on the post and had to do the job himself:

I had to operate the locomotive crane to dig through the big drifts to get these ammunition cars out to the railroad. One cut I went through was drifted in with twenty-five to thirty feet of snow. I worked for sixteen hours straight to get the big drifts out so they could move the box cars out. The fellows in the railroad locomotive fixed coffee and sandwiches for me. (Ibid.)

Knodel's willingness to risk his safety and work long hours under adverse conditions was demonstrated by other depot employees when the second disaster of the post-war years struck. On March 31, 1950, Joseph M. Murray, Douglas Armentrout, Jr., Harrison Bird, and Louis E. Sanford were working in an igloo magazine. At about 8:10 A.M., an explosion blew off the top of the igloo, shattered one wall, and scattered unexploded ammunition throughout the area. The structure collapsed upon the men inside, trapping them under the concrete and other debris. Immediately, officials and employees organized rescue operations. Due to the presence of the hand and rifle grenades scattered throughout the site, the Commanding Officer refused to order anyone into the area; consequently, all the rescue workers volunteered for the duty. Eighty civilian employees took part in the operation, many of them working non-stop in an attempt to save the workers.

Within thirty-six hours, Louis Sanford, the only employee to survive the accident, had been rescued, and the bodies of the other three workers located. Later that year, the volunteers received awards for their roles in rescuing Sanford and recovering the bodies of Murray, Armentrout, and Bird. (See Appendix II). Despite the presence of volatile materials and heavy machinery, only two other job-related deaths occurred: one man died as a result of a tractor accident and another from burns suffered while diffusing a bomb. All in all, the depot maintained an excellent safety record throughout its history.

On June 25, 1950, North Korean forces crossed the 38th parallel into South Korea and engaged troops there in battle. President Truman, convinced the attack was a Communist threat to the free world, ordered U.S. military forces to the assistance of the South Korean government. The development of the Korean conflict quickly affected the Ordnance Department, including the Black Hills Ordnance Depot. New ammunition and supplies came in; personnel repaired items in storage and shipped them out. As demand grew heavy, the depot began operating on double and triple shifts. Post engineer personnel, police, and firefighters assisted in fulfilling the depot's obligations. Officials conducted a recruiting campaign to increase the work force and local papers carried notices requesting workers. Male laborers, munition handlers, and boiler firemen, who could earn from $1.10 to $1.13 an hour, were particularly needed. Single men could obtain low-cost housing on the depot, but no family housing was available. Again, the lack of family housing created difficulties in recruiting workers. Also, the existing quarters had been built as temporary structures and were not in good condition. Consequently, a program of repair and construction was approved in order to update the accommodations. The number of employees slowly increased to about 1,300, nearly doubling the post-World War II level. After the Korean Truce in July, 1953, activities slowed. In the following months, the employment level dropped to about 950; many of the separations occurred through attrition. The depot's chief function again became receipt and storage of ammunition.

In addition to the rehabilitation of the housing, other construction and repair projects occurred during the fifties, reassuring residents that the depot would remain open. In 1955, a new ammunition maintenance building was erected; this was the first permanent construction on the depot since World War II. In a dedication ceremony Senator Francis Case gave voice to the general optimism by saying the building was a forerunner of continued growth and improvement at the Black Hills Ordnance Depot. Another project involved the replacement of water pipes. The cast-iron pipes had been laid during the original construction and had a normal life-span of fifty to one hundred years. Due to the corrosive qualities of the water and the alkaline soil, however, the pipes were badly deteriorated only ten years after installation. Thus, it was necessary to replace them with pipes made of more resistant materials.

Despite these activities, fears arose again in 1957 when officials were ordered to cut the work-roll, and 43 munition handler positions were lost. Within a few months, however, the depot issued a call for engineering aides to do building and road repair. In the late fifties and early sixties, employees received a number of pay raises which boosted morale and had a positive impact on the economics of nearby towns. The increases were based on results of an area wage survey, and were designed to maintain the earning power of depot employees on a level comparable to workers in the private sector. By 1962, the payroll topped three and one-half million dollars. The depot employed about 575 civilian and military personnel, and nearly 1,800 people lived on the grounds. In that same year, the facility adopted the Equal Employment policy under federal regulations. The hiring of minorities and the handicapped, however, was not new to the depot. At the time, the facility included forty-six handicapped employees, and Native Americans had worked there since the beginning.

Employees carried out various functions during the fifties and early sixties; one of these was salvage. As equipment became obsolete, it was shipped to the depot from several installations. The Salvage Branch sold it, thereby turning "junk into good U.S. dollars." (The Walrus, July 26, 1952, p. 2.) In 1951, the total sales of salvaged materials reached $35,964.99, and nearly a thousand dollars worth of salvaged goods were donated to schools and towns. In one month in 1957, two sales of salvaged materials netted $100,000.

Bomb disposal became an important responsibility during this period. Although some complaints surfaced regarding possible damage to off-depot structures due to the explosions, a University of Utah study conducted in 1956 showed that explosions of up to ten tons of defective ammunition would not damage structures. Ammunition exploded at the Black Hills Ordnance Depot by this time had never exceeded two tons. The demolition was carried on with all possible safeguards and only when proper conditions prevailed. Employees also disposed of mustard gas. One disposal site was in the northwest corner of the depot; the other was on top of a hill in the south central area. Employees stacked bombs on top of scrap wood piled in pits and drained the mustard gas; then they set the bombs on fire from a distance. In 1962, the depot employees completed the destruction of 206,850 mustard gas bombs. The Chief of Ordnance commended the depot for this particularly difficult and dangerous accomplishment. This commendation was part of a large body of recognition the facility received for its safety record. Between 1942 and 1962, the Black Hills Ordnance Depot received six national safety awards.

An important semi-official activity during the post-war period was the Ground observer Corps plane-spotting program. The Civil Defense planned the 24 - hour spotting program in 1952 and asked for 94 volunteers over the age of 18. The observation tower was on a hill near the hospital; officials considered the location of the depot particularly strategic because it was located on a principal aerial highway between potential aggressors and American industrial centers. Members of the Ground observer Corps watched for unusual aviation activity which might indicate the presence of foreign forces.

While employees worked hard to fulfill their responsibilities, they continued to enjoy the social advantages of their close-knit, self-sufficient community. By 1956 Igloo was the fifteenth largest town in South Dakota, with a population of about 2,500. Depot personnel and their dependents comprised about 95% of the populace; the remaining 5% consisted of concessionaires, their employees, and Provo School faculty members. Concessions included a bowling alley, dry cleaners, beer parlor, coffee shop, department store, grocery, and service station. Residents could swim in the pool, take flying lessons, play a game of golf on the depot course, or socialize at the Club Yucca Lounge. Youngsters enjoyed a midget baseball and softball league, as well as various other activities and organizations. The Kiwanis Club, the Veterans of Foreign Wars, and the Modern Mothers Club provided opportunities for service and the sharing of common interests. Persons with special hobbies could join the Square Dance Club, the Sportsmen's Club, or similar coteries. Through these activities, employees and their families filled off-duty hours and strengthened friendships.

In 1951, the Civilian Welfare Council founded a new, bimonthly newspaper for employees. Three hundred people submitted suggestions for the paper's name. Marvin Gayhart's offering,, The Walrus, was chosen. Gayhart picked the name because he thought Walrus was a logical appellation for a newspaper emerging from a place called "Igloo." Additionally, he was inspired by a quote from Lewis Carroll's Through the Looking Glass: 'The time has come,' the Walrus said, 'to talk of many things. N. E. McKinney served as the first editor of the paper, which mirrored Black Hills Ordnance Depot life and further solidified the residents' sense of community. In addition to beginning the paper, the Council carried on other activities such as operating the swimming pool and the library.

Through the fifties and into the sixties, the expenditures of the depot continued to be an important part of the financial health of surrounding communities. During the 1960 fiscal year, for instance, the facility dispersed 77% of all its expenditures within a 120 - mile radius of the depot. The total amount of money spent that year was $4,887,600, including the payroll; of that amount, $3,749,402 was distributed in the area of the Black Hills. Employees spent money in local stores, and the administrative officers purchased local supplies and services. Bid specifications for many of the construction and maintenance contracts required that they be awarded to small business firms, thereby providing opportunities for area companies.

The area benefited in other ways, also. For instance, in 1959 Edgemont and the Black Hills Ordnance Depot entered into an agreement for mutual fire aid. The depot had excellent fire fighting equipment as well as trained personnel; therefore, the arrangement was a definite asset to Edgemont. The value of this agreement was illustrated in 1962 when six businesses in downtown Edgemont burned in the worst fire in the city's history. Fifteen professional firemen came to fight the blaze with two of the depot's pumping units. Two of the firefighters received minor injuries. Without the assistance of B.H.O.D. personnel, the disaster would have been even worse. Ironically, the firemen had not been called upon to provide a similar service to their own community for a long time; due to the department's fire control program, no reportable fire had occurred at the depot for eleven years. Depot personnel also assisted Edgemont with advice on maintaining and building facilities and helped with a mosquito control program. Despite these benefits, however, friction developed between the two communities.

The depot had been eagerly welcomed in the beginning, primarily because people in neighboring towns realized how helpful the facility would be in an economic sense. With the passing of time, however, some people began to resent what they perceived as unfair advantages enjoyed by depot personnel. For instance, businessmen realized that their businesses would be better patronized if the concessions on the depot did not exist. Health care providers competed against the extremely economical services offered to workers on the post. Some taxpayers resented the load put on their roads, sanitary systems, and other public facilities by government personnel who did not share the burden of property tax. Others believed the depot workers made inordinately high wages in relation to other income in the area. For a few people, these concerns overshadowed the amount of money injected into the economic system by the Black Hills Ordnance Depot.

On the other hand, some depot workers also harbored a certain amount of resentment. By virtue of their jobs and their place of residence, they were set apart from the rest of the population. They sometimes believed they were treated as outsiders by local people - a feeling common to employees of public institutions from universities to army bases. Because the greatest amount of interaction took place between the depot and Edgemont, this was the source of the deepest frustration and resentment. Due to these problems, concerned parties formed a citizens' advisory committee which met with the depot's Commanding Officer to attempt to improve cooperation and good relations between the facility's residents and the people of nearby communities.

The housing problem created one source of friction. Contractors built temporary housing on the depot originally because adequate accommodations were not available in the area. The temporary housing was remodeled and updated during the Korean crisis when the employment level at the depot increased. By 1957, however, a study conducted by Senator Karl Mundt's office reported much of the housing to be inadequate, inconvenient, and overpriced. The housing was outdated, and following reports of its shortcomings, officials considered phasing it out. Consequently, Edgemont residents began considering constructing housing to replace it. They experienced problems in obtaining construction loans, however, because lenders were reluctant to place funds in housing which would drop drastically in value if the depot ever closed. In addition, many depot residents opposed large-scale housing development in Edgemont because a phase-out in favor of Edgemont housing would create a shift in the population, thus disrupting the Provo School District and the businesses on the post. Therefore, Edgemont was not able to take advantage of the housing shortage, and depot employees continued to live in housing where rents were lowered even further as a result of Mundt's report.

Yet another source of friction was the school system. At the inception of the depot, officials realized that they must make arrangements to educate the children of the workers. The Provo School District accepted the responsibility of developing the facilities and program, with the assistance of funds provided by the federal government. By the late fifties, the Provo School enrolled nearly six hundred students, about seventy-five more than Edgemont, and depot residents were calling for a new school. Senator Karl Mundt, after visiting the school, confirmed that the facilities were woefully inadequate. The Department of Health, Education, and Welfare, however, neglected for several years to take action on an application for building funds because of a reluctance to construct new facilities in a place where the citizenry lived in housing built as temporary quarters during World War 11. If the government constructed permanent housing, signaling that the population would stay in place, HEW would be willing to consider new school construction. The Army, however, decided that the salary and grade level of the employees did not justify new housing; the people, in other words, would not be able to afford the rentals on new accommodations. In addition, the Secretary of the Army reminded Senator Mundt that the depot, like all army installations, was under constant study despite its official status as a permanent base.

At the same time some Edgemont people opposed the idea of a new school for the depot, and suggested instead that the two communities consolidate and use any available funds to build a new school in Edgemont. Several of them expressed bitterness that depot employees, who were not on county tax rolls, might be provided better school facilities than tax-paying citizens. Although the new school was not constructed, Provo School District did spend about $100,000 for remodeling and equipment in 1961. Similar arguments arose when construction of a new gymnasium on the depot was approved in 1963, although many people welcomed the news as a sign that the facility was in no danger of closing.

Perhaps the most volatile controversy involved the hospital facilities. When the depot was planned, studies revealed that the nearest medical services were too far away and too limited to provide adequately for the workers. Thus, the government had a responsibility to supply medical care, and the depot hospital was built and staffed. Residents received convenient, low-cost medical care. In 1956, rumors that the Army intended to close the hospital circulated. However, Army officials offered reassurances that they would not abolish the medical facilities which served the families on the depot - 80% of the post's employees -particularly in view of the fact that the nearest hospital and clinic were in Hot Springs, forty miles away.

A short time later, some Edgemont citizens became interested in establishing a hospital in their community. They knew, however, that the small population would make the proposition unfeasible unless the large number of depot personnel were included in the clientele. Aware that government regulations allowed Army treatment of civilian employees only when other facilities were unavailable, Edgemont officials, in 1959, asked for some guarantee that the depot hospital would be closed if the city established their own medical facility. The Surgeon General assured them that the presence of adequate health care services would result in the withdrawal of Army services to civilians.

With such a promise the promoters of the hospital felt justified in proceeding with their plans. Although a number of Edgemont citizens opposed the proposed facility, the city council resolved a ten-month battle in October, 1959, and voted five to one to proceed with construction. The Edgemont Memorial Hospital was dedicated on September 30, 1962. A few days later, the Executive Secretary of the South Dakota State Medical Association wrote to the Surgeon General, reminding him of his assurances regarding the depot's medical care, and informing him that the Edgemont hospital was operative. The official replied that civilian medical care on the depot would be terminated if the government deemed the Edgemont hospital adequate. Consequently, the status of the depot hospital, which had been providing complete in-patient and out-patient care, was changed to that of a dispensary on July 1, 1963. The nominally priced care of civilians was phased out; only military personnel and dependents and civilians with specifically job-related complaints could be treated.

The change angered and disappointed Black Hills Ordnance Depot residents. They flooded Congressional offices with letters, asking that full medical services be reinstated. They pointed out the need for quick, readily available care in the case of emergencies, particularly in a community with a large number of children. Edgemont, although only about seven miles away, could be difficult to reach during bad weather. Employees accustomed to receiving routine care with little loss of work t ime were forced to take one-half to one day off to receive the same care in Edgemont. Native American employees feared facing discrimination or prejudice at the Edgemont hospital. The situation had an adverse affect on Edgemont - Black Hills Army Depot relations, and the progress made by the depot-community advisory committee was diminished. Many Igloo people blamed Edgemont citizens for the curtailment of health care on the post, and some refused to patronize businesses in the town.

The residue of bitterness left by these controversies was unfortunate. However, the problems did not completely sever relations between Edgemont and other communities and the depot. Even though most of the employees lived on the post, many also lived in Provo, Hot Springs, or Edgemont; a depot employee even served as Edgemont's mayor. While the community on the depot was self-contained, for the most part, employees did shop and socialize in the neighboring towns. The problems concerning housing, the school system, and the hospital served to increase feelings of separateness and isolation experienced by those employees who lived on the grounds of the facility.

The depot residents experienced another controversy in the late 1950s when officials attempted to abolish the name Igloo as the mailing address and change it to Black Hills Ordnance Depot. Igloo, these officials believed, gave an unfavorable impression of the area's climate. The people who lived on the depot, however, identified with the name Igloo and protested the proposed change. In 1959, Representative E. Y. Berry announced that the mailing address would remain "Igloo." Another type of name change took place in 1962 when the Army reorganized its administrative structure and the Ordnance Corps became attached to the U.S. Army Supply and Maintenance Command. Accordingly, the facility's name was changed to Black Hills Army Depot. This change had little effect on depot residents and employees. The most dramatic change was looming on the horizon.