By 1964, the depot stored more than 250,000 tons of ammunition in the 801 igloos. The facility included 504 buildings; employees received, stored, maintained, and inspected ammunition, chemical toxics, and propellants. They also unpacked and packed small arms ammunition. Civilians leased 14,615 acres of the depot for grazing purposes, and the South Dakota National Guard, as well as other government agencies, utilized the area periodically. Although the workload and employee level seemed relatively stable, rumors that the depot was to close began circulating. The source of these rumors was new federal policy. Robert McNamara, Secretary of Defense under John F. Kennedy, had embarked upon a program of defense cost reduction. As a part of this program officials conducted a study of ammunition storage depots with the objective of reducing excess storage space by consolidating facilities. In March of 1964 an inspection team visited the Black Hills Army Depot for two hours, fueling the fears of employees and residents.

Involved people began serious efforts to prevent the South Dakota depot from being included in the budget cutting process. Several Chamber of Commerce members from Edgemont traveled to Washington, D.C., to convince officials of the depot's value. Senator George McGovern explained to the Secretary of the Army the local importance of the facility, particularly in view of the fact that it provided employment for a large number of Native Americans - about 90 out of a total 500 employees - who otherwise would have difficulty obtaining jobs. Senator Karl Mundt stressed its economic impact on the area, noting that Edgemont's new hospital, built at a cost of more than $324,000, probably would not survive without the depot population. Edgemont's mayor urged citizens to contact their congressmen in support of the Black Hills Army Depot.

Their efforts were futile. On April 24, 1964, the Secretary of Defense announced the closure of various facilities; among them was the Black Hills Army Depot, to be phased out over a period of three years and closed by June, 1967. According to the official report, studies indicated that the Ordnance Department could anticipate 3.8 million square feet of excess storage space by 1970; thus, some facilities had to be eliminated. The studies showed that the Black Hills Army Depot was one of the posts least capable of performing several different functions. Closing it would provide $3.1 million in annual savings. The Defense Department saw no other military use for the depot after 1967; therefore, it would become available for disposal as excess property by the General Services Administration. In its entirety the new economic cutback closed or diminished similar facilities in fifty-two locations around the United States, with an estimated $68 million in annual savings.

The announcement dealt a severe blow to the approximately five hundred employees of the depot. For many of them Igloo was home; here they had raised families, made friends, and lived reasonably secure lives. Now they were losing not only their jobs, but their homes as well. The government offered assurances of assistance. Employees were offered positions in other installations, with the Defense Department paying transportation costs for families who moved as a result of accepting such a position. The Civil Service Commission assisted in the planning and completion of the employee transfers. Despite the security of continued employment, workers dreaded the prospect of uprooting their families and parting with their friends. Cordelia Erickson, a Civilian Personnel Officer during the phase-out period, wrote a description of life on the depot in the months following the announcement:

[ At the Black Hills Army Depot ] there were the usual transients, the drifters who take from a community rather than give. The majority were civic-minded citizens who wanted a church, school and home. They stayed and they worked, and they forgot that Igloo was intended to be only a temporary wartime establishment. The shock would have been less had the announcement come sooner. Roots had grown deep. Twenty-two years meant permanence to many. But Washington thought differently. The ammunition was obsolete. Disposal of the depot was a means of cutting the national budget. Igloo had to go. New terms became familiar - transfer of function, priority placement, phasing out. McNamara became a dirty word. People reacted differently. The devil-may-care type feigned indifference, said he was looking for a job when he came. A few adventurous souls welcomed the opportunity to make a change, get out of the rut. They were determined to make the most of it. They planned to see the world and to conquer it. Some regretted their many contract purchases. The 'easy' installments would be difficult without a job and steady income. A number bought new cars so they 'would have the means to get out.' A few refused to face reality - Igloo would never close - it couldn't. Something would happen to rescind the order - the election, world conditions, something. Many wished they had saved some of their salary for a rainy day. It was so easy to spend as long as there was always another check in just two weeks. And who would have thought that the rainy day was so near at hand? Children and young people were strongly affected. Many were born on the post, attended school there, knew no other way of life. They panicked at the thought of change. In the meat department of the supermarket there was a run on hamburger while steaks were left to age. The beer parlor was almost deserted. The piggy banks got the saved quarters. Those with the urge to drown their sorrows visited the bars in neighboring towns. Socially, acquaintances become friends, friends become even closer as the time becomes more limited and they face the common bond of joblessness and of being scattered to the winds. The strong put forth special effort to maintain community activities and spirit among adults and youth. Others say, 'What's the use? We've had it. We're through. For the majority, the closure results in quiet desperation. Concern over living conditions, working conditions, schools, climate, leaving relatives and friends, and most of all, fear of the unknown. Fear of being left out caused some to accept the first job opportunity available, regardless of location or grade, without thought of consequence. Many already regret their decision. These transfers were replaced by term hires, people who know their appointment will not exceed June of 1967 and who do not consider themselves an integral part of the community. Today, several months after the verdict, as Igloo is working at the vast task of phasing out, jealousy, hatred, and bitterness born of fear prevails. Each is afraid the other will get a better job, a more desirable location, and there is always the agony of whose job will be abolished first. The man who had planned on retiring prior to the crisis is now in doubt. Possibly he should accept a transfer. They owe him a job, don't they? The man who qualifies for retirement, whether for length of service or for age or both, carefully calculates his annuity. He figures his living costs and wonders whether he can afford to take his retirement. He also wonders if he can afford not to take it. Aside from the economic factor and disrupting lives, the closure has a psychological impact on people. They firmly believed that the Black Hills Army Depot had a vital part in the defense of this nation and they took pride in their share of maintaining the peace. It was a staggering blow to learn their efforts were no longer needed. In the dissolution of the depot, perhaps it is the humble rabbit who will make the most in capital gains. His sagebrush-covered desert has been transformed into a grassy playground studded with trees and shrubs. Death is never easy. Anticipated death is even worse. It means pain and heartbreak. So it is in the death of a depot. (Cordelia W. Erickson, "Death of a Depot," unpublished manuscript, 1964.)

The emotional trauma of these employees whose lives were suddenly in disarray was painful. Others shared their anxiety, but for different reasons. The population of the surrounding area was shocked and deeply concerned by the impending closure also. Local reaction to the announcement was immediate. Area newspapers mirrored the concerns felt by depot employees and local residents. The editor of the Custer Chronicle sarcastically noted that the closure of the Black Hills Army Depot was inevitable, given the fact that the facility had experienced no labor problems or scandals, was located on isolated land suited to almost no other purpose, and had an admirable record for safety and efficiency. The editor of the Edgemont Herald-Tribune said that the closing announcement "struck terror into the hearts" of many citizens. "What is going to happen to us? How will we pay the taxes necessary to retire our bonded indebtedness? ... " he asked. (Edgemont Herald-Tribune, May 7, 1964.)

His fears were well founded. According to one report, 75% of Edgemont's work force was involved with the depot in some way, and the community would probably be more affected by the closings than any other town in the nation. The Black Hills Army Depot was the economic mainstay of Edgemont and its approximately 1,680 citizens. Could Edgemont absorb the loss of a large group of residents and a multi-million dollar payroll? According to Department of Defense figures, about 482 jobs were affected by the depot's closing. Other sources of revenue, including the railroad industry, local ranching, small uranium processing mills, and a new, small plaque manufacturing factory could not fill the gap opened by the depot's demise.

Luckily, the residents were not left to grapple with these problems unaided. Senator George McGovern stated in the Senate the day the closing was announced:

I believe that the Federal Government has an obligation to the people of Igloo and Edgemont, an obligation to protect them against the loss of income that will follow in the wake of the military shutdown.... It should protect them ... by helping to provide alternative sources of jobs and income in the performance of useful work. (Congressional Record, April 24, 1964, p. 8769-8770.)

The federal government did recognize and accept this responsibility. Representatives of the Area Redevelopment Administration began visiting the region shortly after the announcement in order to report on the projected effects of the closing and to suggest solutions to the problems caused by it. These people, along with area residents, proposed various uses for the depot's physical facilities which would continue to provide financial input to the area. Authorities at the Black Hills Army Depot helped in the process by compiling pictures and data into an explanatory brochure. The Edgemont Chamber of Commerce devoted efforts to publicizing the existence of the site and searching for a profitable role for it. Among the suggestions were the location of an army training site, a Job Corps Center, a Bureau of Indian Affairs school, or a branch of the state penitentiary. Residents heartily supported the location of an Atomic Energy Commission "atom smasher" plant at the depot when that commission began searching for sites on which to place atomic reactors. However, hopes for such a designation were dashed when South Dakota was taken off the list of preferred sites for such a facility. Other possible uses also developed pitfalls ranging from economic inconvenience to lack of public approval.

Meanwhile, the operations of the depot began to focus on the closing. After the announcement, workers started shipping out stored ammunition. Within one year, 122,500 tons of ammunition were shipped; 40% of it went overseas and the balance to other installations. Employees began transferring to other facilities, retiring, or resigning. By mid 1965, about 150 of the approximately five hundred employees had left. Consequently, depot officials hired temporary workers to replace the departed permanent employees. According to phase-out plans, employment levels dropped in gradual stages until the actual closing.

As the closing date approached, people continued attempts to keep the depot open. In the spring of 1967, the Department of Defense agreed to review their decision. This news, along with increasing United States military involvement in Viet Nam, led some to believe that the facility would survive. Shipping and crating operations stopped while officials studied the situation. The brief period of optimism ended, however; when the decision to close the post was upheld.

At 4:00 P.M. on June 30,1967, the flag at the Black Hills Army Depot came down for the last time. No ceremony marked the end of the facility's twenty-five-year service to the country. Twenty people, hired from the 112 employees retained until closing, remained as caretakers for a fifteen month period. Silence began to descend on the lonely prairie site which once echoed with the sounds of ball games, dance music, school bells, and people talking as they worked.

Within a few months, the effect of the closing on the city of Edgemont was evident. The population, about 1,680 at the time of the announcement, had dropped to 1,440. There were 43 vacant homes in the community, and the assessed valuation of real estate - $4,500,000 in 1962-had descended to $3,055,000. Owners had abandoned twenty-four homes. One house, previously valued at $18,500, brought a bid of $3,500. The county took fifteen homes for nonpayment of taxes. The net income of some community businessmen had declined by 50%. Obviously, Edgemont suffered from the loss of its mainstay, and local and government officials continued to search for a use for the depot's facilities which would bolster the local economy.

In the course of this search, Edgemont's citizens began considering the purchase of the depot by the community for development as an industrial park. Federal officials assisted with pertinent plans and publicity; they also arranged for a water study because they suspected that some of the reluctance of businesses to locate in the area was due to the corrosive water conditions. In1967, the efforts of community residents and government officials produced concrete results. The "Morrison Group," five businessmen from Nebraska, Utah, Colorado, and Wyoming, began investigating the possibility of developing the depot area. The head of the group had founded a highly successful business; upon selling his interests, he formed the group of investors interested in obtaining properties for development. The group proposed to lease the site from the city with an option to buy the property after five years. City officials were enthused by the prospect, and the state's congressional delegation, along with government officials, assisted and advised them in developing a proposal.

As negotiations continued, however, the Forest Service requested 20,000 acres of the land for a grazing district. Under regulations of the General Services Administration, which controls the disposal of excess government lands, government agencies have an opportunity to request such lands before they are sold or otherwise distributed. The Forest Service exercised their prerogative by asking for the land. In addition, the Forest Service, as a component of the Department of Agriculture, had held title to a portion of the area prior to the establishment of the depot, and maintained that it had an obligation to manage this land. As Forest Service officials pointed out, regulations prohibited the use of land managed by the Department of Agriculture for industrial purposes. Naturally, industrial development would be more lucrative to the area than government grazing land, and area residents who supported the industrial complex proposal contacted government representatives and officials in an attempt to deny the land to the Forest Service. Eventually, the Secretary of Agriculture reviewed the situation and resolved the problem, enabling the General Services Administration to proceed with disposal of the land. The Department of Agriculture received about three thousand acres as well as 2,700 acres of former Agriculture land which reverted to them. The city of Edgemont, was allowed to proceed with the purchase of about 15,356 acres of the property, including about one thousand improvements and structures.

Negotiations with the Morrison Group proceeded. The company offered $450,000 to lease the property with plans to develop the area for munitions storage, the establishment of a state home for retarded persons, light manufacturing, and grazing leases. The initial General Services Administration appraisal of the site was $770,000, but this price was lowered. After favorable legal rulings were obtained, the city purchased the property on November 4, 1968, for less than $700,000 with money raised through the sale of bonds. Under the terms of the agreement, the city of Edgemont had to maintain the chapel and provide interdenominational services, and was responsible for providing water to Provo at reasonable rates through the depot water system.

The Morrison Group's original plans did not reach fruition, although that organization and several other interests became involved in the land through leasing arrangements. A Texas cattleman began a feedlot on about 3,000 acres, but the venture was unsuccessful and closed in 1974. A hog raising program instituted by a North Dakota company still operates, but the scale of the project has been greatly reduced since its inception. In October of 1978 a transportation company opened a railroad car repair operation with ten employees and projections of expanded jobs for mechanics and welders; these projections did not materialize, and only a few people work there today.

Cattle and sheep graze on much of the land which stayed in federal ownership. Today the site of the Black Hills Army Depot is nearly deserted, except for those herds of grazing animals and a small number of people who live in the area. Edgemont residents still hope that a use can be found for the area which will revitalize their sagging economy. In recent years, interest in utilizing the area as a nuclear waste storage site has materialized and has been a source of controversy among area residents as well as citizens of the entire state of South Dakota. The future of the former depot, therefore, is still in question.

The federal government established the Black Hills Ordnance Depot to increase the storage capacities of the Ordnance Department during World War II. The depot fulfilled this purpose, but it also had many other effects. The money spent in constructing and maintaining the facility vitalized an area in the throes of economic depression. Many people in the locale found employment at the post, and others came from other regions to take jobs there. The resulting payroll also enhanced the economic health of the surrounding towns. In addition, the increased population brought new social and recreational opportunities; more people meant more theatres, golf courses, sporting events, and entertainment. Business and professional men began or expanded services for the larger number of people. The towns suffered problems as well. Unaccustomed to dealing with increased crime rates, health and sanitation problems, and safety concerns which accompany increases in population, civic leaders grappled with ways to provide stability.

The government's decision to place a housing project on the grounds of the depot resulted in the development of a selfcontained community. While federal regulations decreed the presence of educational and medical services, the people themselves were responsible for building other aspects of Igloo. They planted trees and shrubs to beautify their homes and banish the barrenness of the prairie. They formed groups to provide a social life and common services. Their homes, their jobs, and their incomes were uniform; they were all new to the place and in similar circumstances. Therefore, no well defined social class system evolved and they considered themselves equals. One former resident said that depot society was "socialism, but socialism at its best." (Quoted in a letter, Dave Bauer to Marshall Truax, August 6, 1984)

Inevitably, tensions arose between depot people and residents of surrounding towns. The tensions were fueled by the loss of the depot hospital, a loss which not only inconvenienced the residents, but reminded them that the facility or any part of it could be closed at any time. When that closing came, their fears were realized. The employees, many of whom had worked there for twenty-five years, had to begin new lives.

For the surrounding communities the closing of the Black Hills Army Depot meant economic upheaval and loss in population; the effects of the closing still linger today. For the people who worked and lived on the depot, the closing was more poignant. This had been their home, and they left because they had to, not because they chose to go. Millions of Americans leave their homes every year to begin a new life in a new place; but they know that life goes on in the place they came from. Someone lives in their house, someone mows the grass they planted, someone sends their children to the school down the street, visits with the neighbors, and goes to work each day. If they go back for a visit, they can talk to people they remember who still live in the same place and do the same things. For the people who left Igloo, this is an impossibility. If they go back to that spot on the prairie, they will find deserted buildings, overgrown yards, empty streets - and silence. For them, home disappeared on June 30, 1967, and perhaps that is the saddest fact of all.