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Cowboy State Daily is Wyoming’s largest newspaper with Wyoming’s most experienced journalists. 

<title>Bonus Video 2: Monday, June 1, 2026 | Cowboy State Daily</title>

"I think steel boils at this temperature...."

Bonus Video 2: Monday, June 1, 2026

 "I think steel boils at this temperature...."

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Kate Meadows

Wyoming Life

BLACK HAWK, S.D. — Six years after a massive sinkhole opened in a residential neighborhood in the South Dakota Black Hills about 55 miles from the Wyoming border, homeowners are still living in financial limbo.

The 85-foot-deep sinkhole — and roughly 100 feet wide and 650 feet long — revealed a sprawling abandoned underground gypsum mine beneath the Hideaway Hills subdivision near Black Hawk, South Dakota.

In the years since, dozens of homes have sat abandoned and deteriorating while property owners wait for answers, compensation and accountability.

Their homes are essentially worthless. Many families are still making mortgage payments on houses they can’t safely live in while a lawsuit over who bears responsibility inches through the court system.

A pending South Dakota Supreme Court decision could determine whether affected residents have any path forward financially.

“We do not yet have an opinion from the Supreme Court,” said Kathy Barrow, an attorney with national law firm Fox Rothschild, who represents the homeowners in the case.

“There is no timeline, unfortunately,” she added. “It could be six months, next year sometime.”

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"What Lies Beneath Hideaway Hills"}]

[{"type":"text","text":"The disaster traces back decades."}]

For more than 50 years, gypsum mining operations carved a network of underground tunnels beneath the area. ‘

In the mid-1980s, the state of South Dakota bought land there for gypsum mining activities connected to a nearby cement plant.

The state later reclaimed roughly 16 acres of mined land and reseeded it for rangeland use before selling the property to a developer in 1994. The land was eventually sold again to other developers, who built the Hideaway Hills subdivision in the early 2000s.

[{"type":"text","text":"Residents began moving into the neighborhood around 2005."}]

Just a few years later, homeowners started noticing cracks in foundations and shifting ground.

[{"type":"text","text":"Then in April 2020, the earth gave way."}]

The sinkhole opened near where resident Albert Reitz had been mowing his lawn.

Authorities initially evacuated residents from 13 homes because of concerns about ground instability.

Subsequent testing revealed the problem was far more extensive than initially believed.

Studies later determined all 153 homes in the subdivision were uninhabitable because of underground instability tied to the abandoned mine workings.

A study led by geological engineering professor Mohammad Sadeghi of Montana Technological University found additional underground tunnels beneath the subdivision and warned of continuing geologic risk. 

Researchers also raised concerns that mine workings could extend beneath Interstate 90.

[{"type":"text","text":"Meanwhile, property values collapsed."}]

“The ground is continuing to deteriorate,” Barrow told Cowboy State Daily.

She said the instability reaches far deeper than anything tied to subdivision construction.

“What the developers did was not the cause,” Barrow said. “The ground instability goes deeper than any ground the developers would have touched.”

In 2024, Hideaway Hills homeowners filed a class-action lawsuit against the state of South Dakota seeking more than $60 million in damages.

The lawsuit argues the state bears responsibility because of its mining activities and because homeowners were never informed about the risks lurking underground.

Barrow argued the land was originally intended for pasture use — not residential development — and said residents had no warning about the underground dangers.

[{"type":"text","text":"The state disputes those claims."}]

South Dakota argues it is not liable because it did not conduct underground mining operations at the site and says the mine collapse would have happened regardless of the state’s activities.

South Dakota Circuit Court Judge Eric Stawn ruled in favor of the state in September 2024, finding the state immune from tort liability claims.

Barrow argues the case was never framed as a tort claim in the first place.

A year after the circuit court ruling, victims asked the South Dakota Supreme Court to hold the state accountable. That decision is pending.

[{"type":"text","text":"Meanwhile, the subdivision remains largely frozen in time."}]

A chain link fences surrounds the sink hole. The concrete is cracked and pale with weeds growing up in the cracks. Uncut grass is brown and long.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Why Wyoming Is Different"}]

The Hideaway Hills disaster highlights a major difference between South Dakota and Wyoming when it comes to abandoned mine reclamation.

Wyoming participates in the federal Abandoned Mine Land program, an initiative designed to protect public health, safety and the environment by identifying, reclaiming and restoring lands and waters degraded by historic mining practices.

The program is funded by fees collected from every kind of coal that is produced, according to Keith Guille, outreach manager for the Wyoming Department of Environmental Quality. 

Wyoming, a coal-producing state, maintains a state-administered Abandoned Mine Land program through its Department of Environmental Quality.  

Because South Dakota is not a coal-producing state, it does not administer such a program, according to the South Dakota Department of Agriculture and Natural Resources.

Guille said Wyoming’s abandoned mine reclamation work is funded through fees collected from current coal production.

“Obviously it’s about public health and safety,” Guille said. “That’s why we do abandoned mines.”

Wyoming’s AML division routinely performs underground reclamation work by grouting abandoned mine tunnels with concrete slurry to stabilize the ground above them.

Some of those abandoned mines lie hundreds of feet beneath existing communities, Guille said.

Rock Springs is one example where underground mine reclamation has continued for years. Similar abandoned mine concerns also exist beneath parts of Gillette and the Hanna area, Guille said.

Because abandoned mines predate 1977, before modern mining regulations existed, maps are often incomplete or inaccurate, making underground reclamation especially difficult.

“It’s a moving target when you talk about underground abandoned mines,” Guille said. “It’s a long work in progress.”

Wyoming residents also have access to the Wyoming Mine Subsidence Insurance Program, which allows homeowners to purchase insurance coverage against ground collapse caused by abandoned underground mines.

South Dakota has no comparable state-administered abandoned mine land program because the federal AML system is funded through coal production fees, and South Dakota is not a coal-producing state.

For Hideaway Hills residents, that distinction has become painfully clear.

Six years after the sinkhole opened, many are still waiting to learn whether anyone will ultimately be held responsible for the ground beneath their homes giving way.

Sinkhole 4 5 31 26

<title>Six Years Later, Black Hills Sinkhole Victims Still Waiting For Relief | Cowboy State Daily</title>

Six years after a massive 85-foot-deep sinkhole opened in a residential neighborhood in the Black Hills, homeowners live in financial limbo. Dozens of homes have sat abandoned and deteriorating while property owners wait for answers, compensation and accountability.

Six Years Later, Black Hills Sinkhole Victims Still Waiting For Relief

Headshot of Cowboy State Daily's business and tourism reporter, Renée Jean

Renée Jean

Entertainment

EVANSTON — David Biebinger didn’t know what to think when a friend texted him out of the blue asking if his home was the “Clown House” in Evanston.

“I’m like, ‘Clown House? What does that mean, 'Clown House' in Evanston?” Biebinger told Cowboy State Daily. “I had no idea what that was about.”

More texts followed from other people, all asking the same strange question. 

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"}],"text":"Curious, Biebinger finally Googled it. "}]

“That’s when I saw it,” he said. “It came up in a 'Rehab Addict' (search). And then all the comments — there were hundreds of comments.”

The commenters were reacting to images of his home in the background of the subject house in Season 10, Episode 1, particularly a couple of creepy-looking light-up clown faces on his roof during filming. 

he realized the clowns kept photobombing scene after scene, even as cameras stayed trained on the renovation of an 1890 historic home across the street. 

Fans of the show had definitely noticed, and were asking all kinds of questions about Biebinger’s home, dubbing it the “Clown House.” 

That’s because the largest, most noticeable Halloween decoration was a giant clown head on the roof, flapping its jaw in time to the display's Halloween music.

Fans had freeze-framed shots of the clown head reflecting in the rehab home’s windows, zooming in on the glass to see it better. 

Some even tried to hunt his place down online to see it more directly. Others wanted to know why the show had never mentioned the bizarre, glowing “Clown House” during the episode.

The irony of that question, in particular, isn't lost on Biebinger. 

When the crew had been in town filming, he’d offered to let the show film a quick, two-minute display of his lights. They’d turned him down.

“There were more comments about my ‘Clown House' than there was about her rehab,” he said, chuckling a little bit.

Long before Biebinger’s home became a mystery obsession for “Rehab Addict” fans, it was already a Main Street star in Evanston.

Biebinger’s annual Halloween and Christmas light shows started out as big “jungles” of holiday light displays back in 1997 for his children when he lived at a different house.

By the time he moved to his home at 533 Main St., his light displays had become more elaborate, and he had invested in a computer-controlled system that could sync his lights to the beat of music.

He estimates he’s put roughly $15,000 into his light shows, including the computer systems, lights and decorations, some of which he makes by hand.

At first, the light shows were just to delight his own children. 

After they grew up, he kept doing it because it had become a community tradition, one that delighted many other parents’ children.

“Now I do it mainly for Evanston,” he said. “My kids loved it, and everybody in town loves it.”

The transformation begins every October. His home goes from an ordinary single-story frame house to a miniature theme park. 

Then there’s a short break in November as he switches everything over to Christmas lights instead for a display in December. 

Cars pack the block to come and see his creations year after year, Biebinger said. He estimates that thousands of people pass by the house each year.

It takes Biebinger three weeks to a month to set up his display. 

Every song is meticulously programmed so that the lights and animated faces will move in perfect sync with the music. 

“Each song takes six to eight hours to program,” he said. “I mean, you have to program every second of what that light is going to do. Each section of those are linked.”

Many of his light props are handmade. He sketches out the idea on paper, then rolls out chicken wire on the driveway to bend it into life-size faces and shapes. Then he wraps the shapes with lights, sculpting a light show to remember.  

When he’s finished, though, it’s worth it. 

For the “Rehab Addict” season that his home photobombed, he had a Nightmare on Elm Street theme.

A huge clown on the roof lip-synced to each song, with eyes flashing in time to the beat. 

That created the eerie, floating image in the windows of the home across the street that fans noticed during the Season 10 premiere of “Rehab Addict.”

Biebinger did take a break the last two years from the full-blown Halloween and Christmas displays after a death in his family. There were some lights, but nothing like it’s been in the past. 

He plans to start things back up again this year.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Hollywood Meets Halloween"}]

The first time Biebinger met "Rehab Addict" host Nicole Curtis, she was at his front door with a television crew in tow.

“They showed up with all these cameras and stuff and they were knocking on my door,” he said. “Nicole is like, ‘Hey can you do this’ … And I’m like, ‘Who are you?’”

Curtis told him she and her crew were in Evanston to rehab the historic Gilmore family home directly across the street from him. 

But her problem was timing. Her crew was trying to film a quiet, dramatic makeover show during the same hours that Biebinger was in the middle of prime time for his display. 

Curtis asked him to turn the music down or off more than once during filming. She also asked him to move vehicles out of sight so the filming crew could get clean shots of their truck.

At first, Biebinger was happy to cooperate, but as filming wore on — sometimes late into the night — and the requests kept coming, things started to wear a little thin as filming stretched into November.

“She started to get a little bit ornery, too, so I just left the music on,” Biebinger said. “The neighbors were getting upset, too, because they brought in all this equipment and were taking everybody’s spots.”

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"The Flaming Pizza Box"}]

From his side of Main Street, Biebinger had a more behind-the-scenes look at "Rehab Addict," including several spats that erupted between Curtis and her then boyfriend.

The most memorable of these was a flaming pizza box.

“She wanted to heat some pizza up,” Biebinger said. “And she stuck it in the oven without taking the pizza out of the pizza box.”

There was also a dispute involving an old truck the boyfriend told Biebinger was his, which he said Curtis had kept locked up in the garage for a time.

“He lives in Wyoming in the Riverton-Lander area,” Biebinger said he was told. “And I don’t know the whole story, but he finally got his truck back.”

Watching the completed show, Biebinger said he was impressed with the rehab itself. 

“It does look good,” he said. “She did a good job.”

The home, as far as Biebinger knows, is still owned by Curtis, who he says has been seen in the neighborhood from time to time checking on the house. 

As for his own home, Biebinger hopes to bring the full show back this year, giving Evanston kids — and maybe a few “Rehab Addict's” fans passing through — another chance to see his Halloween “Clown House" lit up again.

Clown house 4

<title>Evanston Man’s Clown House’ Photobombs HGTV's "Rehab Addict" TV Show | Cowboy State Daily</title>

When an episode of HGTV’s “Rehab Addict” was being filmed in Evanston, Wyoming, the creepy “Clown House” across the street inadvertently photobombed the shoot and was all its viewers were talking about. Now fans won't leave the house alone.

Evanston Man’s Clown House’ Photobombs HGTV's "Rehab Addict" TV Show

Around Wyoming

Fifty years ago, the cameras rolled on “Close Encounters of the Third Kind” beneath the soaring columns of Devils Tower.

Locals are still talking about the summer when Steven Spielberg’s sci-fi vision transformed their corner of Wyoming into a cinematic landmark.

It all started in May 1976 after a quiet handshake between a young, then-unknown Spielberg and Crook County rancher Jesse Thomas Driskill. It would go on to completely reshape tourism in northeast Wyoming, though no one knew it at the time.

For the movie’s legions of fans, this anniversary will mark the making of a cult classic, which was released in 1977 by Columbia Pictures more than a year after filming its defining scenes of making first contact in Wyoming. 

For people who live and work in the shadow of Devils Tower, this 50th anniversary marks the moment just before everything changed.

Thanks to the film, Devils Tower went from a curious landmark as the nation’s first national monument to a bucket-list stop for movie lovers — and believers in extraterrestrial life — from around the world.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"A Hayfield"}]

When Spielberg first showed up, though, the land around the monument’s boundary was just another hay meadow.

Since then, visitation has continued to grow. 

Devils Tower hosts upward of 100,000 visitors per month in the peak months of July and August. It has seen as many as 509,000 visitors in a single summer. 

The influx supports tens of millions in visitor spending in the surrounding communities, according to National Park Service and Wyoming Office of Tourism.

"'Close Encounters of the Third Kind' didn’t just film in Wyoming, it left a legacy behind," said Domenic Bravo, executive director of the Wyoming Office of Tourism. "Decades later, people still chase that feeling: the mystery, the landscape, the sense that something bigger exists around Devils Tower. That’s the power of cinema."

Crook County rancher Ogden Driskill, who is also a state senator, was a junior in high school at the time his family and Spielberg struck their bargain.

“They took the hay meadows at the entrance to Devils Tower and turned them into the decontamination base and the main base where the movie would be filmed,” Driskill told Cowboy State Daily. “And he swore us to secrecy at the time. 

"He was determined that the world didn’t know about Devils Tower, and he wanted to keep it that way until the film happened.”

The Driskill family agreed to keep the secret, though they were sure Spielberg was wrong about all that. Surely everyone already knew about Devils Tower.

When the film finally came out in 1977, though, Spielberg’s instincts proved to be right on the money; it was a box office smash hit,

The first sight of the tower in the movie was mind-blowing for audiences, many of whom couldn’t fathom that such an unusual geologic feature existed in America. They had to go see it for themselves.

“That basically doubled tourism visitors,” Driskill said. “The movie really elevated Devils Tower to the next level. We are truly a nationally known destination at this point.”

Dreyfuss Vs. John Wayne And Mashed Potatoes

While Driskill watched his family’s hayfield turn into both a “Decontamination Unit” and the film’s headquarters, Barbara Wilson-Sowerwine was watching Hollywood drift in and out of her parents’ country store a few miles down the road.

No one had any idea that the movie was going to be a blockbuster. 

Financial writer William Flanagan, in fact, predicted the movie would be a flop. Spielberg and George Lucas, meanwhile, decided to hedge their bets after visiting each other’s sets. 

Each was so convinced the other’s movie would do the best at the box office they pledged to share 2.5% of their movies' profits with each other.

Close Encounters star Richard Dreyfuss was just a nice guy, Wilson-Sowerwine recalled, at the time the biggest “non-star” star she’d ever met.

“Dreyfuss just liked hanging out,” she recalled.

That’s what he was doing one night when a group of regulars came in for their usual broasted chicken dinner at the little restaurant where Wilson-Sowerwine worked.

He was standing by the counter when talk turned to the movie that was being filmed nearby, prompting one rancher to snort and say, “Well, it’d be one thing if they had some real actors like John Wayne,” Wilson-Sowerwine recalled.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"}],"text":"Dreyfuss didn’t miss the comedic beat. "}]

“He’s a character actor and he’s famous,” Wilson-Sowerwine said. “So I think he just thought it was funny. His reaction was like, ‘Well, I’m no John Wayne.’”

The funny story and the transformation of the hay meadow into a movie set, complete with a government “decontamination unit,” are the things Wilson-Sowerwine will never forget.

She’ll also never forget the mashed potatoes scene, when Roy Neary, played by Dreyfuss, uses a fork to shape his fluffy spuds into a miniature Devils Tower in front of his confused family.

Then he starts weeping and says one of the movie’s most classic lines.

“This means something,” he says, insistent despite their wild, wide-eyed looks. “This is important.”

Mashed potatoes have never been the same for her since, Wilson-Sowerwine said.

“I can’t look at a pile of mashed potatoes without wanting to make a tower,” she said.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"The Campground Inspiration"}]

Back when Spielberg’s crew rolled into town, there wasn’t much of a campground at all. Not like there is today.

There was an A-frame, Wilson-Sowerwine said. And there was the small country restaurant and a scattering of other campsites.

The movie crew slapped a “Decontamination Camp” sign over the front of the A-frame right away, then built out from there until they had the full-blown ground zero for alien invasion that’s so familiar in the movie. 

It was amazing to see that come to life, Wilson-Sowerwine said.

Then, almost as quickly as they’d blown into Wyoming, the movie crew was gone, leaving behind a hayfield that was, to a farmer and rancher, a real mess.

Instead of simply reclaiming the hay field, the Driskills decided to use the cleanup money they’d been given to 

That’s turned out to be an incredibly smart move, Driskill said. One that’s been helping to sustain the family’s ranch land ever since.

In fact, the film has helped sustain many businesses in the community.

“It was incredibly game-changing,” Driskill said. “At the time the movie was filmed, the A-frame down there had maybe a couple of people working at it. Devils Tower Trading Post had a postmaster and a couple of people. The business on top of the hill wasn’t there yet.”

That was the extent of Devils Tower tourism before Spielberg’s movie came out. After, as visitors started showing up to see the tower, the community realized they had just struck tourism gold.

“We all ganged up together and the state invested lots to promote Devils Tower,” Driskill said. “So now those businesses employ more than 100 people, and I don’t know what the tax revenue is, but it would scare you. The gross income off of all those businesses is in the double-digit millions at this point.”

Driskill is among the first to grouse about bumper-to-bumper traffic from July to early September, but he knows it’s been good for the area. It’s a better economic avenue, in his opinion, than seeing ranchland and wildlife habitat fragmented by random subdivisions.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Cowboys And Aliens"}]

Today, Devils Tower has become a pilgrimage for movie buffs who want to stand where Roy Neary’s mashed-potato vision finally made sense. 

Once they get there, they’re greeted with a blend of “Cowboys and Aliens” kitsch that’s popped up all over the Devils Tower area, including at the Driskills’ campground at the tower’s base.

“People ask about that all the time,” campground manager Andrea Wood told Cowboy State Daily. “And we tell them, ‘Close Encounters of the Third Kind’ was filmed here, and that’s why we have aliens everywhere.”

This summer, there’s a mural going up on the pool house that fuses the theme of ranch hands and flying saucers. The swimming pool, meanwhile, is shaped like a cowboy boot, to honor the family’s cattle-trail roots.

Some new, life-size aluminum alien figurines have just been purchased for the golf course, which has nine holes devoted to the family’s ranching history, and nine for the campground’s Close Encounters story.

Driskill tracked the figurines down in Texas, buying up what he said will be that store’s last.

Tariffs and aluminum prices have made the statues much more expensive and harder to come by, so Driskill bought out the store’s remaining stock.

Heads turned all the way back home to Wyoming, Driskill said, and people tried to buy the aliens right off the trailer, but they were not for sale.

Wood said she is planning events to mark the 50th anniversary of the movie’s release next year, but will likely aim for September rather than the filming months of May, when the campground is already quite busy. 

She’s also more likely to target the release date of the movie, rather than its filming.

There will likely be souvenirs, to mark the occasion, including T-shirts, ball caps, stickers and more.

“I know part of what we’re going to do is the 3K race, the CE3K,” she said. That’s shorthand for Close Encounters of the Third Kind. “That will require people to have a costume related to the film, and every 1K they’ll have to stop and do a movie-related activity.”

As dusk settles in over the Driskill family’s KOA campground and the stars come out, the film that inspired the campground and changed tourism in northeastern Wyoming flickers to life again every summer night.

The Driskill family has been showing "Close Encounters" every night of the summer for the last 40 or so years, and has no plans to ever stop.

“It’s the longest-running movie in a single location ever,” Driskill said. “We still show it every night.”

It’s a tradition that brings people back year after year, Wood added.

Some nights, the audience is two and other nights 200.

“There are tons of groups dedicated to 'Close Encounters' with people from all over the world,” she said. “People come to stay with us because it’s the filming location — and because we show that film every night.”

Wood, who has watched the movie more times than she can count, never gets tired of it.

“It’s such an interesting film from a humanitarian standpoint,” she said. “If you really think about, what that story is telling us about humans and other-worldly beings, and what our connection to them may or may not be — it’s just such an interesting concept. 

"Spielberg was a genius in developing characters and plot lines that really make you think about things.”

Wood has been told by people inside Hollywood that Spielberg’s film still commands a lot of respect, not just for its emotional depth, but for the new ground covered by its cutting-edge special effects and soundstage work.

“When we went to California and listened to him talk about the movie, it was clear how much it shaped his career,” Driskill added.

Fifty years ago, the cameras rolled on “Close Encounters of the Third Kind” at Devils Tower after a handshake between a then-unknown Steven Spielberg and rancher Jesse Thomas Driskill. It would go on to completely reshape tourism in northeast Wyoming.

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