Page 4 - MWC 10-27-2022s

The Midwest Cattleman · October 27, 2022 · P4
Next Spring, it’ll be ten
years since we lost my dad.
From time to time, I’ll be doing
something interesting and
wonder to myself, if he were
here today, what would he
have to say? Born in 1936, he
lived through some interesting
times. When you hear folks
from the Texas panhandle talk
about ‘the thirties’, they never
have a lot of good things to say,
but my dad always did. He was
a kid then, and for him, it was
family, hard work and good
friends that made that time of
his life worth remembering.
He was actually born in
Idaho. His folks had found
work there and had traveled
far from home as a means of
survival. He and his brother
Bill, who we lost just this year,
were only a few months apart.
They grew up in a town just
southwest of Amarillo. The
school’s mascot was the ‘Her-
eford Whitefaces’… It still is.
“Go Whitefaces!” I wonder if
you can still say that today.
Dad’s stories about hoeing
weeds in rows a mile long and
milking a dozen cows by hand
never got old. He looked back
on those days with pride and
a bit of humor… like the time
he rode the last milk cow out of
the barn. I guess she bucked
just as she went out of the
barn, and his head hit the top
of the door. He was knocked
out cold for quite a spell. He
always laughed when he would
tell that story. Years later, he
taught me to milk a cow. He
could squirt a cat on the far
end of the barn with milk and
make him like it. I thought
milking one cow was hard. I
have no idea what milking six
to ten in the morning and then
again at night might be like.
I never have really wanted to
find out either. Proud or not, I
never heard him say… “those
were the good old days.”
For years I carried a .22 cali- FFA convention. His brother
ber rifle that he had used when
he was a boy. As a teenager, he
had accidentally dropped the
hammer on the Winchester
and shot his brother Bill in
the ankle. Being on the re- was a FFA advisor for four-
ceiving end, I don’t remember
my Uncle Bill having the same
perspective on the incident. I
do think that experience did
a lot to contribute to some
excellent gun safety instruc-
tion over the years. He made
sure that his sons always took
that subject very seriously and
we’ve handled guns without
incident for a generation.
Growing up, my dad’s favor-
ite actor was Audie Murphy.
He was eleven years older
than dad. You may recall that
Audie Murphy was the most
decorated American combat
soldier of World War II. He re- a bunch of fraternity bullies
ceived every military combat
award for valor available from
the United States Army. He
was also from Texas. He went
right into making westerns
when he was still in his twen-
ties and his likeness is a lot
like the ones I saw of my dad
when we’d get out the old fam-
ily photos. They could have
been brothers.
One thing I remember
about my dad’s closet when I
was growing up - it always had
an old blue FFA jacket hang-
ing in it. In high school, my
dad had been in the FFA. In
those days it was all boys and
sitting naked on a block of
ice – reciting the FFA Creed
is not something they can do
anymore. There are a lot of
things they can’t do anymore.
My dad talked a lot about his
Ag. instructor. He never forgot
that gentleman, or his paddle.
I guess it was a really big pad-
dle and he wasn’t afraid to use
it. The story goes that it had
snowed in the panhandle that
morning and throwing snow-
balls in the school yard was
against the rules. The Ag. in-
structor lined up a group of se-
nior boys who had openly bro-
ken the rule and gave them a
taste of his board of education.
Dad said that paddle would
sure ‘make your eyes water’
but he always spoke highly of
the man – he loved that old
gentleman. In 1953 or 1954,
he rode the train all the way to
Kansas City for the National
Bill had gone the year before.
In those days, that was a big
deal. Maybe his experiences
were part of the reason I ended
up teaching Agriculture and
teen years. Maybe, in a way, I
have that old Ag. instructor to
thank for that. I wish I could
recall his name. I wish I had
that paddle too. Today, they
are just for hanging on the
wall though – just a memorial
to another time. Today schools
have very little real discipline.
In my dad’s day, there was no
way to escape it.
In college, I’m sure my dad
learned a lot, but I never heard
much of that growing up.
What was he most proud of?
What was the story most told?
It was about escaping from
trying to haze him. He loved
his class in ‘tumbling’ and
used those skills a lot over the
years. He was always jumping
or falling off something mov- pretty banged up a few times,
ing and would roll and end
up on his feet. That night, as
the story goes, a group of older
fraternity brothers caught
him, handcuffed him with real
handcuffs and had him in the
back seat of a car on their way
out of town where they we
going to make him walk the
10-15 miles back into Lubbock.
He got a window rolled down
and then got his feet under
him. As the car slowed for a
stop sign, he jumped out of the
car with his hands handcuffed
behind his back, rolled and, be- my dad, I learned about trust.
fore they could stop, got away
from them. I heard that story
many times over the years and
it never changed a bit. I be-
lieve it happened just the way
he told it… including the part
where he tried to explain to
the officer why he was hand-
cuffed and why he was hiding
in someone’s backyard.
That escape story could only
be eclipsed by another escape
story. This time he was escap-
ing another kind of hazing –
the type for a wedding groom
on their wedding night. The
old custom called ‘being shi-
vareed’ was often harmless,
but sometimes it got out of
hand. I guess some people
who claimed to be his friends
were playing like they were
going to take Dad down and
throw him in the ‘horse tank’.
They said they were kidding
around, but when my dad “felt
Waldo Palmer’s grip” he knew
they were dead serious. They
had to let him go of him for just
a second to cross over a wood
corral fence. Some even got on
one side and some on the other
side so he couldn’t escape, but
that is exactly what he did.
As they let go on one side, but
before they could take hold of
him on the other, my dad stood
up on the top of the fence and
ran down the top rail in the
moonlight and got away. They
searched for him all night, but
they never got a drop of water
on him. My mom was there
that night. She says it hap-
pened just the way he told it.
He would escape several
other things over the years.
He escaped several tractors
turning over, he escaped a
dozen other mishaps and
times when it could have se-
riously been the end. He got
but I don’t think he ever had a
single broken bone.
Finally, almost ten years
ago now, my dad met some-
thing he could not escape from.
He was not able to escape the
complications brought on by
the dreaded Alzheimer's dis-
ease. He had been run over
by horses and cattle. He had
been under a tractor, but this
was different. There was no
escape. I guess we’ll always
miss him.
If I learned anything from
His favorite Bible verse was
John 3:16 and I heard him
quote it from time to time.
Therein lied his hope. He be-
lieved it. He trusted it. The
verse talks about love and it
also talks about something
else. It talks about the last,
the longest, and the most im-
portant escape of all. None
of us are going to escape this
world physically alive – it’s
what happens next that mat-
ters.
Have a great Holiday Sea-
son. Lord willing we’ll see you
on the other side.
KwC