I Used To Show My Calves

My brother Dave and I grew up on a dairy farm just outside of Milwaukee. We raised purebred Ayshire cows, a breed that originally came from Scotland.  Showing cattle has been a family tradition, started by my grandfather, B. B. Simmons, a couple of generations ago.  He was a well known herdsman, and he and his three sons, (Joe, Lloyd and George) traveled the country showing their prize winning cows. 

Eventually my dad, George, took over the herd along with my brother, and they have continued to be well known in the business.  As much as my uncles and dad enjoyed showing cattle, none of them loved it like my brother.  He lived to show cattle and he was good at it.  When he walked into the ring, everyone paid attention, especially the judge.  He was magnificent with animals, all animals, but particularly the cows.  If there is such a thing as poetry in the show ring, he would create it.   

Slowly my brother got me involved with showing cattle and this particular morning, I’m getting up early to get ready for the Wisconsin State Fair.  It’s August, State Fair month.  Still half asleep, I dress in my show “whites.”    It’s weird that we wear all white when showing cattle.  Showing cattle is not a clean “all white” job and our clothes look it when show day is over.

On these early mornings I wonder how I ever got talked into showing cattle.  But Dave wants me to, so I do it to make him happy.  He taught me how to lead a cow or calf, facing the animal, moving backwards very slowly.  He showed me how to keep its back straight, its head up and how to place its feet when it was time to stop so the judge could get a good look at it.  He showed me how to keep the judge’s attention, which is extremely important, because there can be as many as twenty cows in the ring.  So when we get into the ring, I have to keep my eye on my cow, the judge and also on my brother in case he gives me signals if he thinks I need help.  I know he expects me to be good at showing, and I am.   But never as good as he is.

Dave is already at the fair taking care of the cattle which were taken into the fair several days ago.  I finish dressing and run out to the barn to help Dad with the chores Dave usually does.  I find though that Dad has plenty of help.  At fair time, young kids, around thirteen, come out of no where to help Dad with chores so they can go to the fair with us.  Dad hides them in the back of the truck.  That’s their reward for helping at home and at the fair.

 I run back to the house to help Mom make the lunch.  Preparing sandwiches for lunch at the fair is a big job.  We never know how many mouths we will need to feed.  As a result I open several loaves of Wonder Bread, one loaf at a time, lining up the pieces of bread in rows on the kitchen counter.  I butter each one on one side, and on the other side I spread our special ham sandwich mixture.  Well, it’s actually not ham, but it’s my brother’s favorite.  It is ground bologna with dill pickles, a little onion, and mixed with mayo.  So simple, so good, but filled with so much fat!  In those days, who knew or cared anything about fat and cholesterol.

With the chores finished, we pack the kids with the lunch into the back of the truck behind bales of hay.  Dad, Mom and I climb into the cab of the truck warning the kids hidden in the back once again that when we get to the fair gate to be quiet.  Half of the fun of going to the fair for these kids is sneaking through the fair gates.  When we get there, Dad gives the boys the agreed upon signal to stop talking and he shows the gateman our three passes.  All remains silent in the back until Dad parks the truck in the reserved parking area next to the barn.  Then the boys leap gleefully from the truck and make a beeline for the barn where Dave is waiting to put them to work.

The day before show day is almost as intense as show day itself.  The day is spent washing and scrubbing each cow, and it doesn’t end there.  Each cow is clipped or shaved in a certain way to make her look straighter across her back and deeper in the stomach area. Her horns are filed to make them clean.  Often on these days my brother goes into panic mode.  It’s not unusual for him to unknowingly step into pails of water as he quickly takes a cow down the aisle to be washed. He does provide some comic relief but nobody dares laugh!

Show day tends to be pretty tense as there are many last minute things that have to be done before taking the cow from the barn to be shown.  She is given what is called “fill” which is just a sloppy mixture (I think it’s called beet moss) that fills out her stomach. Just before leaving the barn her body and horns are oiled.  The main thing the boys do that day is “watch the line,” which means making sure all cow manure is picked up so the cows don’t step or sit down in it.  The boys are happy to do this job and we’re happy to let them do it.

Probably my most frantic experience showing was the time we were showing at the International Fair In Chicago.  I wasn’t very familiar where the show ring was in relation to the barn and relied on following Dave to each class we showed in. This particular time, he assumed I was following him, but unfortunately I wasn’t. I kept frantically looking for the entrance to the show ring, sweating, crying and pulling my poor animal after me who no doubt was as upset as I was by now.

 At last, I found the entrance!  I started to run down the ramp into the ring, when my animal decided she needed to relieve herself of her “fill” (which came out an ugly bright green).  Unfortunately I slipped and fell into it which allowed me to slide on my “dressed in white” fanny, all the way down the ramp into the ring of slowly circling cows, while tightly holding onto my animal!  The shocked looks on the judge’s face, my brother’s face and the faces of the other showmen were pretty comical but I leapt to my feet, calmly joined the circling animals (as if nothing had happened) with a fanny that was now an ugly green.

I think my favorite show day story occurred when Dave and I once again showed at the International Fair in Chicago, which is one of the biggest fairs in the country and winning there is extremely prestigious.  Each of our animals had won her class and therefore qualified to show for grand champion cow, which meant we would be showing against each other.  To win grand champion is of course a great honor.  A scholarship and a large trophy, along with all kinds of showing equipment, were the awards. 

My cow was quite outstanding that year and had acquired a lot of attention at the various fairs we had attended.  While Dave’s animal was very good and had won her class, my cow had the better chance to win.  So because Dave was really the better showman, we decided he should show my cow giving her even more of a chance to win.  I would then show Dave’s cow.

As we circled the ring with the other winners of their classes, it was obvious that the judge was only looking at our cows.  It then occurred to me that if I showed Dave’s cow really well, I might to able to win the championship for him.  I knew it meant more to him than it did to me, and I knew he would be thrilled to win.  So, I went to work, pulling out all the tricks my brother had taught me.

Mom and Dad were standing on the side of the ring watching us show, and I could see by the looks on their faces they were wondering what I was up to.  So was Dave.  I have to admit I was doing a pretty good job of showing and it was working.  The judge watched the two of us showing our animals intently.  Then he pulled us over to one side of the ring to take a closer look.  He studied our two animals for the longest time, but finally, pointed at Dave with my animal and then pointed at me with his animal, which meant my cow was grand champion and Dave’s was reserved champion.  My scheme hadn’t worked.

We both walked over to the side of the ring where Mom and Dad were standing. They just shook their heads as they realized what I had tried to do.  Dave and I exchanged animals as the reporters from the Chicago papers crowded around taking pictures.

“What the hell did you think you were doing out there, Sis?” Dave asked me.

“Trying to win for you, big brother!”  I said as he hugged me.

I have to smile thinking back on those days and how loyal we were to each other.  We were a lot alike.  Huge energy, unrelenting drive, the need to be best at what we did.  We understood this about each other.  In a way, we were soul mates.