Willow Leaves September 6

Disaster Narrowly Averted in River Race Disaster was narrowly averted during the annual Labor Day River Race today when two hours after the finish of the race organizers realized that one racer had not come in. A river search party was organized at once and the missing racer was discovered hooked to a tree limb overhanging the dam. Albert Bailey, 81, who has run in every river race since the founding of the event was freed from the precarious position after about 10 minutes of debate over what the best method would be to release the custom harness from the tree limb. The race has been a testing ground for many kinds of floatation devices over the years. This year, Bailey ran in his own customized inflated waders. He was off at a good pace, though trailing the field by the time he reached the dam. His strategy was to slide down the millrace (a popular means of running the dam) when one suspender got hooked by the limb. Bailey’s own momentum freed the limb from where it was trapped beneath a fallen branch and it sprung out over the dam leaving Bailey high and dry. The solution to the problem came from fire chief John Townsend who reached up with a trimming saw and cut the limb. Bailey then fought efforts to pull him out of the river, insisting that he hadn’t yet finished the race. Fifteen minutes later he crawled out of the water at HWBC with eight rescuers splashing and chasing after him. Race organizers figure that the two hour and fifty-seven minute time is the longest in race history, making it the second record that Albert Bailey has set in the Labor Day River Race. Winning time this year was 32 minutes and was set by Joan Armstrong, 26, who used a traditional innertube with three straps for stability. It was a chilly race this year as temperatures did not quite reach the predicted 85 degrees today. Thirty-six people entered and eventually all finished the race this year.

Benny’s View

Benny knew two things: Food and Work. And if there was a choice to be made between the two, food won hands down. But work came before anything else. Even before the nice kid who came and scratched his ears, fed him carrots, and then sat on him while he ambled around the fields, generally taking care of work.

Benny was a donkey.

Benny’s job, out on Albert Bailey’s farm, was to gentle the bulls that Albert raised and herd the steers that didn’t make the cut for reproduction. Each time Albert decided to leave a calf intact and raise him up as a bull, he tied Benny to him and Benny did the rest. The bull went wherever Benny went. The bull moved when Benny moved and stayed put when Benny stayed put. If the bull got out of line, Benny planted his front hooves and let loose with the back hooves in a kick that had been known to knock a yearling completely off his feet.

And Benny had gentled some fine bulls in such a way that when Albert walked into the field and clipped a lead rope to a bull’s nose ring, the bull knew enough to follow peacefully and not give Albert any… well… any bull.

This past year, Benny had been roped together to a fine Charolais calf named Mayfield. Albert had built a small herd of just 18 animals registered with the newly-formed American International Charolais Association. He had a big old bull that he’d brought up from Kansas in 1954 and was in the process of “breeding-up” a larger herd from a base stock of Herefords. He needed another purebred bull to move up a generation and trading a fine purebred Charolais bull with another herd was a good way to get new blood into his herd. (Breeders used purebred Charolais bulls to crossbreed with other breeds. After five generations, the calves were 31/32 pure and were registered as full-breed Charolais, being only 3% base-stock bloodline. But you couldn’t use the same bull for all five generations because of the dangers of in-breeding.)

Albert knew that the best way to get a good bull was to have a prize-winning show-bull to trade. So, Benny had been roped to Mayfield almost non-stop for 9 months. Now whenever Benny moved, the two-year-old went right along with him with no arguments. And now, Benny wandered the pasture with the Bull at heal even though the rope had been removed early in the summer. This was a well-mannered as well as a beautiful Charolais.

The kids had been coming around all summer, too. The little girl was fearless and would walk right up to both Benny and Mayfield in the pasture. She’d toss a halter around Benny’s neck with a lead-line and hop right up on his back. Mostly they just moseyed around the pasture, but sometimes she would take him up to the big round barn and she’d give Benny oats while she groomed and crooned. Mayfield always came along, too, though he much preferred the grazing in the open pasture.

It was on one of these trips, early in the morning that the little girl and Albert’s son slipped in and started doing some serious grooming of Benny’s tail and mane. He’d gotten himself into a patch of sandburs a few days earlier and the girl was determined to get him ready to show at the county fair in a few days. She’d enlisted the help of Al Jr. to clip the mane and tail sections that she couldn’t get untangled. (4Hers often borrowed animals from neighboring farms to show at the county fair as part of their club work. The girl would rather have had a horse, but wasn’t about to look a gift-… er… donkey in the mouth when Albert offered her Benny to show.)

They’d worked on Benny’s mane and tail for close to an hour with him contentedly munching a feedbag full of oats when they finally agreed that they’d have to reduce the mane with the clippers. Al Jr. was a careful and conscientious animal husband and was doing a fine job on the mane. The girl sat on Benny’s back holding up tufts to be trimmed and brushing out the clippings as Al Jr. stood beside the donkey and worked the shears. They hardly noticed how restless Mayfield seemed to be with the buzzing of the clippers. It came as a big surprise to Al Jr. when the half-ton bull gave him a butt with his head that sent him sprawling under Benny. Now horns hadn’t been completely bred out of the Charolais blood-line in 1958 and Al Jr. was lucky the stubby little horn on Mayfield’s head didn’t catch him square in the ribs.

But Al Jr. was only 12. And 12-year-olds don’t think quite the same as adults in these situations. He picked himself up and turned on the bull. “You don’t like the clippers don’t you?” he growled. “Maybe you’d better get to know them better.” And with that, he reached out and shaved the forelock right off the bulls broad forehead. It didn’t take long before he wished he hadn’t been so rash.

Mayfield spooked. He turned heels and ran away from Al Jr. along the wall of the barn. That sounds all right, but the barn was round, and in a few seconds instead or running away from the kids and the donkey, the bull was running toward them, and picking up speed as he came. Al Jr. took off running the same direction the bull had gone while Benny instantly came to attention, turned his heels and started kicking out as he moved forward after Al Jr. with the girl holding on for dear life on his back.

I don’t know how it would have ended if it hadn’t been for the fact that Albert was approaching the barn and heard the ruckus. He swung the big door open just as Al, Benny, and the girl passed. Mayfield, seeing the sudden breaking of light veered toward the door and brushed past Albert, knocking him to the ground as he passed. Albert, seeing his prize bull headed out through the farmyard toward South River Road, rushed inside to get a lead rope and give chase. That was when Benny realized his charge was on the run and took off through the open door with the girl still clinging to his back after the bull, knocking Albert off his feet again.

Al, realizing the situation pretty quickly for a 12-year-old, dropped the clippers and grabbed Benny’s lead rope and ran for the door just in time to collide with his father and knock him down again. This time Albert grabbed the rope from his son, yelled “Get the tractor!” and ran out after Mayfield, Benny, and the girl. Al Jr. wasted no time in jumping on the tractor and following his father down the drive toward South River Road.

And that was the start of the first Willow Mills River Run.