GRAMPA'S POOL GAME
Lewis stated that Walter Vincent told him that Tom Vincent had a pool table for the nephews of the T. V. Ranch, and that T. S. was champion.
About 1945 we got all gussied up because we were going to Uncle Tom's and Aunt Lora's for dinner. The women were cooking and the men were out in the building known all over the community as the pool hall. When Dad and I walked in, Tom Vincent was shooting pool. (He must have been 84 or 85 but he still milked his own cow.) He was wearing a green shaded card player's cap, and garters above his elbows to keep his sleeves off his shooting hands. He would make a shot and stalk around the table like the cue ball was where it was supposed to be. There were men in Stetson hats watching and awaiting their turn. My memory is bare from then on, but the pool hall was just past the garage where Uncle Tom parked his black, 1936, Dodge,four door car. The building is still there. Lloyd Smith owns it now, but the pool table was gone when Mom and Dad moved into the yellow house after Lora Vincent died and Tom moved to White Sulphur with the Wylies. I'm guessing from clues that maybe the pool table came from the winter river ranch. (A big barn with a large haymow is still there.) After the hay ranch was flooded by the lake, the pool table was probably still there.
I have some tales about Grampa (T. S.). About the time he retired, I was at the age to have much free time (I was too young to rake hay, etc.) and Dad and Mom lived close. Yesterday, shooting pool with my cowboy friends, I realized I still use phrases of Grampa's personal and original lingo, learned in the pool hall a little under 50 years ago.
After Grandpa retired, he and cousin Walter Vincent got real busy in the old Fish Hatchery, building stuff. Eventually they were ready. I must have wandered by about then and accidentally became the first to admire their handiwork. They were as pleased as a couple of penguins with a new egg in Antarctica. The south end was partitioned off and a pool table was sitting there. They also built a room for Walter to sleep in. They had a wood stove to heat the pool hall and Walter's room. They had borrowed Ed's truck and moved the pool table over from Pony. It was a neat table with leather mesh pockets, and wooden carved lion legs. Grandpa decided I was tall enough to play and gave me a cue stick.
After some left hand and right hand instruction, I could hit center on the cue ball. Then it was "hit under my stick" to show angles. The games began, it was "hundred or bust - any other game was for "children and dudes". The pockets were numbered for points, the numbers on the balls were ignored. Score was kept by buttons overhead on a wire; each button moved all the way to one side counted ten, moved part way over counted one. You moved the buttons with your stick.
To win, you had to get exactly 100 before anybody else. If you accidentally got 101 you were "busted", and had to start over again at 1. After you took your turn, you retrieved the balls that you had made from the pockets and "spotted them up" in a row in the center at one end of the table. Grandpa was a shark, sometimes he would clean the table and have to spot all l5 balls before he could continue.
So Grandpa would say, "hit the cue ball high if you want it to follow. Hit the ball low if you want to drag it back". If he wanted me to bank, it was "hit my finger". He would put his finger at the correct spot and explained that the diamonds helped determine that spot. Grandpa was master of the soft shot and good position for the cue ball for the next shot. He would consistently shoot four twenties plus the other pockets he used to position up. Grandpa could run a ball softly down the rail and "slop" in the shot.
Lewis would shoot the same shot, but harder; his shot would flop back and forth and stay up. "Swelled in the hole", Grandpa would say. Being rather short then, I'd use the long stick to support the cue on shots I couldn't reach. Grandpa called it the "Ladie's Aid" He seldom used it. He would put the cue behind his back with his rump on the table. I learned in later years to shoot that shot left handed.
To run a ball down the rail, that was touching the rail, you hit the ball and the cushion at the same time. If the cue ball was touching the rail, it was "froze".
The pool hall was busy whenever Grandpa could get anybody to play. Lewis, John, Dave, Tom, Lee, all played, plus many others. Grandpa partnered with Walter and they took on all comers. Winners held the table. Grandpa was very competitive and would get quite harsh with Walter if the game was tight and Walter missed an easy shot. Walter never seemed to mind; maybe he was used to T.S. after all those years.
Walter was the neatest old guy. We played pool and catch with the hard ball, At a young age, Dad would let me take his truck and go hunting if Walter went along to baby sit. Walter would never drive or shoot at a deer; he just watched and never tattled when I missed a shot at 75 yards with the T.V. rifle. He had a strange, unique laugh, or chuckle. It sounded like short bursts of wheezes. I remember Walter as my "extra" grandpa.
Lewis was probably the best pool player after grandpa. Lewis shot pool with authority. If Lewis missed a shot, the cue ball still had enough speed to kiss several banks and other balls. Quite often he would make a ball or two that he hadn1t shot at - how Grandpa would howl. If Grandpa got licked a couple of times, he would want to play call shot; uncalled points made didn1t count. Pretty soon though,he would be faced with a rebellion in the troops and it would be back to the wide open game. If a shooter miscued, there would be a clank, instead of a thunk - 3Broke his stick2 declared Grandpa.
When the cue ball went in the hole on a shot, Grandpa said he 3scratched2 and 3lost his count2. Grandpa called a ball about to fall in the pocket a 3cripple, and two balls froze together and pointed at a pocket a 3cinch2 combination. If Grandpa wanted to back the cue ball to the right. he1d hit low and right and call it 3putting on the English2.
For several years Grampa1s pool hall rafters rocked from numerous pool games, but like everything else, began to fade away. Dave and Lee graduated and left the valley. Edwin sold his ranch and moved to Bozeman. The yellow T.V. house was sold to Lloyd Smith and Mom and Dad had to move to an apartment in the Chuckwagon. Grandpa was hard pressed for pool shooters.
Once in a while I1d manage to get down for a game with Grandpa and Walter. Grandpa was still the master. Tiring of thrashing us, he would offer to play both of us and still win handily. Eventually, he would leave in disgust and leave Walter and I to while away some hours at a less strenous rate. Among my classmates however, I was a man among boys regarding shooting pool. They didn1t have my experience.
Soon after high school I ended up in Fort Bragg, North Carolina, with the 82nd Airborne Division. One day I wandered through the Rec Room which had a pool table. This kid from Detroit had 5 or 6 guys for standing around shaking their heads about more pool for money. He figured me a dumb old boy from Montana, and asked me to shoot some pool. I asked about the rules. It was nine ball rotation, with money on the 6 and 9. He busted without success and I made a dream run and ran through 9 shots without a miss. The Detroit kid was unconvinced and didn't give up until his money was gone. The spectators stood around and grinned a lot. Unfortunately, he was a kid who spent his pay immediately and had little cash. I remember thinking, "Grampa would love this game."
After the military, I attended MSU for some agriculture courses.. I met a kid named Tony Reccia. We roomed off campus and took the same courses. We began to play a lot of pool at the Sub on campus. Tony was good, but I became as sharp as I ever got and could usually take him. One weekend, Tony came home with me and we stopped to see Grandpa and Grandma. We suggested a game and Grandpa hobbled out to the pool hall to watch. Tony and I played some "hundred or bust" for Grandpa. We were pretty good. I can remember Grandpa sitting there with a big smile on his face. He enjoyed a good game of pool. (This was probably the fall of 1963)\
Grandpa passed away in 1964 while I was still at MSU. Five or six years later, Tony was working on a train as a brakeman and fell underneath the cars. He lost both legs and an arm and died on the way to the hospital.
Today we play pool at the bar on shipping days. We are forced to play 8 ball, a poor game, but necessary at 4 bits a game. We use what our crowd calls "Meadow Creek Rules". This was an invention of Lewis and Archie Germann, after Randy M. and I cleaned out their pockets of quarters they decided we should bank the 8 ball. This gave them an advantage over straight in 8 ball shots because many times you scratch or hit the wrong pocket, losing the game. We have a good time but really shoot poor pool any more.
When I was a sophomore (in Ennis High) it was decided to form a league and have baseball in the spring. A few schools formed teams. No one had played baseball before, but we all had played soft ball in P. E., and pickup games at recess. The first few fly balls from a hard ball went over our heads as they carried farther than a softball. We all bought gloves (we played softball bare handed). I made the team as an outfielder, and had a great time catching a ball now and then, and punching a single now and then. I got little attention and got in little trouble out there.
The junior year began and, after a few practices the coach waved me in from the outfield. "Tuggle's arm is shot. He can't pitch any more. You throw the hardest, you're the pitcher."
At the start, the hitters couldn't hit my fast ball, and I couldn't find the plate as often as wished. We played the town team for practice one night, and my elbow was getting sore from poor form. A summer man walks up to me, and says, "You have poor form, this is what you have to do."
He got me shaped up, and I could throw it harder with more control, and less stress. A little later a team mate showed me how to roll the ball off my fore finger to throw a curve. A guest at his dad's motel had shown him. He could throw this dinky little curve with low velocity. I practiced rolling it off my finger during warm ups for a couple of nights, and, when I thought I could control it, I showed it to my catcher, Buzzie Baker, (Bill Baker's son). Buzzie jumps up and yells, "Look at this, coach. "
So I showed it to the coach. It was a wicked slider; starting waist high, and crossing the plate knee high, going from right side of the plate to the left side. From then on, I owned the high school hitters and we breezed through the league to the championship. When school was out, I started right in playing for the town team. Chuck Armitage ran the town team. Now the good part begins. The town team hitters were tougher. and while they couldn't hit me hard, they were getting some grounders and foul tips. Buzzie, a tough kid, was hurting from the foul tips. Bud shows up for the summer and I took him up to the town team.
Bud says, "I'm a catcher." Buzzie's grin was as big as the moon as he took off the gear and handed it to Bud. So Bud caught while I pitched. He did a great job. We won some games and lost some games. The opposing pitchers were mostly older and more experienced than I. The games were mostly decided by fielding errors. Our team couldn't hit their pitchers much.
Lewis convinced your Dad (T.S.) and Emily to come up and watch their grandsons play baseball. They enjoyed it, Dad said, but only attended one game, I think. Bud and I had a great summer. Tom and Ed kept us busy haying; we'd practice baseball evenings, and chase girls after practice. Sundays, there was a baseball game. We got home to Tom's bunk house late a lot, and Tom began to set this alarm clock to wake us up earlier every morning. We were worried that Tom wasn't getting enough sleep, so we came home earlier for a couple of nights. Then Ed took us to Seattle to the Hydroplane races and we watched from your boat. Then back to Montana, but I think Bud was homesick by then, baseball season was over and soon he left.
My Senior year, our school breezed through our little conference undefeated. I developed a couple of new pitches from a motion I'd learned as a kid skipping rocks on the lake. The side arm fast ball moved right and up, and the side arm slider had less drop than the 3/4 slider, plus I learned a change-up .
I struck out 17 high school hitters one game, as a senior. This was a seven inning game. The town league was deteriorating that summer but we played some. The final game I played was a night game, couldn't pick up the ball under the lights good enough to play well, and realized that baseball wasn't for me. Even today, Claudette always sees the deer at night on the highway long before I do.
Grandpa pulls up in his Model A Ford coupe with a broken muffler underneath and smoke billowing around. Says, "Let's go fishing up to the Beaver Dam." I climbed in and away we chugged. We didn't talk much; Grampa wasn't into frivolous talk or foolish questions. Eventually we arrived at the Beaver Dam buildings and walked over to Leonard Creek. "See the fish", he says. Sure 'nuff, in plain sight we could see a lot of fish in the creek. (It was late summer and the brook trout were spawning.) Grandpa had a gunny sack, but no fishing pole. I wondered how we were supposed to get the fish.
Grandpa reached in his back pocket and pulls out his .45 pistol. Kerblam, he shoots into the creek. Water flew, but when it settled, two fish were flopping frantically, and swimming on top of the water.
"Catch those fish," he says. I quickly realized my job was to catch the fish for Grandpa and put into the gunny sack. Grandpa explained that the shock of the bullet broke their air bladder and they couldn't stay under water.
Grandpa shot, and I ran down fish until he had what he wanted. He let me shoot the pistol once. He said to shoot under the fish, not at them.
So we headed home. When we got to Virginia Creek, Grandpa stopped, and pulled out a tin cup, and we both had a cool drink. When we got to the corner, and the turn off to Tom Vincent's old ranch, Grandpa shut off the motor of the Model A, and we coasted all the way to the Tudor house, "Saves gas," he said. It was a neat day for a little kid, and the only time I shot fish, and coasted two miles down the South Meadow Creek road.
Lewis had a set of house logs ready to go. He planned to build Midge a house, just west of what would become T. S's pool hall, on 6 acres he'd bought from Ed. Mom could see no profit in it at the time, and "took his logs", Lewis claimed.
Lewis was a talented and "wild" young man then and a 9.5 on a one to l0 scale for toughness. Mom was a definite l0 and smarter to boot. The disagreement came to a head, Lewis fetched Midge a clout alongside the head, and promptly received a bowl full of mush on his nose.
Fifty years ago I watched in wide eyed wonder, but today it kinda tickles me. Midge got the logs and they built a restaurant on the lake. Summertime's were good, but 9 months of idleness. Eventually they moved the structure to Ennis and made 4 apartments. I know Mom was relieved, years later, to pay it off and sell it.
Mom finally talked Herb into a teaching career, where he did very well.
Lewis told me "Emmett Womack could throw the ball so hard to 2nd base it almost knocked me over!" Lewis said Emmett was the only one who would play catcher and did it bare handed! I compared those two comments to the stories you old timers like to tell about walking to school barefoot in a 40 degree below zero blizzard, and it being uphill both ways.
I actually think nervousness probably contributed to being knocked over.as T. S. must have decided that Lewis was ready to play ball at a pretty young age and presented him for a tryout. So Lewis must have made the team at 2nd base. He said he threw right handed and batted left handed. I'll bet Lewis was a good hitter, with big strong hands, wrists, forearms, and excellent vision. He was excellent with a double bitted axe that he kept razor sharp: when doing his logging work and constructing log houses. I watched him swing it left handed many an hour. Lewis talked a lot about Emmett Womack - I think he looked at Emmett as a kind of big brother. Emmett probably tried to catch behind the bat with a thin fielder's glove and broke his fingers several times from foul tips. T.S. apparently bought a catcher's mitt for the team as Dad had this catcher's mitt for me to use when I got big enough. Then Lewis would talk about Emmett's fight career. Emmett would get pounded fight after fight. Emmett was found unconscious in a corral where he was working with a horse in 1944 and never fully recovered. Lewis's opinion was that the horse wreck was just the final blow of all the concussions Emmett received from the fight game.
Emmett was quite a story in Ennis. He built rodeo corrals and promoted the first rodeos in Ennis. He raised greyhounds and sometimes toured the U. S. racing. Lewis said when a litter of pups was big enough, Emmett saddled up his horse and took the pups out for a run until they jumped a jackrabbit. The race would be on. Then Emmett galloped along behind on his horse, shooting the slow ones - survival of the fastest!
(Note: See the the Lewis and Midge Story for more about Emmett's prizefight promotions and baseball activities.)
A couple of weeks ago Claudette runs breathlessly into the house for the 30-30 rifle. "There's a coyote just over the fence." "Well, take the 270", I says. Although she has never shot the 270, she has decided with true feminine logic that it kicks too hard. "It kicks too hard", she says, and leaves with the 30-30. After a while she returns. "I had a broadside, standstill, shot with a rest on a post at 75 yards and never touched the coyote" The T. V. rifle had struck again.
A few days later the dogs were barking south of the house so Creyt takes the 30-30 and walks out. Soon he returns. "I had a good shot at a fox under 100 yards. Complete miss".I didn't feel sorry for him, since he bought the 30-30 shells. I hadn't bought a shell for the 30-30 in almost 40 years.
Lewis was the odd man out when it came to hunting. I never saw him shoot anything except a gopher now and then; and maybe he'd 410 a Sans Phoebe if he caught some stealing his raspberries. About 1945 his family must have convinced him to go on a hunting trip. Lewis didn't own a big game rifle and must have asked Tom Vincent to borrow his 30-30. Tom gave Lewis the rifle for keeps and to this day I am unsure whether it was an act of good faith or if Tom is still giggling about it somewhere. I doubt Lewis ever fired it.
Lewis gave me his 22 when I was seven and I shot at gophers, magpies, and crows. Sometimes I hit one. At nine Lewis decided that I was responsible enough for bigger game and handed me the T.V. rifle. The T.V. rifle is a lever action Winchester, patented in 1894. It stands 44 1/2 inches from the steel butt plate to the tip of its six sided barrel. Underneath the barrel is a tube that holds 8 shells., and if you put one in the barrel and half cock the hammer, it will swallow one more. The action is smooth and in times of stress and buck fever, I have put all nine through in under 20 seconds.
So last week I was coffeeing up on the patio and thought about firing the 30-30. After 3 random shots at bushes on the hillside south of the house, it was apparent the rifle shoots neither right nor left - up and down must be the culprit. Claudette spotted for me with the field glasses and after 3 more shots the mystery was solved.
If you put the front sight in the V so that it's barely possible to see it, the rifle is sighted in for 200 yards. If you use the sights, like you might shoot at an elk in a hurry, the rifle shoots high at 200 yards. After checking the trajectories in my handloading book, I had to grin at all the flack I took from the Hughes clan when I was a kid. The rifle orbits rather than trajecs. It shoots 8 to 10 inches high at 100 yards with a 170 grain bullet, and if Lewis bought 150 grain bullets for me, the orbit gets higher. Lewis took me hunting the first few times and after I'd shot the rifle some he let me hunt in Fletcher Creek canyon alone. During those years the Fletcher deer herd grew in number, and would serenely graze along the hillside while I was shooting, with only a tail twitch or a nervous glance up to check to see if I was doing the shooting. If the Sackett clan would a had this rifle, they would have starved in the Tennessee hills and Louis Lamour would have had to get a government job.
When cousin Dave was about 14 and I about 10, we got a buck deer in the Jones place area. After a half a box flurry, I hit the buck in the antlers and while he was shaking his head, Dave shot him. The deer rolled 1/4 mile down the steep Madison Canyon hillside. Edwin had to bring his horse, Casey, up to drag out the buck. Edwin made several remarks about not shooting your animal in the ass because that's where the best meat is. Dave and I were too pleased to pay much attention. Later, Casey decided to eat supper on the highway at night and was killed by a car.
Grandpa took me hunting to the Jones place also. The model A coupe was broke down for good out in the swamp southeast of the pool hall and he had a little Willys Jeep that he had got from Edwin. My job, I expect, was to open the gates, but I was packin" the T.V. rifle. We came to some deer and grandpa was frantically maneuvering his 30-06 to shoot out the window. He was far too slow, I was out the off side and had four high ones on their way before the deer were gone. Grandpa laughed and laughed, and for years told everyone. The next time we hunted though, he made it clear that he was to get the first shot. He respected my speed.
Lewis and Grandpa and Uncles Ed and Tom and cousin Dave all took me hunting those early years and razzed me about my shooting. I was low on skill, but high on enthusiasm. Only my "extra" Grandpa, Walter Vincent, was polite-he was from the maternal side of the clan.
About 1950, the brothers Ed., Lewis, and Tom had sheep. One day Dad, Uncle Tom and I were standing where my house is today, and a 2 stray dogs showed on the hill to the south. Dad handed me the T.V. rifle. Tom missed the first shot, but saw dust and with the 2nd shot, drilled the running dog at 225 yards. Best shot I ever saw. Tom hands back the rifle and says that I should be able to shoot that rifle. Well, I wish he'd a had to shoot that dog at 100 yards. Twenty five years later I made that exact same shot at a running coyote, except I had a 270 with a scope.
About 1957 when I was 17 I got a set of spectacles and scraped up the cash to buy a 270 rifle and scope from Sears and Roebuck. The trouble with the new rifle was that the shooting was over too quick. (Whenever I dusted a particularly smelly old mule deer buck, I made sure Grandpa got a few steaks.) This year I'm planning to shoot my land owner's cow elk with the T. V. rifle. Runnin' cows makes ya long on stubborn and I intend to show that old rifle exactly who is boss.
It must have been 1948. It was time to move the cattle into the higher country on the North and South Meadow Creek permits. Must have been desperate times with everyone haying, etc., if all they could find to help Jim was me. I was 8 years old.
Dad had bought a pinto mare for me when I was 5, and I got so I could ride her fair; but the spring of "48 I rode her down to Edwin's where she ate something that killed her. I was feeling low but Dad had bought another pinto from the Garretts, a huge 17 hand horse he called "Light'ning". Dad won some cowboy races on this horse. The rider and saddle had to weigh 200 pounds in these races.
So Dad hauled Lightning and me up to Jim to learn the cowbiznes. I expect Jim wasn't too pleased the next morning to have to saddle up for me as I was too short, the saddle too heavy and the horse too tall. But I could shinny up using saddle strings and stirrup, and after he saw I could ride he lightened up and we headed for Warm Springs for cattle. We gathered Warm Springs and headed out thru the timber on the cattle and game trails.
He says, "You stay back here and keep 'em coming. Don't push too hard. Let them stay mothered up. Ride mostly on the downhill side." He left with the dogs to head them where he wanted.
I used this technique trailing cattle to the Gravely Range for 20 years or so and it still worked. There were times though when the cattle were tired, the dogs wore out, your arm was sore from throwing rocks, and you had laryngitis from hollering. Rather than beat your wife in frustration, you might as well go find some shade and take a nap. After the old cows had spent some time dreaming about all the hay they were going to eat next winter, they would get up and amble on.
I eventually caught Jim on lower Chero Mountain as we left the timber. I had all the cattle and hadn't got knocked off by tree limb or anything. He was pleased I guess becuz the stories began. He called me the "The Deacon" becuz I'd borrowed a couple Luke Short paper back books from Grandpa to read. "Deacon", he says, "before you I had Tom Miller and Billy Stiles up here to help me. All they'd do was wrassle. So I got them up at 4 O'clock. They still wrassled, so I got them up at 3 O'clock. Still wrasslin', so I got them up at 2 O'clock. That was the end of the wrasslin'.
"By God", he continued, "One boy's a boy, two boys is half a boy, and three boys is no boy at all. You could tell Jim just loved Tom Miller - I must have heard that story dozens of times.\
Tom Miller says Billy Stiles would slouch in his saddle riding along and Jim would ride up behind him and pop his bull whip behind the cantle of Billy's saddle. Sometimes Billy would get jumped.
Jim probably had ridden so many boogery horses in his younger days, that would mess you up if you slouched or fell asleep, that he couldn't stand watching Billy ride.
So we pushed the cattle from around the cow camp and Warm Springs and lower Table into the high country - Twin Lakes and Kid Lake and Sureshot and upper Chero Mt. About every 3rd days we rode South Meadow, pushing cattle to Fletcher Creek and the Missouri Mill and the B and L Basin.
The ride to Fletcher Creek and back to Cow Camp was a ripper. We used Lightening and a big bay horse for our South Meadow Creek mounts. When we rode close to camp we used other horses provided by the permittees. Some days we hauled salt around.
"Deacon", he says, "all this riding will make your butt tough. Last winter I was in the hospital and the nurse broke a needle trying to give me a shot of penicillan." You could tell he was proud of his leathery rear end. I spent the time with open ears and closed mouth. Didn't want to become half a boy.
Jim said he was 78 years old and had ridden for the Meadow Creek Stock Association for 30 years. (Tom W. will probably have the true details but this is my version.)
He said, "I was born and raised in Nebraska and at 14 I was pretty husky. We were standing on the steps of school and the teacher whacked me with a hickory stick, so I landed one on his jaw. When he got up he was going to whack me again so I gave him another shot. That was the end of my schooling. I ran away to Texas and came to Montana with a trail herd." So he was born about 1870 and at l4 or so might have arrived in Montana with the last of the Texas herds in 1884 or 1885. Legend says Texas herds were still arriving in 1886 when the range was overstocked and the winter killed the whole shebang in Montana and the Dakotas. (110 years later, in 1997, there is supposed to be 300,000 head of cattle winter killed in the Dakotas. Eastern Montana was hit hard too.)
Jim must have used the poker tables. Tom Miller said Jim had a ranch and a wife once but lost them both playing cards.
Jim talked all day long. "I won money in a poker game and decided to go east to the World's Fair". (Maybe in Chicago around 1900 or so.) "So I sold my saddle and left. Eventually I was broke and headed back. Got off the train in Miles City and asked the cow boss for a job. The boss looked at me in my pointed shoes and little hat with a feather, snickered and said, "Sure, son, if can ride those two horses we'll take you on. It was a set-up of course and the cowboys were all smiles. So I borrowed boots and spurs and a saddle and rode the horse. It was a rippin' bad horse and I could hardly walk for two weeks."
"The boss gave me the job, "he continued, "and later on I rode the second horse - he was easy."
Jim says, "I repped for a rancher at the round-ups one year. Started at Great Falls and ended up in Miles City where I shipped his cattle on the train. Headed back, swam across the Missouri River Christmas eve and gave the boss his money."
I can remember saying I wished we had some fancy walking horses on a trip to South Meadow.
Jim says, "In the Remuda on this outfit I was with for a while was a white pacing horse no one would ride. This newcomer fancied him and saddled him up one day. We moved cattle that day and the newcomer was riding around on the pacing horse with a big smile, bragging about the ride. The cowboys was mum and poker faced. Eventually the herd was moved and time to head home. The time had come that the cowboys had waited all day for. They took off at a gallop! The pacing horse only had one gait. Couldn't keep up and was frantic crossfiring and falling down several times. Eventually the pacer arrived after supper and the newcomer never mentioned the pretty white horse again."
After a couple weeks the job was done and I went home. When you are 8 years old, you get homesick. Jim was able to keep the cattle pushed by himself and when the cattle came off in October I was in school.
I can remember Grandpa coming to visit us at cow camp. The dog, Stub, would jump up to be petted by Grampa with his back turned. I remarked to Jim about that.
Jim says, "Your Granpa don't like Stub to jump on him with his feet, so he steps on his back feet, and now Stub gets up backwards." Stub must have been Grampa's dog lent to Jim.
A new cabin was built in 1955 out of canyon plank. My time in 1948 we lived in an old log cabin 20 or 30 yards north of the new one and closer to the creek. It was full of mice, warped floor and leaky roof. The ranger burned it down after the new one was built.
Ray Easter says the stove in the new cabin was sold to the association by Tom Hughes for $15.00. Bet your Mom cooked you many a meal on that stove. Jim had gotten something in his eyes; I can't remember what he said it was, strychnine, arsenic, or lye, or something. One eye was gone and he had a glass eye to replace it. Tom Miller remembers having to put Jim's glass eye back in sometimes. I'm not sure that I didn't do that once at 8 years. The other eye had a thick lens in his spectacles, but he evidently could see fairly good. Not good enough to drive but could still cowboy.
The end of this story is a little sad. The next year the association fired Jim and of course both Jim and I were heartbroken. Lewis and Tom W. tried to find Jim a riding job, but of course he was too old and I was too young. We were reduced to wrangling Dudes for Ben Brinton. It wasn't the same, "If you aint a cowboy, you aint s____."
Jim still showed up for a few more years, staying with Tom W. or Millard Easter at branding time or maybe to move cattle, etc. Eventually he came no more. Lewis went to see him in a rest home but Jim's mind was gone and he didn't recognize Lewis - just took off in his wheelchair.
I plan to give you a version of the North and South Meadow permits from the start to the present day. You might enjoy old Christopher Christian Richtor and Tom Vincents shenanigans. I got this from Lewis mostly and some others.
I think John and Mary died here , although I don't know if they are buried at Meadow Creek. The girls moved away, but Pat hung on until 1936, attempting to milk cows, I think. Finally, in 1936. Pat signed a quit claim to Madison County, evidently unable to pay his taxes, and left for California. Various people lived in the old house, maybe wards of the county or leasing from the county. Gonsagos were one of those. Lewis complained that they cut downs the apple orchard one winter for firewood, but I suspect the trees were dead from the drought and lack of irrigation water. Alma Oliver's family, the Wallaces, also lived here for a time.
In the 1940's the partnership of Tom Vincent and Tom Hughes bought the Schoenberger 320 acres plus 120 acres of the Lee Vincent place from the county. The county kept the mineral rights. Elaine Vincent Sprout was born in the Lee Vincent small, board cabin 400 yards north of where I live. (Several other families also lived in this small house before Walter and Helen Vincent did. Frank Sangwin lived there in the 1920's with his wife and numerous children..)
In 1947 Uncle Tom Vincent and Thomas S. Hughes dissolved their partnership and set up Tomas W. (Tommy) and Lewis to begin ranching. Thomas W. to stay at the home ranch and Lewis to get the Schoenberger place. (Uncle Tom had also started Edwin and Margaret on another ranch down by the lake a little earlier. Tom Vincent seems to have given quite a few of his kin a small start of some kind.)
I was old enough to remember that the T.V. branded cows were corralled and gate cut. Two cows went through a gate for Tommy, and the third one for Lewis. Tom got 56 cows, and Lewis got 27. T. S. and T. V. must have had an 83 head forest permit on South Meadow Creek. We still run 27 cows there in the summer. The cows were Hereford, with signs of Shorthorn mixed in. Tom kept the T. V. brand; Lewis registered a new brand.
Lewis traded some road material to the county to get a road built to his ranch.
Lewis and Mrs. Booker partnered to open up the irrigation ditches. He said she hired a dozer and he was the bodyguard. Mrs. Booker lent him money to buy 160 acres of a state section that was auctioned at the courthouse. (Tom Vincent's old lease.) Mrs. Booker married a twenty five year younger man who put a lot of pressure on Lewis for years over that money. Eventually Lewis dug a huge ditch and found stock water on that 160 acres. Then he was able to be financed by the FHA and was able to pay off Mrs. Booker with government backing. Lewis was able to accumulate 1489 acres. Most of it is poor ground, three inches of top soil covering rocks and sand. The benches are sand with little water holding capacity. Two days with no rain, after irrigating, and your hay crop is burning.
After Lewis got the irrigation water, he raised the water table and lost , or swamped out, the Schoenberger house. He probably planned to live in the house although it was pretty far gone and rustic. I doubt it could be heated. He drove to his ranch every day, but lived elsewhere.
The ranch was not able to earn living for a family, but Midge had landed a good teaching job at Ennis which provided a living and retirement. In 1955 Lewis became disgusted and we (Mom, Dad, and I) went to Chicago for a month, in June. (A disaster for a rancher to leave in irrigating times.) I think he planned to get out. Lo and behold, when we returned, his Dad (T.S.) had irrigated the hay land while Lewis was gone and it was ready to harvest. Lewis got a lecture from his Dad and Jim Wilson about sticking with it. Lewis never forgot, and mentioned it to me several times.
In 1962 Lewis and Midge finally had a house to live in, and electricity. This was their pride and joy.
In 1968 Lewis wanted to expand some more and acquired a sheep permit in the Gravelies to run cattle. He and Midge made Claudette and I partners and we began to fence according to Forest Service requirements. This went on for three or four years. Lewis fenced and I put up hay at home and helped fence when I could. It was tough. John Hughes helped and on Labor Day, 1973, John, Lewis, and I finished. Herb helped do some fencing also and drove truck on the cattle drives. Lewis semi-retired then in 1974, after a by - pass operation and a slight stroke. He and Mom took time to do some traveling, and bowled, and golfed, and enjoyed their house and horses.
Claudette and I have made a modest living on Lewis's ranch. I've always enjoyed riding good horses through wild country. This and golf and bowling seems to keep us entertained and content. In the fall of 1998, I hope to finally pay the last debts Lewis started in 1947. It will have taken fifty one years.
Branding time is fun and games as well as getting a serious bit of work done. Branding, as the old timers did it, is almost a local sporting event. Neighbors come to lend a hand and to join in on the fun. Calf ropers participate with an eye on the next rodeo. The grunts on the ground will be chided unmercifully when a particularly big and ornery calf sends a " rassler" rolling.
At left: Cowhands waiting for the branding irons to heat, catch up on local gossip and perhaps brag a little about their roping prowess.
Two cowboys each catch a calf at the same time and are promptly confronted with how to get them untangled. Good luck, boys! Cheers and jeers erupt from the waiting ground crew.
The well trained cowpony patiently holds the rope tight on a struggling calf awaiting to be branded, vaccinated, ear marked and/or tagged, castrated if needed.
Kicking and bawling calves need to be held still while the various operations are performed by the scrambling ground crew. A good kick knocks his feet from under an unwary helper.
Tracy "fishes" for another calf..
A big and frantic calf is too much for a couple of sturdy "rasslers". Along with help will come jeers and remarks about not being able to handle a "baby calf", etc.
ANNUAL MEETING
March 25, 1997
(Official Report By Marianne Klein)
Attending were:Stock Association members: Ray Easter, Larry Hughes, Tom Miller, B.J. Van Fleet, Bob Germann, Dave Germann, Kevin Krieg, Gregg Rice
Forest Service: Mark Petroni, District Ranger Ron Schott, Resource Assistant Marianne Klein, Range Resource Specialist
Meeting was called to order at 1:05 by Larry Hughes.Roll call was taken--all present except Meadow Springs Ranch.Ray Easter read the minutes from the 1996 meeting. Treasurer's Report: $134.36 beginning balance, $232.50 income, $358.32 spent (on salt and 1 st half of property taxes), current balance $8.54.There is $25.69 due to pay the second half of the property taxes on the rider's cabin. The question of what the cabin can be used for was raised. Mark said it can only be used in association with the grazing permit.
Meadow Springs will be taking non-use this year. It was decided that their numbers will be split between Germann's and Krieg. Any numbers not filled by them will remain in non-use for 1997.
Marianne reviewed the Tobacco Roots Grazing Decision. There were 4 appeals from the environmental community, and one from Germanns. All have been resolved, and the Decision has been upheld. The Forest Service will continue to work with Germanns on the elk concerns. Mark explained how we are interpreting elk winter range. The steep, south facing slopes are considered critical elk winter range and those are the areas we will apply the 35% use standard to.
Fish and Game feels that with a rest system, cattle utilization levels are not so critical for elk winter range. However, if no rest occurs, they feel it important that critical elk winter range be used to only 35% by cattle to assure adequate forage for wintering elk.
If critical elk winter range is 35% used or less in grazed pastures, we will have some flexibility in a bad year. If there was a drought situation for example, and the critical elk winter range in the scheduled pastures had met the 35% use standard, we could consider going into the rest pasture for 10 days or so. In 10 days, the cattle are not going to get much, if any, use on the critical range in that pasture. With the first three pastures having met the 35% use standard on critical range, the overall use in the allotment on critical range will meet the 35% use standard, even with some cattle in the rest pasture. We do not want to use rest pastures, but there may be situations where it would be appropriate. Rest pastures will not be used due to lack of management in the grazed pastures.
Mark also explained that there is a different philosophy on utilization now than there was when rest rotation systems were first implemented 25 years ago. Then, the "Total Pile of Hay" concept was in effect, where if 80% use occurred on the bottoms, and 10% on the hillsides, that was an average of 80 + 10 = 90 divided by two for an average of 45% use. Now we realize that, even with a rest year, areas where cattle tend to congregate the three out of four years they are in a pasture are impacted over time. These impacts show up through a change in the type of vegetation that grows in concentration areas. Non-native species, which we consider less desirable, replace the native species. Production falls, partly because of change to less productive species, and sometimes because of compaction in concentration areas.
Mark discussed the settlement agreement between the National Wildlife Federation and the Beaverhead NF. He mentioned that part of the agreement was to amend the Forest Plan by adding more specific riparian guidelines.
The possibility of splitting South Meadow Creek allotment up, with one permittee assigned to one pasture was brought up. After some discussion it was decided that for 1997, we will stick with the scheduled rotation and everyone will run together.
Marianne went over the rotation schedules, and said that the two riparian areas that will be considered "key" areas to monitor are Dry Leonard Creek in South Meadow allotment, and North Meadow Creek in North Meadow Creek allotment.
Tom Miller brought up the possibility of installing a culvert on the spring just as you come into the Forest on south Meadow Creek, because it is a major crossing point for cattle and becomes an eyesore for the public.
Marianne said she is trying to arrange for Willie Stender, a permittee on the Mill-Ramshorn allotment, to come talk to the permittees involved in the Tobacco Root Grazing Decision about his experience with riparian guidelines on his allotment for the last three years.
The Association agreed to have separate annual meetings for the two allotments next year.
Marianne asked that there be one contact person for the South Meadow allotment. B.J. volunteered to be the contact for this year.
Even though maintenance responsibility is split out by permittee, all permittees are responsible. If someone sees a problem on the allotment, they need to get hold of the appropriate person and try to get the problem resolved. One result of the lawsuit settlement agreement was the development of compliance guidelines that need to be followed in cases where permit compliance is not occurring. How lack of improvement maintenance is handled is clearly spelled out. Everyone should have received a copy of the compliance guidelines within the last year or so.
There are two miles of BLM/FS boundary fence on the east side of Fletcher pasture that have never been officially assigned for maintenance. Guyette and Rices share a lease on one mile of the fence, with Guyette having the larger number of leased AUMs. Rices have the BLM lease on the other mile. Marianne met with BLM and they agreed to assign Guyette the north mile of the fence, and Rices the south mile. There is a small section (a couple of hundred yards) that borders Scott. This fence is on the ground. Mark said he would talk to them and see if they would agree to rebuild it.
B.J. will get the gate at the Mica mine rebuilt this year. He would like to rebuild and slightly re-locate the fence where it crosses the clearcut west of the Mica mine. We will look at this spring, and we may have materials on hand. This fence is also scheduled to be extended about 1/8 mile. Marianne and Tom looked at possible location last fall, but we will get B.J. and Les Gilman to look at it on the ground before the extension is done.
The last tank on the Sawlog pipeline needs to be replaced. We have a tank on hand. Greg Rice said he would do.
There was some discussion on the practicality of having one permittee responsible for maintaining the pipeline and others maintaining the tanks. We need to evaluate this at next year's meeting.
Trespass cattle in lower Sawlog need to be monitored carefully this year, as the boundary fence is in poor shape.
Jim Springs pipeline will be partially installed this year. Marianne and Dave Germann will go up this spring to finalize pipeline location. We also need to look at West Table pipeline, and the fence between West Table and East Table pastures. Bob Germann wondered if there is any chance of the FS packing in the material. Marianne suggested 4 wheelers might be able to get in there up Case Gulch. We will explore options.
Discussed the drift in recent years of Willow Creek cattle onto North Meadow above Sureshot Lakes. Marianne said that Willow Creek's rider is very aware of the problem and will try to avoid this happening. They are going to fence across the gate on the old road east of the cattleguard. Another big problem is that they leave the gate on the primitive road open all the time. And often the gate next to the cattleguard gets left open. Mark mentioned putting a cattleguard on the primitive road.
The Association was formed around 1936 when the two allotments were ridden by a single herder. This was before rest rotation systems and before most of the current road construction. After some discussion, it was decided that the Association really serves no purpose any more. The decision was made to dissolve the Association. Salt will be bought by the allotments separately. It was agreed that the money in the checking account be put toward the taxes on the cabin. North Meadow permittees will split the rest of the taxes for the second half of this year. Germanns will take care of closing the checking account.
The last meeting of the Meadow Creek Stock Association was adjourned at 3:30 p.m.
Marianne Klein, Range Resource Specialist
Tom Miller and I expected a social party as usual, visits with the Rangers and beer with our buddies, as usual. Turned out everyone but us had spent the winter in the Forest office.
It was an ambush! The Forest office turned into the deck of a pirate ship. Miller and I were surrounded and swords flashed from all sides. I noticed Marianne was trying to get room to swing her sword. Eventually the ranks thinned and Marianne had room and heads rolled and fingers cut off for the blood was 6 inches thick on the deck. Miller and I were unscathed and when Marianne wasn't looking, we jumped overboard, grabbed the grog barrel and kicked frantically for shore. Ray had a lifeboat but wouldn't let us in. My late friend McGuiness was in the crows nest, jumping up and down and laughing, "Hey Hughes, are you having any fun?"
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"ADDENDUM 1">
A FINAL LETTER
Larry passed away August 22nd, 2006. Therefor I was a little startled on September 1st to receive a letter with his familiar L. Hughes, McAllister, Mt. scribbled in the return address corner of the envelope. Thankfully he had put the actual date of writing, August 13th, on his beginning and my surrealistic first reaction vanished. I think this last letter is typical of the ones we have exchanged over the past twenty years or so and belong with the collection posted above. Dixie has copied his letter exactly as written. I am sure that someday somebody will chuckle and be entertained as I have over his "dumbass genuflections".
Dear Uncle Bob, 8/13/06
We are pleased you are recovered, and evidently feeling sassy. I think you did a great job on the Internet deal. Maybe somebody, someday will enjoy stories by you and I about the "old days". Anyway we can enjoy each others stories. I enjoyed your poetry and stories about herding cats, and the other choice bits. I guess I felt we were in a liars contest and sent all those dumbass genuflections.
I too have had some heart problems but with a heart pill am trudging along at a slower pace. I've rolled my 4 wheeler and had to dive off a horse this last year, breaking ribs both times. Took me two months each time to recover. I need a cataract removed, and have tore the door off my truck and knocked down posts with my stock trailer because of no depth perception. The cops haven't caught me yet. The family just talks about my old man thing.
But we still stay entertained. Claudie and I were sitting at the table one morning. She was doing needlepoint. I was reading the Madisonian. I offered that I was considering filing for county commissioner. About 15 seconds of silence ensued. Finally she says "You'll only get one vote, 'cause I won't vote for ya." Well!!! Another 15 seconds of silence ran by and I admitted that I wouldn't vote for me either. Thus the end of a promising political career.
Claudette and daughter in law Michelle Hughes had entered a golf scramble with a couple other women. One backed out and guess who the obvious replacement was? Me. The other woman, Karen, is a modern woman of the Hillary Rodham type. Karen and I eventually ended up arguing which ball we should hit for the next shot. Finally in exasperation, I stated, "Karen, the Hughes women do what I tell them!" Claudette had a blank expression, Michelle's grin was as big as the moon, and Karen says, "Well, this is whole different deal!"
Claudie and I were trailoring our horses home after riding the forest all morning. We were in the Budweiser we had on ice. Handy Andy the horseshoer drove by with a sign that said Fairier. Claude mused that fairier was a strange word and wondered about it. I was all over it. "It started 10,000 years ago Claude. The first 2 horseshoers liked boys more than girls. One liked boys more than the other and was known as the Fairier. They've been called fairiers ever since." Claude just looked out the window. Didn't crack a smile. No sense of humor. The rest of the family giggled over it though.
All of us Hughes's are busy. Claudette plays a lot of golf with her sister and daughter and friends in ladies golf. I've been too busted up for a year to golf, but look forward to starting again. The cows take all our spare time. The grandkids are a handful. I smile and get to say "The chickens are coming home to roost."
It was hot here too for awhile. Finally it's cooling with dinky little showers now. I watch CNN and Fox news mostly. What a show. Everyone has a book and an opinion. My favorite is Alan Combs. Nobody can be so slippery. I think he was born upside down, backwards, and inside out. He has many folks like him on the show.
I have a scary thought to keep you awake nights for several years. It's springtime 2009 in North Carolina. The President of the United States steps up the microphone and squeeks: "Gentlemen, start your engines!"
Be Well
Lar & Claude
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"ADDENDUM II"
OBITUARY
From the BOZEMAN DAILY CHRONICLE, October 13, 2006
Graveside services with military honors will be held at 11 a.m. Saturday, Aug. 26, at Meadow Creek Cemetery in McAllister
Larry was born July 23, 1940, in Bozeman to Lewis and Mildred Sprout Hughes. He graduated from Ennis High School in 1958 and continued his education at Montana State College. Larry then enlisted in the 82nd Airborne Paratroopers and served for two years. He returned home and in 1964 married Claudette Breshears.
A third-generation rancher, Larry and Claudette ranched together for the next 43 years and raised their two children, Creyton and Tracy. For 28 of those years, being a old-fashioned cowboy, he ramroded the six-day cattle drives to the Maverick Basin Allotment in the Gravelies. Larry loved to rope, ride, and work his cattle. His first job was range riding with Jim Wilson on South Meadow Creek at the age of 8
Larry was an avid fan of his children's sporting activities, as he himself liked competition. He bowled, golfed, pitched horseshoes, team roped, and was unbeatable at playing cards. He left his family with the legacy of the card game called "Solo."
His knack for telling tall tales and giving advice along with his clever witticism were legendary to all who knew him.
He was preceded in death by his parents, and sister-in-law, Therese Jenkins.
Larry is survived by his wife, Claudette; son, Creyton (Michelle) Hughes; daughter, Tracy (Daron) Kamerman; grandchildren, Austin Hughes and Delaney Kamerman; sisters-in-law, Rochelle (Frank) Kriewald, Claudia (Dave) Sorvig; brother-in-law, Morrie (Susan) Holmes; numerous aunts, uncles, nephews, cousins and friends.
Memorials in his name may be made to the Madison Valley Hospital Building Fund
K&L Mortuaries of Ennis is in charge of arrangements.
Click On the Link For Hughes Family Genealogy from 1698 to the present:
http://www.toysrbob.com/genealogy.html